Page 87 of Last Seen

“Yeah. They had me working on the crutches again. Are you okay? Code word?”

“I’m fine.”

“Halley . . .”

She laughs. “Ailurophile. See? I’m all good, but I’m stuck here in Brockville for a bit. Had some car trouble.” She is not about to tell him the truth about the Jeep being disabled. He will lose his marbles. “They’ve put me up in a sweet little cottage, with its own golf cart so I can go buzzing around town. Should be a couple of days before the Jeep’s fixed. The mechanic had to order parts.”

“I could have Anne come get you. You said it’s only four hours away.”

“No, that’s all right. It will give me a chance to learn more about Cat.”From the people who saw her last,but she doesn’t add it. “Anyway, I’m fine, and I will continue to check in. This town has a little bit of everything. I won’t get bored. Okay?”

“Okay, jellybean.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Have you heard from Theo?”

“Yes. Why?”

“He might have called.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“He’s worried about you, honey.”

“Little late for that,” she fumes.

“He said you moved out. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She sighs. “Because. Okay? I told you before, it’s complicated. Did he tattle about work, too?”

“The lab? He may have mentioned something ...”

Great. Thanks a hell of a lot, Theo.

“I don’t know what he said, but whatItold you is the truth. The board fired me in retribution for the sexual harassment complaint I filed. I will deal with it when I figure out what’s happening here. I am not in any sort of mood for all the hovering you guys are doing.”

“Halley, I am not hovering—”

“No, you just spent your whole life lying to me.”

She realizes she is shouting. Damn it, she is done with all of this. She ratchets it back. “Listen. I need some time. I am furious with you, and I am furious with Theo, and I need some space. Please. No more check-ins and code words. I am not a child. I am exactly where I want to be right now.”

“You know that’s not true. And running away from your responsibilities won’t help a thing. You need—”

She does something she has never done in her entire life. She hangs up on her father.

He calls back immediately, and she lets it go to voicemail.

She is tired of pretending she’s okay. She is tired of being told what to do. She’s gotten herself into this mess, and she will find her way out.

She searches Donnata Kade’s name and is met with a long-form article fromEast Fifthmagazine, of all places. She thumbs it open, takes a seat at the kitchen table to read and finish her latte. It is full of qualifiers—allegedly,supposedly,ostensibly. But the gist of it is Donnata Kade was a decorated FBI agent until she was removed from the organization following a nervous breakdown brought on by what they call a phantom case. She claimed a powerful, unnamed man was actuallya serial killer in league with a cabal of other powerful men who were also killers. Directing them who to kill, and where. It was a fantastical tale without merit, according to the FBI. There was no proof, no evidence, and no way to bring a case against this person, but she wouldn’t stop. She neglected all of her other cases, abused her powers as an agent to investigate on her own, until the FBI had no choice but to let her go. She did not go gently, showing up at the homes of leadership and doing all sorts of other crazy things. They had to cite her for harassment, and finally committed her to a psychiatric facility, claiming she suffered from a late-stage schizoaffective disorder. This was fifteen years ago. The same year Cat went missing.

Obviously Kade is out in the world again; she was in Marchburg following the stranger. And possibly disabling Halley’s Jeep.

The article ends with a wild supposition—a former coworker “playing devil’s advocate” suggested that the former FBI agent was actually killing people in order to make her story hold water, though there was no proof of that, either.

Halley sets down her phone. Wow. Character assassination, or is the woman totally bonkers? No wonder the sheriff discouraged her from reaching out. Kade does sound a bit unhinged.

Having just been let go without real cause, though, Halley finds herself sympathetic to the woman. She understands what it’s like to have your entire world, your entire career, yanked away unfairly and without warning.

She finds the phone book—a cognac leather-covered listing of Brockville’s residents—and starts thumbing through. The names are alphabetical; Esworthy is listed on the second page. She dials the number and listens to it ring, then voicemail kicks in. It’s automated, no personalized greeting. She leaves her cell phone number and asks for them to call her back.