Page 31 of Good Half Gone

Chapter10Past

Poley Came Tocollect me from the front of the station. I barely recognized her. Hair scooped back in a two-day-old French braid—she grimaced when she saw me.

Same.

She wore no makeup, and her black pantsuit had a couple of crusty white stains on the lapels. I guessed she didn’t recognize me either because I had to stand up and wave. It took a few seconds for her eyes to register recognition. She nodded—like, oh yeah—and beckoned me over.

“I heard your grandmother is in the hospital. Sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks. Has something happened with Piper’s case?”

She didn’t look at me; it seemed like she was trying not to.

“Detective Audrain is going to meet us there and explain.”

Okay.I shut up and let the anxiety eat at me. She took me to a different room this time—this one had a painting of Mt. Rainier on the wall. Poley sat in a chair across from me, her legs crossed and her eyes on the linoleum. She reminded me of girls at school—unsure and on edge.Her whole vibe made me uncomfortable.

Audrain walked in a second later, carrying something. His face was grim when he set it down in front of me. I leaped to my feet.

“That belongs to Piper!” I said, “That’s her bag.”

“Please sit, Miss Walsh.” Audrain frowned. “I need you to identify some further items for me.”

I hesitated. If I sat down, he would tell me something I might not want to hear.There’s no one else to hear it, you idiot.I sank because my knees gave way, fisting my hands in my sleeves and propping them under my chin. I couldn’t look when he set the other things on the table. I heard theplink plinkand squeezed my eyes closed. I was not in charge of what was happening. The world was happening to me, and I was not ready for it.

“Her bag was found in a trash can in Pioneer Square. A homeless woman turned it in. No phone. The last place her phone pinged was inside the movie theater. It appears she turned it off or got rid of it. Either way, we can’t use it to find her if it’s not on.”

“Theygot rid of it,” I corrected. “Piper was taken by two men named RJ and Angel. Why aren’t you looking for them—or the car? Chris Dupont knows them. Ask him!”

Her mouth pulled down as she audibly sighed. “We are investigating all of the above.” I felt my breath catch. If I wasn’t holding on to the sides of my chair, I’d shoot out of it in frustration. Piper was just another checklist item for Poley; giving me this information was something she was assigned to do today. She didn’t believe me, and she didn’t care about my sister. She glances at her watch. There is a patch of dry skin at the corner of her mouth, and her eyes are bloodshot.

“Am I boring you?”

For a moment Poley looked disoriented. “What?” She narrowed her eyes like she had no idea what I was talking about.

My eyelids closed, heavy with horror. I could feel myself sweating underneath my clothes. “Was there anything in her bag?”

He cleared his throat when he sat, pulling awkwardly at his tie to loosen it. The plastic baggies crinkled when Audrain laid them in front of me.

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

Piper’s school ID, her contact case, and a paper fortune from a fortune cookie. Evidence. My stomach dropped.

“Do you recognize these items?” Audrain asked. I nodded, my eyes swimming. Takeout from China City was a Friday night ritual. Piper was the only one who liked fortune cookies, so she’d take all three and choose the fortune she liked the most. We made it a game: Gran and I would try to guess which one was her favorite. I always won. I leaned forward to read the words on the slip of rectangular paper.

“We still don’t know if she ran away, or if this is foul play—”

I opened my mouth, but he held up his hand. Would he have shushed Gran? A father? I knew things about adults: they told you what was easiest, they thought you were stupid, damaged, or both, and they swore age made them smarter than you. It didn’t matter if you actually lived it—they knew more because age quantifies experience. Not personal experience—just experience. A badge of knowing-not-knowing.

“I filed a missing person’s report,” he says like he’s offering me a cookie.

“Of course you did,” I said. “She’s missing. A missing child, not a person.”

His wormy complexion turned pink. He was one of those guys who thought kids should speak nicely to all the adults who handled them. R.E.S.P.E.C.T.—and not the kind Aretha sang about, it was entitled. His generation favored the physical demonstrations of respect over any type of verbal truth.

“You got a smart mouth, kid.”

“What about an Amber Alert? You said that kid was missing from the park—they sent one out for her…”

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