Page 19 of The Missing Half

It’s the middle of the day, hot and sunshiny, and Lauren’s neighborhood is alive with summertime. Kids laugh and shout in the distance, the sprinklers in a nearby yard make a rhythmic beat, and somewhere a few blocks away, I can hear the tinkling song of an ice cream truck. Despite all this, I feel a chill of fear.

Jenna looks around. “Let’s talk in the truck.”

“What do you think happened?” I say once we’ve climbed in and closed the doors. “Do you think someone talked to her?”

“Or did something else,” Jenna says. “But, yeah, I think someone tried to scare her. And it obviously worked.”

“Jesus. This is because of us. Just like Lauren said. I mean, what’re the odds that we approach her about all this and then less than seven days later, someone else just happens to do the same fucking thing?”

“But how would anyone know what we’ve been doing?” Jenna says. “I haven’t told anyone. Have you?”

“No. But, I mean, we’ve talked to people. Wyler, McLean—McLean! It could’ve been him.”

“Maybe, yeah.” Jenna screws up her face. “But Lauren already gave us his name. If it were him, why wouldn’t she just say it?”

“Maybe she didn’t know it was him. He could’ve called or left a note or something.”

“And you’re sure you haven’t told anyone else?”

“Yes, of course I’m…” My voice fades.

“What?” Jenna says.

“Nothing. I just realized I mentioned it to Brad too, but—”

“Who’s Brad?”

“I’ve told you about him,” I say. “He’s a family friend. He gave me my job at Funland.”

“And you told him you were looking into Kasey’s disappearance?”

Beneath her casual tone, I feel an edge of accusation and let out an incredulous little laugh. “He has nothing to do with this,” I say, thinking of the way Brad so carefully tucks his Funland polo into his khaki slacks, how he kisses Sandy goodbye on the cheek. “Believe me.”

“But what did you tell him?”

I shrug. “He heard me leaving a voicemail for Wyler. He was there for the entire investigation, so he knows Wyler, knew what it meant that I was calling him. I asked him if he recognized McLean’s name.”

“What about Lauren? Did you mention Lauren’s name to him?”

“No. I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. The idea that Brad has anything to do with this is, like, absurd. You just gotta take my word on this one.”

“Hang on, Nic,” Jenna says. “Think for a second. Did you mention Lauren’s name or not?”

I roll my eyes. I’m about to say no again when it occurs to me. “Yeah, I did. I told him she gave us McLean’s name.”

“Shit.”

“Jenna, stop. Listen to me. I trust this guy. He’s been like a second dad to me since I was born.” Brad, with his good-natured check-ins and gentle reminders. Brad, the man my dad has gone fishing with dozens of times over the years. Brad, the man we’ve vacationed with, the father of the boys with whom we grew up, the mild-mannered boss who’s let me get away with so much over the years. “He’s not the one who scared Lauren. I promise you.”

“Okay…but somebody got to her, and our options are pretty limited. The list of people who know what we’re doing is, like, three.”

“That doesn’t mean it was him,” I say. “Jesus. It was probably fucking McLean. You met that guy. We didn’t give him Lauren’s name, but he got there in the end.”

“That’s true.” But she looks skeptical.

For a moment, we’re quiet, lost in our thoughts. Eventually, Jenna says, “What if…”

“What?”

“I don’t know if it’ll work, but I just got an idea.”

“Okay…” I say.

“What if we knock on Lauren’s door and tell her we know about Brad. If he was the one who scared her, she’ll think we already know about what happened, and she might talk.”

“That’s your idea?”

Jenna shrugs. “If it doesn’t work, we’re no worse off than we are now.”

“Why use Brad’s name?” I say. “Why not McLean’s?”

“Because we’ve already talked to Lauren about him. I know that was before whatever happened happened, but she seemed perfectly fine talking about him at the time. There are three people who know what we’re doing—Wyler, McLean, and Brad—and the only one out of the three we haven’t spoken with her about is Brad.”

“I mean, sure,” I say, “but there’s a good chance whoever got to her did it anonymously and Lauren doesn’t even know who it was. If our theory that someone scared her is even right in the first place.” But the real reason I’m pushing back is because a bad, frenetic energy is building inside me. I don’t usually think of Brad sentimentally, but with Jenna pointing fingers at him, I realize that he and Sandy are the only people I really have left in the world. I need Jenna to believe me when I say he’s innocent.

As if reading my mind, Jenna says, “If you believe Brad had nothing to do with this, this’ll be the first step toward proving it.”

I close my eyes. I don’t have much faith in the plan, but I want Jenna to be able to cross Brad off her list. I want to move on. “Fine,” I say eventually. “But I’ll do the talking.”

Jenna lifts her palms. “Be my guest.”

Once again, we get out of the truck and walk up Lauren’s front path. When I press my finger into the doorbell, there’s a sudden explosion of activity at the sound of the chime: a patter of feet, an excited exclamation from Beth Anne, then a sharp one from Lauren, telling her, I imagine, not to answer the door.

Through one of the tall, narrow windows that frame the door, I see Lauren approach. When she locks eyes with mine, her face goes hard. “Nic,” she says from behind the glass. “I told you I can’t talk.” Her words are muffled but distinguishable.

“I know, but—”

“Just go away.” Her plea screws into my chest. I may not like the person she’s become, but I can tell she’s genuinely afraid.

“Lauren, we—”

“Nic, please.”

I shoot a sideways glance at Jenna, then force out the words. “We know about Brad!”

Silence. For a long moment, there’s nothing. Then the slide of a lock, the twist of a knob. The door creaks open a few inches to reveal a sliver of Lauren’s face.

“You know about him and Kasey?”