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“You know, for losing them when they were under your care.”
“I didn’tlosethem.”
“But theywereunder your care, right? You were their camp counselor.”
“Instructor,” I say. “I told them when I first arrived that I was here to be a friend and not some authority figure.”
“And were you?” Flynn says. “Friends, I mean.”
“Yes.”
“So you liked them?”
“Yes.”
“And you had no issues with them? No disagreements or fights?”
“No,”I say, stressing the word. “I told you, I liked them.”
Impatience nudges my ribs and shimmies down my legs. Why is he wasting all this time asking me questions when the girls are still out there, maybe hurt, definitely lost? Why doesn’t anyone seem to be searching? I glance out the mess hall window and see a couple of police cruisers and a smattering of state troopers milling about outside.
“Is someone looking for them?” I ask. “There’s going to be a search party, right?”
“There will be. We just need some more information from you.”
“How much more?”
“Well, for starters, is there anything about the girls you think I should know? Something about them that might aid in the search?”
“Um, Krystal is spelled with aK,” I say. “In case that helps.”
“It certainly will.”
Flynn doesn’t elaborate, leaving me to picture each of them on the sides of milk cartons, a noble public service that’s actually horrible when you think about it. Who wants to open their fridge and see the face of a missing child staring back at them?
“Anything else?” Flynn asks.
I close my eyes, rub my temples. My head is killing me.
“Let me think,” I say. “Sasha. She’s so smart. The downside is she knows so much it makes her a little scared. She’s afraid of bears. And snakes.”
It occurs to me that Sasha might be afraid right now, wherever she is. The others, too. It breaks my heart to think of them lost in the woods, terrified of their surroundings. I hope they’re all together, so they can comfort one another. Please, God, let them be together.
I keep talking, overcome with the urge to tell the detective everything I know about the girls. “Miranda’s the oldest. And the bravest. Her uncle is a cop, I think. Or maybe it was her dad. Although she lives with her grandmother. She never mentioned parents, come to think of it.”
A realization pops into my head, coming at me like a thunderclap.
“She took her phone.”
“Who did?”
“Miranda. I mean, I’m not certain she took it with her, but it wasn’t among her things. Could that be used to find her?”
Flynn, who had been sagging in his chair while I prattled on, suddenly perks up. “Yes, it definitely could. All cell phones come with a GPS. Do you know the carrier?”
“I don’t.”
“I’ll have someone contact her grandmother and ask,” Flynn says. “Now let’s talk aboutwhyyou think the girls are gone.”