There’s just one thing I need to attend to first.
As if on cue, the front door of the group house opens, and Polly steps out, blinking in the bright morning sunlight. As she walks toward her VW Rabbit parked at the end of her walkway, she scans her phone.
She is so absorbed that she doesn’t even notice me until I am nearly by her side.
“Hey, Polly,” I say casually. “Got a minute?”
She starts, then looks from side to side, as if seeking an escape route. “I have to get to work.”
“You have some time. I’ll be quick.”
Discomfort spreads across her face. She’s clearly trying to come up with a reason to say no, but she must not be able to think of one.
It’s chilly and the wind feels fierce. Polly is wearing the same lightweight turquoise jacket she had on the other night. As she shoves her hands into her pockets, I notice her nose is already beginning to redden.
“You’re cold. Why don’t we sit in my car and talk? Or yours, if you’d rather.”
I’m hoping she’ll choose her car because you can learn a lot about someone by checking out their personal spaces when they don’t have advance warning. She hesitates, then as another gust of wind hits us, she uses her key fob to unlock the doors to her vehicle.
The passenger seat is clear, unlike in my car, and everything is well organized, just like her purse: a blue hair scrunchie is wrapped around the gearshift, a stainless-steel water bottle is tucked in the cup holder, and a pack of disinfecting wipes is in the console.
Polly starts the engine and a Britney Spears song blares. She quickly reaches for a knob and turns off the radio.
I wait for her to begin the conversation. A moment later, she does: “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“I know strange things have been happening around Coco. Like the creepy note you found. I need you to tell me what else is going on.”
I speak with authority, hoping Polly will succumb to it, as she did when I searched Coco. But maybe she learned from that experience.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not really sure I can tell you anything. I mean, not without permission.”
“Marissa’s permission? Polly, she is in danger. Matthew told me you called him to say you were worried about her. Do you really think I’d be here if the Bishops didn’t want my help?”
“He told you that?” Polly looks surprised.
“Yes, he also told me you drove all the way down to Giovanni’s restaurant to try to see him.”
“Okay.” Polly shifts in her seat. “So, I didn’t think it was a big deal at first, but twice in the past week a guy has called and asked for Marissa. When I asked who it was—Marissa taught me to do that before handing the phone to her—he hung up.”
“Any idea who it could have been?”
“No, I didn’t recognize his voice. And there have been a few hang-ups, too. Like someone keeps calling because they hope she’ll answer instead of me.”
I play the devil’s advocate: “Could be a telemarketer.”
“I don’t think so.” Polly is practically bristling; she has a lot invested in her role in Marissa’s life, and Polly doesn’t like me downplaying the drama she feels she’s a central part of.
“Is that all?” I keep my tone a little bored.
Polly takes the bait: “There’s actually video footage from the store that night when someone put that note under the door.…”
“There is?” I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask the Bishops about this. Or that they hadn’t mentioned it.
“Yes, and here’s the thing. I asked Marissa about it, and she told me she checked the footage, but the camera angle was off and it was too blurry to see anything.”
I reflexively glance at the purse on Polly’s lap, wondering if the note is still tucked inside.
“But…” Polly’s voice drops and she leans closer to me. I suddenly have an image of her as a young girl in a school classroom, whispering into the ears of other children, spreading rumors and sowing discord before smiling innocently up at the teacher and offering to wipe down the cafeteria tables after lunch. “I checked the video, too. I called the company and asked them to email us a copy of the recording from that night. They sent it over to the store’s account, which of course I check every day. Anyway, I thought maybe I’d see something Marissa missed.… And I did. I saw the guy who left the note.”
“Did you recognize him?” I ask urgently.