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“I don’t know.”
“There has to be a reason, don’t you think? Like maybe they left because they were mad at you about something?”
“Nothing I can think of.”
That’s a lie. The latest in a long line of them. Because there is something that would make them want to leave Dogwood.
Me.
The way I acted.
Drunk and crying and still touching my bare wrist, which now has a red streak on its side where my thumb kept rubbing the skin. I wasn’t in my right mind last night, and it scared them. I saw it in their eyes.
“You think they ran away?” I ask.
“I’m saying that’s the most logical reason. On average, more than two million youth run away each year. The vast majority are quickly located and returned home.”
It sounds like another one of those statistics Sasha would have at the ready. But I don’t believe for a second the three of them ran away. They gave no indication of unhappiness in their home lives.
“What if they didn’t?” I say. “What would be another reason?”
“Foul play.”
Flynn says it so quickly it makes me gasp. “Like kidnapping?”
“Is it a possibility? Yes. Is it likely? No. Less than one percent of all missing children are abducted by strangers.”
“What if the kidnapper isn’t a stranger?”
Flynn quickly flips to another page of his notebook, pen poised over paper. “Do you know of such a person?”
I do. Maybe.
“Has anyone talked to the kitchen staff?” I say. “The other day, I caught one of them staring at the campers on the beach. Not a good stare, either. It was creepy.”
“Creepy?”
“Like he didn’t think it was wrong to ogle a sixteen-year-old girl.”
“So it was a male?”
I give a firm nod. “The tag on his apron said his name was Marvin. Two other kitchen workers were there. Women. They saw the whole thing.”
“I’ll be sure to ask around,” Flynn says, writing down everything.
Seeing his pen scurry over the paper pleases me. It means I’m helping. Energized, I grab the coffee and take another bitter gulp.
“Let’s talk about fifteen years ago,” Flynn says. “I’ve been informed you were here when three other girls went missing. Is that correct?”
I stare at him, slightly uneasy. “I assume you already know that it is.”
“You were staying in the same cabin, were you not?”
I detect more suspicion in his voice. Less subtle this time around.
“Yes,” I say, buzzing with defensiveness. “None of them, by the way, were among the vast majority you claim to have been located and returned home.”
“I’m aware of that.”