Page 23

TWENTY-TWO

I grab Tara by the wrist, and we move in the opposite direction of the departing crowd, stopping when we reach a corner of the school building.

“Tara, if you think you know what happened to Evie, you really should talk to the police.” I raise my head, searching the swarms of people for Detective Fields. I’m about to flag her over, when Tara grabs me again.

“No, Coach. Please. I just want to talk to you.”

I exhale and shift my weight to the left side of my body. Even for me, it’s easy to forget I’m dealing with preteen girls. They’re equal parts confident and unsure. Tara is trying to do the right thing by coming forward, but she’s too intimidated by the likes of Fields. She’s more comfortable coming to me.

“Okay. What do you think happened?”

“I think…” Tara’s voice trails away, her eyes following the people in the parking lot. She looks as though she’s searching for someone in particular. “I think it might be someone in her family.”

A seed of worry forms inside my stomach. This isn’t new information; anyone with any insight into Evie’s home life knows there is cause for concern, but the conclusion feels more raw coming from a girl Tara’s age.

“Why do you think that?”

“We all know that Evie’s family is… different.” It takes her a while to land on the right word. “I’m not trying to sound judgmental, or whatever. It doesn’t bother me that she’s poor…”

Whatever point Tara is trying to make is getting lost. Again, I have to remind myself that I’m talking to a preteen about an increasingly uncomfortable situation, but I need her to finish a complete thought, so I can know if she has a credible lead. This could be what Evie was trying to tell me all along.

“Tara, did Evie tell you something about her family?”

“That’s the thing. Normally she doesn’t want to talk about them at all. She tries to act like she’s one of us, even though we know she’s different.”

There’s that word again. It bothers me, even though I doubt Tara means for it to come across as the slur that it feels. I was different when I was Evie’s age, too. Parts of me worry that I still am.

“At the lock-in, she was telling us about some guy that had moved into their house recently. That’s weird, right? I mean, we all know Evie lives in that tiny house with her mom as it is.”

“Did she say who came to live with them?”

“Her mom’s boyfriend, I think.”

In my mind, I try to recall the few times I’ve been around Evie’s mother or any other family. Her mother only makes it to a handful of games, and when people tag along, it’s usually random friends, no one I remember Evie introducing me to as family.

“Did she tell you his name? Or say anything about him?”

“She said that he kind of gave her the creeps.” Tara’s eyes scan the crowd again, before focusing back on me. “And she said he recently got out of prison.”

Prison. The word sends a shiver down my spine for a multitude of reasons, but I fight not to react. Tara is doing the right thing by coming to me, but I don’t want her to know how serious this information could turn out to be.

“Tara, this is important. Did she tell you anything else about her mom’s boyfriend? Anything he might have done.”

“No, nothing like that,” she says, quickly. “But it made me worried. I mean, I can’t even imagine if some random guy just started living in my house. It made me think maybe she, I don’t know, ran away.”

“Did she say anything at the sleepover to make you think she would do that?”

“No. She just told us all about the boyfriend.”

“Tara?” Someone is calling her name from across the parking lot. I look over and see Tara’s mother. We lock eyes and I raise my hand to let her know Tara is with me.

“Do you think it could be important?” Tara says, her voice quiet and quick, as though she wants to finish this conversation before her mother walks over.

“Like the detective said, any information is helpful. You did the right thing in telling me about it.”

In fact, Tara’s story raises several red flags in my mind. A sudden change in her home environment could be the catalyst for her disappearance. Especially a new man entering the home. Her mom’s boyfriend, who I’ve never heard her talk about, and her mother didn’t mention him or anyone else when we talked on the phone yesterday. And he just got out of prison. There’s no telling what for.

“Tara, it’s getting late. You still have school tomorrow, remember,” Tara’s mother says, holding her car keys in her hands.

“Are you really going to make me go?” Tara whines.

“Yes. Sitting at home won’t help,” she says. “It will be good for all of us to get back into some kind of routine.”

I don’t think Tara’s mother means for it to come off as callous as it sounds. The other mothers are dealing with their own array of complicated emotions. Worry over what might have happened to their daughters’ teammate mixed with gratitude they weren’t the ones to receive that phone call on Saturday morning. Plus, they don’t want their daughters to be further traumatized by how this could play out.

“Goodnight, Coach,” she says, taking Tara by the shoulder and prompting her in the direction of their car. Her tone is cold and sharp, a reminder that the parents likely resent me for what happened. They all trusted me to keep their daughters safe, and I failed.

“What was that about?” Connor says, walking over once he sees Tara and her mother step away.

“She was telling me something Evie said the night of the sleepover.” I barely look at him, my eyes scanning the crowd once again for any sign of Detective Fields. I spot her as she’s opening the driver’s side door to an unmarked police vehicle and hustle over.

“Detective Fields,” I say, reaching her just as she’s about to sit down. “Can I talk to you for a second? I just spoke with one of the girls on my team. Tara.”

I tell her everything she told me about Evie’s uncharacteristic conversation topic the night of the sleepover, and that her mom’s boyfriend had recently moved in and had just been released from prison. Fields listens calmly, but she doesn’t take notes. In fact, her hands never leave the steering wheel.

“Did she say anything else?”

“That was it, but she seemed really bothered by the whole thing. I think she’s too intimidated to talk to the police on her own.”

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up,” she says, shifting her body away from me. “But we’re already looking into the boyfriend.”

“So, you already knew?”

“Yes. We’ve been in constant contact with the family since Evie was reported missing.”

I’m frustrated, and I’m not sure why. I’d thought when Tara was talking to me that she was telling me new information, not something that Fields and the rest of the police department already knew. And it makes me even more annoyed with how Fields treated me with suspicion earlier. Surely this man who was just released from prison causes more concern than me, a basketball coach with a few shoplifting reports on her juvenile record, and yet she acts like I’m the one that shouldn’t be trusted.

“I’ll be in touch,” she says, shutting her car door. I sense the same veiled threat from earlier in the day.

“What was that about?” Joanna says, walking over as Fields drives away.

“Just talking about the case,” I say, not wanting to get into everything.

“Are you ready to go home?” Connor says, placing his hand on my lower back.

The three of us start to leave, then I pause and look back at the school. I have the sensation that I’m being watched, wonder if my paranoia over Detective Fields is increasing. Across from the building, I see a car parked against the sidewalk. A woman stands beside it.

It’s Nadia.

“Actually, I might stick around for a while,” I say, trying not to make it obvious I’m suddenly distracted. “There are a few things I need to do.”

“I can give Connor a ride home,” Joanna offers.

“That would be great.”

“Are you sure?” Connor says, watching me closely. “It’s already been a long weekend. You probably need some rest.”

“I’m fine,” I say. “I just need to clear my head before I return to work like nothing happened.”

“If you’re sure.” He leans in and kisses me on the lips before walking with Joanna to her car. I start walking to my own vehicle, waiting for them to leave before I approach Nadia.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her, as I’m crossing the street.

“I heard about the prayer circle in the news,” she says. “I’ve been following the case.”

I wasn’t expecting this reaction. Part of me thought I’d never hear from Nadia again after leaving her apartment. She insists the botched burglary had nothing to do with Evie’s disappearance, so why would she care?

“You said this girl grew up the way we did,” she says, answering my silent question. “I told you I want to help.”

“I think I might have a lead,” I say, nodding in the direction of my car. “Want to take a ride?”

“Let’s go.”