Page 21 of Last Seen

Chapter Thirteen

Halley stops for a sandwich at her favorite little café right down the street from Goode.

The owner, a self-styled hippie named Sunshine, makes Halley a tuna melt and slides a Diet Coke across the tin counter, and in between bites, Halley deflects pointed questions about life, her marriage, and her dad.

When she’s finished, Sunshine, who’s no dummy and can tell Halley’s avoiding talking to her, puts a bag of snickerdoodles on the counter with the check, and Halley gives her a grateful hug before she leaves. Snickerdoodles are her favorite.

She leaves the Jeep parked on Main Street and heads through the massive gates to the Goode School library.

A bonus of being an alum—you are always welcomed back to campus and are free to avail yourself of its amenities.

The gym, the pool, the library, the bookstore.

All are places Halley has frequented over the years postgraduation.

The library at Goode, funded by the massive alumni endowment, rivals that of any major college.

It also has state-of-the-art computers and subscriptions to all the major news services and magazines.

Combined with Halley’s own database accesses, she is pretty sure she can find Tyler Armstrong.

She checks her email, sees a message from Theo.

H—the missing persons report was filed by a woman named Alison Everlane.

The phone number belongs to her, but it’s a private listing for a landline, and might not have voicemail.

No idea if it’s hers or what. Everlane was a student at Harvard at the same time as your sister.

She works for a nonprofit in DC now. Here’s their number. That’s all I’ve got for now.

Be Careful ! Theo x

Theo x? What the hell is going on? Her husband has never signed anything with a kiss.

She pulls a ton of phone numbers, wanders outside to the quad, finds an unoccupied bench, eats a cookie, and starts making calls.

First up is the Boston Police Department. After identifying herself as the sister of a missing person, she is transferred to the district that covers Harvard’s campuses. A few more transfers get her to a detective named Rafael Cohen, who is wary but willing to talk.

Halley explains who she is, her connection to Cat, and the information she’s found on the missing persons report.

She glosses over the “Why now?” she hears in his tone, not wanting to go into the family dynamics, just sticks with the parts of the truth he needs.

She and her dad had moved away, and they lost touch, and she just found out Cat was missing.

After taking down all of Halley’s information, Detective Cohen looks it up and confirms Alison Everlane filed the report, but there’s nothing else he can give her.

He reminds her that adults go missing all the time.

She agrees and promises to call him back if she discovers anything.

She doesn’t know if he’s holding back or if he’s not taking her seriously, but either way, he feels like a dead end for the time being.

Her next call is another try at the number on the flyer that Theo says belongs to Alison. She’s surprised when, this time, the phone is answered within two bleats of the ringer.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Um, hi. My name is Halley James. I think you know my sister, Catriona Handon?”

There is a huge, gusty sigh. “Oh, boy. After all this time. They found her, then?”

Bingo.

“No, actually. This is sort of a weird story, but I didn’t know Cat was missing. I didn’t know she was alive at all. I thought she died when I was six, along with my mother.”

“Really? How could that be?”

“Long story. Can you tell me about her going missing?”

There is a long pause. “She never told me she had a sister. How do I know you’re not some reporter faking this to get a story?”

What the heck?

“I’m not a reporter. I swear it. I am her sister. For the rest, I guess we’re going to have to trust one another,” Halley says lightly. “Did she tell you about our mom?”

“That she died when Cat was sixteen? Yes. A terrible car accident. It was tragic, how she was left to fend for herself.”

“Fend for herself?”

“She had to finish high school and get into college, and she was all alone. What sort of father leaves a grieving daughter? She said her dad bolted. He was her stepdad, and he never liked her.”

Halley makes a note of this. Cat lies.

Alison jumps in again. “So why is it she never mentioned you? She didn’t live with you?”

“I’m ten years younger. I was only six when our mom died. It was a second marriage. I was the bonus baby.”

“Okay.” Alison sounds doubtful, but Halley plows on.

“I don’t know what all Cat has told you, or didn’t, but can we jump ahead to her going missing? You filed a report in 2002. How long had she been gone?”

“Months. She went away to a writers’ retreat and never came home. The retreat wouldn’t confirm or deny that she showed up. There was nothing after that. And believe me, her husband was not happy.”

“Tyler Armstrong? That was her husband?”

