Page 79 of The Vanishing Place
“Come on.” Effie turned and started to walk toward the door, the shadows chasing the last hints of warmth from the day. “Bedtime.”
“But…” He looked at her, uncertain. “I still miss Asher.”
She squeezed him tight. “That’s okay. You can still miss him.”
Effie chewed on her lip as she walked into the hut. She still hadn’t decided if she was going to miss Asher or not.
“Are you Asher’s favorite?” asked Four.
“Sorry?” She frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”
“You got a note.”
Effie looked at Four. “What note?”
“In your pillow.” Four yawned. “Aiden found it.”
She set Four down and hurried to the sleeping nook. The crumpled piece of paper was still there, jammed into her pillowcase. Effie held it out as her eyes scanned the note and her skin warmed.
Effie. I’m sorry. If you ever need anything, write to this address.
On a separate line, Asher had scribbled an address for somewhere in Hokitika. Underneath it were four words.
And I’ll come back.
Asher.
Effie balled the paper and all of its stupid promises in her fist, and threw it across the room.
She didn’t need anything from him. Not now. Or ever.
2025
The four ofthem sat around the kitchen table, each with a plastic cup of water. Effie had decided against the added complication of hot liquids and hard ceramics.
Anya sat next to Effie with her head down, pulling at her fingers. There was a visible agitation to the girl’s legs, the hot hum of fight or flight thrumming through her muscles, but she was there. Lewis hovered in the doorway, just in case.
Morrow nodded at her young colleague, Detective Constable Wilson, then gave Effie an encouraging smile. Effie didn’t dislike Morrow, which was something, but there was a formality to the detective that didn’t sit well. The woman was all procedure. All rules.
“Are you comfortable, Anya?” asked Morrow.
The girl didn’t react. She just stared downward, her attention fully committed to picking the frayed skin from the sides of her nails.
“Anya, your aunty is going to explain the situation to you,” Morrow continued, “so that you understand what is about to happen.”
Effie slipped a hand across the table. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, Anya. Okay? You’re not in trouble. The questions the police officer is about to ask you are all aboutus helping you. Nothing else. You haven’t done anything wrong. We just want to try to work out what happened, so we can help.”
Anya’s eyes flicked toward Effie’s hand.
“But,” Effie continued, “if you do want to tell us anything, it’s really important that you tell us the truth. Do you understand?”
A nod. A small but definite nod.
“Good,” said Morrow.
She shuffled on her seat, the chair dwarfed by the detective’s big-boned figure. Her uniform pulled tight across her square shoulders, and the buttons at the front of her shirt strained. There was a hardness worn into her face, but her expression was kind.
“Let’s start with an easy question, shall we?” Morrow smiled at the top of the girl’s bowed head. “How old are you, Anya?”
