Page 218 of Secrets Along the Shore
And then the coverage ended. Just like that.
No follow-up. No resolution. No recovery. Katherine Nieves had vanished, and the school had buried her story.
Hours must have passed. The light outside had shifted to gray. I sat back, neck stiff, head spinning. The librarian suddenly stood beside me, grabbing my attention. “Did you find what you needed?”
I nodded slowly. “Yes. Thank you.”
I didn’t explain. Just copied the name down, tucked the note inside my pants pocket, and walked out into the summer heat.
Katherine Nieves.
Who was she? Where did she go?
The street was deserted. Stores closed. Lights out. The bakery signno longer glowed. Across the way, the general store was closed, and no there was no red jeep parked in front of the realty agency.
Had Evan come and gone? He was supposed to pick me up.
I stared down the street. No sign of his Jeep.
I pulled out my phone again, praying for enough juice to text. The screen flickered to life. One percent.
I tapped his number and sent a message.
Scarlett:I must have missed you. Not to worry. I’ll start walking.
A knot of unease pulled tight in my gut. But perhaps he had been more embarrassed about the incident in the secret room and needed to lick his wounds.
I started walking, heading toward the sheriff’s department. Maybe I could ask for a ride back, and I could show him the tires.
The sheriff’s department wasn’t far. Only a few blocks past the diner. When I reached the station, only one light inside was on. A deputy I didn’t recognize sat behind the desk.
He looked up as I entered.
“Evening,” he said, then paused as I signed slowly and spoke. “Is Sheriff McNealy around?”
The deputy shook his head. “Out for the evening. Something come up?”
I hesitated. “I need a ride home. To the old Scanlon lodge. I was supposed to get picked up. Didn’t happen.”
He studied me a moment, then stood and grabbed his keys. “Sure thing.”
“Thank you,” I signed and said.
The cruiser was warm. Smelled faintly of coffee and old leather. We pulled away from the station, and I turned toward him.
“Do you remember Katherine Nieves?”
His fingers tightened slightly on the wheel. “Haven’t heard that name in years. You digging into that situation, too?”
“What does that mean?”
He shrugged and took a right turn. “Sherrif mentioned you were asking about the Bishop girl.” He was quiet for a moment. Then, finally, answered my question. “The Nieves girl…sad situation. A cold case never solved.”
“Are there any pictures of her? I found an article, but nothing was posted of her. Just pictures of the school.”
“Sorry, I really don’t know. You could ask Sheriff McNealy. Or maybe the school has a record of her with a photograph.”
“The school’s closed now.”
