Mr. Davies was still in his pajamas. His face was ghostly pale. Wendy imagined her face looked very similar when she had to talk to the police.
“We think one of the missing kids was taken from their home, so we want to remind people—especially those with children—to lock their doors and windows at night, and to make sure any weapons have been properly locked up.” Detective Rowan paused. “Do you have any firearms in the house, Mr. Davies?”
Mr. Davies quickly shook his head no.
“Donald used to hunt, but he hasn’t done that in years,” Mrs. Davies explained tersely, as if Detective Rowan was a huge inconvenience to her.
“I got rid of all my guns a long time ago,” Mr. Davies confirmed. He looked past Detectives James and Rowan, and his eyes snagged on Wendy standing in her yard. He quickly turned away, but Detective James followed his gaze and was now watching her.
Guilt made her cheeks burn red. She ducked her head, jogged the rest of the way to her truck, and quickly got inside. As she drove down the street, Wendy forced herself not to stare.
The police thought someone kidnapped Ben and Ashley? Mr. Davies was right to look so scared. All the parents in town would be terrified for their kids. And now they were going door to door to talk to people?
Wendy knew she hadn’t seen the last of Detectives James and Rowan. Not by a long shot.
Arriving at the hospital, Wendy fished around for her lanyard and badge as she headed for the elevator to the third floor. She crinkled her nose at the photo. Her smile looked painfully forced, her blue eyes were too wide from the shock of the flash, and her shirt was wrinkled.
A handmade quilt hung on the wall behind the information desk. Artwork the kids had made lined the walls between doorways. Nearly all the nurses wore brightly patterned scrubs. The sharp sting of chemicals hung in the air, but so did that light, sweet smell that seemed to follow little kids around wherever they went.
The last place she wanted to be right now was the hospital, but she would only draw more attention if she didn’t show up for her volunteer shifts. That, and she actually liked hanging out with the kids—even though, right now, every fiber of her being ached to go find Peter.
With a deep breath, Wendy tucked the loose strands of her hair behind her ears and headed to the recreation room. She did her best to avoid making eye contact with the two nurses watching her from behind the front desk, whispering to each other quietly. Her attempt to avoid their prying eyes meant she wasn’t paying attention to where she was going, which was why she ran right into someone wearing Snoopy scrubs.
“Whoa!” A pair of hands caught her shoulders. “Don’t trip, Skip!”
“I’m so sorry!” To her relief, it was Nurse Judy.
The head nurse chuckled and waved the apology aside as she picked up the stethoscope Wendy had knocked from her hands. “Not a big deal. Don’t worry about it!” Nurse Judy looked up and immediately frowned. “Wendy? What are you doing here?” she demanded. She had a way of talking that sounded like she was yelling at you, but Wendy had learned that scolding was her way of showing affection.
“I—I have volunteer hours today,” she stammered. If one more thing startled her this week, she was going to have a damn heart attack.
Nurse Judy’s frown deepened. “You didn’t have to come in today,” she said. “You can stay home, you must be—”
“I’m fine,” Wendy cut in. She really didn’t want to have this conversation, especially out in the open with everyone watching. “I want to be here, really. It’s a nice distraction.” Wendy tossed a nervous glance back over her shoulder.
Nurse Judy followed her gaze. Her lips set in a firm line. “Well, go on then. And you let me know if anyone gives you any trouble, okay?” Wendy nodded in reply. She slinked off to the recreation room as Nurse Judy barked at the other nurses, “You two must be bored if you’re just standing around! I’ve got some bedpans you can clean!”
Wendy ducked around a corner and pushed open the door to the recreation room. A wave of noise rushed over her as she walked in. Building blocks were stacked in a heap in one corner of the room. There were tables in the back with a flurry of construction paper and markers. Bean bags were piled up by the books and kids bounced around everywhere. In the far corner were two outdated desktop computers that the older kids sometimes ventured in to use. There was always at least one nurse there overseeing the chaos, but right now she was trying to wrestle a glue stick out of Cindy-Who-Puts-Everything-Up-Her-Nose’s hands.