North Country(52)

“Are you sure?”

I roll my eyes even though she can’t see it. “Isla stayed in North Bay at her teammate’s house. And I—” Was not home, but that’s not Jenny’s business. “Drove down for her game today. Holly was not at our house.”

“Well, where did she stay, then?” Jenny huffs, more to herself.

“Probably with one of her other friends. I saw her at the Bale House with a few girls.”

“Isn’t that a bar?”

“It is after a certain time. Holly and her friends were escorted out.” No need to highlight exactly why. “She was still in the parking lot when I stepped out briefly, but I didn’t see her when I left, a little after nine.”

Jenny’s heavy sigh fills my ear. “Well, she’s not home yet and she knew she had to be.”

I bite my tongue against the urge to ask Jenny how often Holly actually does what she’s supposed to. “Obviously, you’ve tried calling her.”

“Of course I have. She’s not answering.”

“Can you track her phone?”

“No. I mean, I used to be able to, but the feature hasn’t been working well. I don’t know, it glitches a lot.”

Glitches? “Or she’s been turning it off so you can’t see where she is.”

“She swears she isn’t.”

I check my watch. Now’s not the time for judgment. “You said she was supposed to be home by noon. It’s twenty after, so let’s not panic yet. When Isla’s game is finished, I’ll see what she can find out. And text me if Holly shows up before you hear from me.”

“Okay, I … okay. Thank you.” Where snippiness laced her voice before, now there’s sincerity within the worry.

“Of course.” We may not be great fans of each other, but none of that matters when our kids are involved.

I end the call just as Isla trips a girl with her stick, sending her sprawling across the ice and the ref’s hand into the air.





With a wave for the huddled group of parents, I murmur, “Come on, my little goon.”

“Didn’t you see her cross-check me twenty seconds before that? The refs weren’t calling anything.”

“They called you.” I hold open the door and Isla plows through, her giant bag slung over her shoulder. “You’re lucky that penalty didn’t cost your team the game.” While a tie isn’t ideal, the season is long and every point counts toward playoffs.

“Can I drive home?”

“You already know the answer to that one.” Not in my station-issued vehicle. And we have more important things to discuss. “Did you know Holly told her mother she was staying at our place?”

“Uh …” Caught off guard, Isla fumbles for an answer that doesn’t get her into trouble.

“The truth, Isla. This is important.”

“She said she might, and I told her I wasn’t around.” She shrugs, like it’s nothing to do with her and no big deal. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Holly hasn’t come home yet.”

“Oh.” Isla tosses her equipment into my trunk. “Well, it’s Holly. She’s always late.”

We climb into our respective seats. “I know, but it’s Thanksgiving weekend and she was supposed to be home by noon for family stuff.” It’s now after one. “Can you try calling her? She’s not answering her mother.”

Isla digs her phone out and dials. And waits. “I’ll try texting?”

I navigate out of the parking lot as her fingers fly over her keyboard. She sends the message and then flips through her apps to one all the kids use. “It says she’s at the Bale House.”

“Yeah, she was there last night until the bouncer escorted her out at curfew. I was there. I saw it.” I instigated it.

“No, it says she’s still there. I can always see where she is, real time. You can set it up like that.”

So Holly blocks her mother from all visibility; meanwhile, she lets her friends track her every move. “Maybe she forgot her phone there.”

Isla spares me a look that matches my doubt. “Holly? Forget her phone? No way.”

“If she was drunk?”

She pauses to consider that. “She’d have to be really drunk.”

But wouldn’t she be awake by now and able to get herself home if she was crashing at someone’s house?

A sick feeling gnaws at my senses. This is how these cases always start—with a quick dismissal of the situation, a range of excuses to explain away things so no one jumps to worst-case conclusions. But there’s always a moment when a switch flips and the what-ifs take over.

That switch has flipped for me. “Okay, I need you to ask around and see who she was with last night and what they know.” Give a group of teenagers phones and fifteen minutes, and it’s almost frightening what they can sleuth. “And make sure no one’s covering for anyone, got it?”

While Isla starts messaging, I call the Bale House.

Matt answers on the fourth ring, his smooth, deep voice filling my car’s interior over the speaker.

“Did Holly come back to the bar last night?”

“Emery?”