Trent said, “I wrote an essay at school about what it’s like living in a multicultural family in a multicultural city and still not knowing exactly where you fit in. It’s called ‘The Black Face in the Crowd.’”
Mary Catherine said, “I can’t wait to read it.”
Trent was almost breathless as he said, “That’s not the best part. The essay won a contest at school and is now a finalist in a citywide competition. There’s a ceremony at City Hall and everything in a couple of weeks.”
I grabbed Trent and hugged him. I was so proud I had a tear in my eye, and I didn’t trust myself to speak. It was nice to see Trent excelling. He had so many different interests that I wondered what he might focus on as he got older. I looked over and noticed his sister Jane was the only one not beaming. Jane had quietly kept a journal her whole life. I hoped there wouldn’t be any jealousy about her brother’s quick success with writing.
I was so excited about the news and seeing the kids, I almost forgot that at some point in the coming weeks I’d probably have to go back to work. It was like waking up from a dream I never wanted to end. I could unpack tomorrow.
When I woke up the next morning, I immediately slipped out of bed so I wouldn’t wake Mary Catherine. I texted Emily Parker because she had not returned my calls from Ireland. She had to have been trying to reach me about a case, and I wanted to get back to her.
I managed to whip together a pancake breakfast with scrambled eggs on the side. It may not sound like much, but when you’re doing it for ten kids and a grandfather who decided to spend the night, it can be quite the task.
Everything went smoothly, and I let Seamus use our van to drive the kids to school. I told him I’d walk down in the afternoon and pick it up. It was an odd feeling to be at the house alone with Mary Catherine at eight fifteen in the morning. Even if I was the only one awake.
When my phone rang, I jumped to answer it, thinking it would be Emily. Instead, I saw it was my boss, Lieutenant Harry Grissom.
As soon as I answered, Harry said, “So you made it back safely. Are you at home? I need to come by and talk to you about something.” Harry was my friend, but he’d been to the apartment only once or twice in all the years we’d lived here.
As soon as I opened the door and greeted Harry, the anxiety I’d been holding back flooded in with full force. Harry refused coffee and led me to the couch. He didn’t have good news.
When we were sitting, Harry said, “I wanted you to hear it before it was on the news.”
“What?” I said, my voice cracking like a schoolboy’s.
“Emily Parker has gone missing in Washington, DC.”
“What do you mean, ‘missing’？”
“No one has seen or heard from her since the day before yesterday. The Bureau is taking it very seriously. They found her car in a grocery store parking lot. Someone from the FBI or DC police blabbed to a reporter, and news coverage is starting.”
I didn’t say a word. All I could think about was her last call in Ireland. The one I didn’t answer.
Harry said, “The only reason the FBI ASAC even called me was because it was on the news. He knows you’re tight with her, and he wanted to make sure I’d tell him if you knew anything about her disappearance.”
“Knew anything? Like he thinks I’m a suspect?”
“No, nothing like that. More like if she ran off with someone—or from the federal bureaucracy. Mainly they want to make sure she’s safe.”
“What was she doing in DC?” Bad news seems to provoke meaningless questions. I guess it’s a way to avoid fear and grief.
Harry said, “She’s been back and forth between LA, New York, and DC. Apparently, she was working on some kind of anarchist group. You know the type, deface signs, toilet paper houses, and do the occasional violent crime.”
“Where is her daughter, Olivia?”
Harry said, “She’s with Emily’s ex-husband.”
“She said he was a deadbeat.”
“Apparently he got his act together.”
“Is anyone looking at him as a suspect?”
“The first thing they checked. He’s in Connecticut with Olivia. The FBI verified he hadn’t traveled in weeks.”
I was glad Harry had made me sit on the couch while we talked. A host of horrible scenarios rushed through my head, hitting hard. Drug kingpins she had taken down, nuts like this anarchist group, or even a stalker. Emily was a beautiful woman. She never wanted for attention from men.