Brenda’s eyes slid away. “The one with the Abraham Lincoln beard? I bought pot from him.”
“Think he was selling to Maureen, too?” Claude asked.
Brenda shrugged and began rubbing one thumb with another. “Maybe.”
Claude furrowed his brow. “Do the cops still think Maureen ran away?”
He didn’t know what we’d seen her doing in that basement, didn’t know that Sheriff Nillson had been there. Brenda and I exchanged a look.
“That’s what he said yesterday,” Brenda said, tipping her head toward the church.
I turned to see Jerome Nillson entering. He wore a tan suit with a gray tie. It appeared tight at the shoulders. I realized how little I knew about him. He lived in Pantown, and he was the law. That had been enough. I hadn’t ever noticed a wedding ring on his hand, and I’d never had a reason to think about his personal life.
It wouldn’t have occurred to me in a million years that it would involve one of my closest friends. Had she thought she was dating Sheriff Nillson?
That’s when I got the idea to sneak into Maureen’s room.
I would read her diary.
My mind wandered as I went through the motions of Catholic mass, kneeling, praying, and also with you–ing. Mrs. Hansen sat three rows in front of us, in the same pew as Jerome Nillson but on the other end. I hadn’t yet spotted Ant or his family, which proved （to me, anyhow） that God could work miracles.
I decided I’d tell Mrs. Hansen that I’d forgotten something in Maureen’s room. It wasn’t a lie, exactly—I had once forgotten a shirt there—but it was enough of a fudge that I’d wait until we were outside of church to tell her. I wasn’t sure where Maureen kept her diary, didn’t even know for a fact that she had one, but if she did, it might tell us why she’d been in that basement and where she was now.
“。 . . Heather Cash, and Claude Ziegler,” Father Adolph said, his tone indicating he’d just reached the end of a list of names.
My heart thundered as I looked around, gape-eyed, for clues of what he’d just said. Claude was staring at me, unsmiling.
“。 . . the teens invited to my first-ever Labor Day camp at the church cabin. So talk it over with your parents and see if you can make it.”
Dad squeezed my hand. All summer he’d been encouraging me to attend one of the father’s camps. He’d said it’d look good if the daughter of the district attorney went. Him and Sheriff Nillson’s idea in creating the getaways with Father Adolph had been to create a safe place for teenagers to hang during the summer, something that kept them away from drugs and hitchhiking and taught them useless pioneer things like starting fires and tying knots. I think Dad believed I might even talk about Mom if I went, get some support, but I didn’t want to talk about her. I just wanted her to get better.
“Finally, let’s all take a moment to say a prayer for a missing member of our community.”
My eyes pinned to the back of Sheriff Nillson’s neck. If the priest knew Maureen was missing, that meant Nillson wouldn’t be able to cover it up.
But Father Adolph wasn’t talking about Maureen.
“Nobody has seen Elizabeth McCain for six days. Please hold Beth and her family in your prayers.”
I was staring straight at Sheriff Nillson’s neck, so I noticed when his skin jumped.
CHAPTER 21
Mom left the bedroom to join us for supper. Dad acted so happy to see her. He kissed her curled hair, pulled out her chair for her, talked all through the meal of grilled cheese and tomato soup that I’d made, talked so much that I almost didn’t notice how quiet Mom was. She nibbled at the edges of her sandwich.
“Did I overcook it?” I asked. She liked her grilled sandwiches soft, not crusty.
She didn’t seem to hear me. As soon as Dad stood, indicating the meal was over, she dashed back to the bedroom. Dad’s face sagged watching her go, and I suddenly wanted to give him a hug so bad. There wasn’t time, though. He was on his way to the front door, like Mom disappearing had freed him to do the same.
“Thanks for supper, honey. Don’t wait up for me.”
I nodded.
He’d said finding Maureen wasn’t his department, that Sheriff Nillson was probably right that she’d run away, same as Elizabeth McCain, and I shouldn’t worry, but he’d also promised to visit his office tonight after hours and “do some research.” It felt like a balm when he told me that. No way could I tell him about Maureen being in that basement with Nillson, but it’d been eating me up that the man in charge of finding her likely wouldn’t mind if she disappeared for good. With my dad poking around, Nillson would have to fly straight.