“Ex. They were divorcing. She took the papers with her to sign, but disappeared before she did. Tyler was so furious. He’s tried to get her declared dead a few times. But the court wouldn’t agree. I think they finally did grant him the divorce, though. Took like seven years or something.”

“So you know him?”

“Did. He was a piece of work. God’s gift to the financial world.

He was cheating on her, and she caught him.

It wasn’t going to be a messy divorce. They both wanted out.

Cat was excited to start a new life. I actually thought she’d already signed the papers.

We had a little party before she left to celebrate. That’s the last time I ever saw her.”

Things are coming together, at least a little bit.

“Did the police ever look at him? An interrupted divorce feels like motive to me.”

“You sound like a cop.” Her tone is wary now.

Go careful, Halley. She’s the only thread you have.

“I’m not a cop. I’m not a reporter. I’m a confused little sister who just found out about all of this, and I need to know what happened to her.”

The tenor has changed, though. “I really don’t know more than that.”

“I understand. It’s just that we seem to be living in two different worlds—mine where she died when she was sixteen, and hers where I don’t exist. I’m baffled by this, and I’d like to get to the bottom of it.”

“You’ll have to talk to the police, then. They never seemed to think Tyler hurt her.”

“Do you?”

There is such a long pause that Halley thinks she might have dropped the call. “Hello? Are you still there?”

“I am. I don’t think so. He’s a blowhard, but not a murderer. And she was several states away. I got the sense that he was as surprised as I was when she never came back.”

“Several states away ... Do you know where, exactly?”

“Tennessee. It was this really important artist-colony writing retreat. Cat was thrilled to get in. She applied religiously the entire time I knew her, every year, and then she finally got accepted. Thought she’d become a world-famous writer.

She might have, she was pretty good. I read a few of her stories.

They were great. A little dark, but well written.

Not like her, actually. Cat was such a bubble of joy. She lit up a room.”

Halley is having serious cognitive dissonance. This woman talks so lovingly about a monster. Clearly, she doesn’t know the truth. Should she tell her? That her bubble-of-joy friend went to jail for murdering her mother?

She decides to hold off. She needs this information, needs this connection.

“Do you remember what the retreat was called? Or where it was?”

“Yes, Brockville. It is somewhere in the mountains.”

Halley writes this down and circles the name of the idyllic-sounding little town three times. Brockville.

“Let me ask you a strange question. Was my sister in therapy?”

“God, yes. We all were. Prozac nation.”

“Do you happen to know her therapist’s name?”

“Sure. Jana Chowdhury. I think she’s still practicing. Used to work at school, actually, then left and opened a private practice to focus on couples work. Still saw individuals. We all went to her.”

“We?”

“My husband and I, Cat and Tyler, a few more friends. She’s really empathetic, a super couples therapist. She saved a lot of marriages.”

“But not Cat’s?”

“Hard to save a marriage when you’re just going through the motions. The love of Cat’s life was her writing, and Tyler knew it. That’s why he strayed. He was just trying to get her attention.”

“Thank you. You’ve been really helpful.”

“Please let me know if you find out anything. I miss my friend.”

Alison’s wistful tone makes Halley squirm. She promises to and hangs up, trying, and failing, to put together Cat the adult with Cat the child. Halley does not remember Cat lighting up a room. If anything, she was the opposite. Dark, moody, sharp. Always dragging around, wearing black.

“How dare you go into my closet, you little thief? Give me that.”

Halley startles. The memory is clear as day. She’s in Cat’s bedroom, with a folded sweater in her hands, about to set it on Cat’s bed. Cat bursts in the door and rips it from her hand.

“I wasn’t in your closet,” Halley says. “Mom did laundry.”

“Mom sent you to spy on me. Get out!”

Did Mom send me to spy? Halley wonders, but the rest of the memory is gone. She is back on the quad, with the bag of cookies and a notebook by her side.

Strange, how vivid it was. Nothing from her time in Nashville is nearly as alive as that. Her breath is coming short, just as it had when Cat yelled at her. Cat yelled at her a lot.

Your memories are coming back. Be careful.

Halley can’t decide whether to call the therapist or the husband and settles on trying Tyler.

The first phone number has a recording that says the number isn’t in service. The second is answered by a harried woman. “Westcott and Westcott. Where can I direct your call?”

“Tyler Armstrong, please.”