Page 2 of The Catcher (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #5)
H e was late.
It was a meeting that had been scheduled a month ago — a meeting she’d told her father about multiple times to ensure that he would be there. He couldn’t possibly be late since he wasn’t working.
Mia fidgeted in her chair, swallowing hard and occasionally making eye contact with the teacher. Each time she smiled, she inwardly prayed the floor would open up and swallow her.
Mr. Anderson’s office was cozy yet functional, with a large window allowing natural light to spill into the room. Mia’s gaze drifted around the space, her discomfort evident in how she shifted in her seat .
Framed diplomas and certificates adorned the beige walls, testaments to Mr. Anderson’s qualifications and dedication to his role. A bulletin board near the door displayed informational flyers about college applications, career workshops, and mental health resources for students.
Unlike other schools, theirs seemed to be unable to afford a full-time guidance counselor, so he was also a regular teacher.
She glanced at her watch for the fifth time.
Every second felt like an eternity.
In one corner of the room, a bookshelf sagged under the weight of numerous binders and textbooks, organized meticulously by subject matter. Mia’s eyes lingered on the titles briefly before flitting away, her mind too preoccupied with thoughts of her absent father.
The desk where Mr. Anderson sat was cluttered with paperwork, and a laptop was open in front of him. A family photo nestled amidst the chaos, a reminder of the personal touch Mr. Anderson brought to his role as a guidance counselor.
Despite the warmth of the morning sunlight streaming through the window, Mia felt a chill settle over her as she sat in the office, the silence broken only by the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Each passing second only heightened her unease.
He wasn’t coming.
She knew it.
How could he do this?
Her mother always attended meetings .
Mr. Anderson leaned back in his seat, tapping his pen against his hand as he glanced out the window. Mia’s gaze bounced down to her Apple Watch, her worry growing as she noticed the time ticking away. She felt embarrassed as Mr. Anderson caught her fidgeting.
“Parents. What can you do,” she said, trying to make light of it.
He smiled back politely, but she could tell he wasn’t amused.
“Excuse me. I need to use the washroom,” she said.
With a shaky breath, Mia rose from her seat.
Her decision to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the counselor’s office was driven by a desperate need for respite from the overwhelming sense of discomfort.
As she stepped into the corridor, the muted sounds of the school echoed around her, a stark contrast to the oppressive stillness of Mr. Anderson’s office.
She let out a heavy breath.
Mia’s footsteps echoed as she hurried away, her thoughts consumed by the unanswered calls to her father and the gnawing fear that something was wrong.
Halfway down the corridor, Mia navigated through a crowd of students rushing to their classes. Lockers slammed shut as the bell echoed through the halls, marking another busy school day. With each step, her anxiety deepened, her thoughts consumed by the unanswered calls to her father.
She paused momentarily, pulling out her phone and trying to reach him again.
The screen illuminated with his contact, but a lump formed in her throat before she could tap.
The last two attempts had gone straight to voicemail.
It was unlike him to be late, especially for something as important as this meeting.
“Dad, where are you?” she murmured into the phone before hanging up, frustration lacing her voice. Mia’s mind raced with worry, her heart hammering against her chest as she entered the girls’ bathroom, seeking solace in the quiet confines of the space.
Once inside, she tapped Gretchen’s number, then Ed’s, hoping for some sign of her father’s whereabouts. With each unanswered call, her anxiety heightened and uncertainty pressed down on her shoulders.
Mia paced back and forth, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
The sound of a flushing toilet signaled she wasn’t alone. A girl she didn’t know stepped out of a stall and glanced her way before washing her hands and leaving.
Embarrassment bloomed in her cheeks.
She had lied to Mr. Anderson, fabricating excuses about his job as a State Police investigator as the reason for his delay. But that wasn’t the truth. Mia felt a sense of helplessness wash over her.
Fumbling her phone, she made one last call, tapping a number she hoped would provide some answers. Mia held her breath as the line rang.
Adirondack Sheriff’s Deputy Callie Thorne pulled her cruiser to a stop at High Peaks Cemetery, the engine falling silent with a final rumble.
Her gaze fixed on the figure curled up in a ball outside.
Through the windshield, she saw him, oblivious to the world around him. With a sigh, Callie exited the car.
The door thudded shut, the sound echoing.
A cold chill nipped at her cheeks as she made her way across the cemetery grounds, golden leaves swirling around her feet — a reminder that winter was coming.
Skirting around several gravestones, Callie approached the figure lying on the ground.
Her radio crackled with static as dispatch spoke to others on patrol.
She turned the volume down, focusing solely on the scene before her.
Upon reaching him, Callie said nothing, surveying the scene with a furrowed brow. Her gaze fell upon the headstone for Alicia Michaels before drifting to an empty glass bottle of bourbon nearby.
She scooped it up, then shook her head, disappointment tugging at her features. Squinting into the distance, she could make out her sister’s gravesite over the headstones.
Losing her had torn her apart, but nothing like the grief and guilt that had eaten away at Noah since losing Alicia. His temporary suspension from the State Police hadn’t helped. It had only encouraged him to withdraw and lose himself in the vices of his past.
“Noah,” she called out, hoping he might hear her. When he didn’t respond, she frowned and crouched beside him, gently shaking his shoulder. “Hey, Noah. Wake up.”
Noah groaned and rolled over, blinking hard as he raised a forearm to shield his eyes from the glare of sunlight. He was dressed in jeans and a thick white sweater layered beneath a sheepskin shearling jacket. He looked disheveled, his usually well-kept appearance marred by stubble and wild hair.
“Please tell me you’re not resorting to sleeping here every night,” Callie said.
Noah groaned in response. “No, and it wasn’t intentional,” he muttered, wiping drool from his jaw.
“Clearly,” Callie remarked dryly, dropping the empty bourbon bottle onto his lap.
“That’s not mine,” Noah protested.
“Really? We’re going to do that?” Callie countered, even as he pulled a silver flask out of his pocket.
“Go on. See. Check for yourself. It’s full. Didn’t take one swig.”
“Of that one,” Callie retorted, shaking her head as she caught a whiff of alcohol mingled with the stench of vomit emanating from him. “You know, Noah, if you’re going to get wasted, at least do it at home.”
Noah cleared his throat and spat on the ground, his movements sluggish as he got to his feet and brushed leaves from his clothing. “You almost sound like you care,” he muttered.
“Don’t be an ass,” Callie replied sharply, her concern masked by a veil of frustration.
“Ugh. What time is it?”
“Eight forty. Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?”
“No. State decided to drag out my suspension. However, I’m glad to see the Sheriff’s Office reinstated you.”
She rested a hand on her duty belt. “I have Mckenzie to thank for that.”
“Helps to know the right people,” he said, pawing at his eyes.
“Come on, let’s go.”
“Where?”
“To the meeting at Mia’s school.”
“What meeting?”
“Parent-teacher meeting.”
“That’s today?”
“Noah. It was at eight-fifteen. Mia’s been calling you. She ended up calling me to find out where you were.”
“Shit!” he said, trying to get up fast but then he gripped his head. “Oh, geez, Louise. I feel like a Mack Truck has hit me.”
“Yeah, alcohol will do that.”
“I had one drink.”
“One long drink. Seriously, Noah. Do you really want to go back down that road again?”
He waved her off. “Please. I know the bottle wasn’t far from you after….” He stopped short of saying it.
“Go on. After what? After I lost my sister? Yeah, you’re right. You lost someone, so did I. But I’m not sleeping on her grave drowning my sorrows. This is not what Alicia would have wanted.”
“Oh, spare me the patronizing bullshit. You barely knew her.” He got up and brushed debris from his jacket.
“You’re right. But at some point, you have to crawl back to the land of the living. And this isn’t how you do it,” she said, turning away from him.
“You lost one person, Callie. One. I lost three — my brother, my kids’ mother, and now Alicia. So forgive me if I don’t meet your timeline of getting over grief or doing it in a manner that gets your approval. I think I’m entitled to wallow a little longer than you.”
She raised both eyebrows at him. “You feel better now?”
He stared back. “No. I feel like shit.” He looked off into the distance, bringing a finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose and squeezing it. “Look, do you have a Tylenol?”
“Yeah, in the cruiser. Come on, I’ll give you a ride to the school.” She raised a finger as she turned. “Though I think you should reschedule. You stink of alcohol and seriously need a shower. It’s not a good look.”
“No need. I drove here.”