Island of Lost Girls - Jennifer McMahon [17]
So far, it was mostly dead ends and crackpots calling: a woman who had a dream that Ernie was in a well, a man over in Chelsea who said he believed there were rabbits living among us, wearing people suits. Rhonda drummed her fingers on the table, got up, and paced. Surely there must be more she could do. She had shown up at Pats first thing in the morning, as soon as Peter called to tell her about the gathering of volunteers, and shed been sure then that today theyd find Ernie.
Pat had seemed overjoyed to see Rhonda: she caught Rhonda up in a tight embrace and said, How awful for you to have seen such a thing. You must be a wreck! But dont worry, well find her. You mark my words! I bet shell show up this very morning!
Pat led a small group through the streets of Pikes Crossing, then into the woods bordering the state forest. They were gone most of the morning and came back for lunch and went out again, to continue combing the woods with Pat cheering them on, saying she was sure they were going to find Ernie that very day.
Rhonda had believed Pat, had even let herself fantasize that it would be her who took the important call; she who put together the string of clues that would lead the cops to Ernie. But now, here it was, a little after three p.m.twenty-four hours since Ernies kidnapping. And the most productive thing Rhonda had done was to keep the coffee pot full.
Fuck, she mumbled to herself, then started organizing papers and pensbusy work. Useless. Little Ernie Floruccis face stared up at her from the flyers strewn across the table.MISSING , said the bold red letters at the top of the page. Underneath was a snapshot of Ernestine taken just the week before. She was wearing a flowered sundress and sitting in the dull yellow grass of her front yard, a plastic kiddie pool in the background. She had dark brown, straight hair done up in pigtails. Her small nose was dotted with freckles and she had a slight gap between her two front teeth. She was smiling up into the camera, squinting a little, like the sun was in her eyes. Or like she couldnt make out something she was looking at in the distance.
Im sorry, Rhonda whispered to the little Ernie as she put the flyers in a neat pile, then sat back down in her chair, willing the phone to ring.
Whatd you say? Warren asked, looking up from his computer. His eyes were a deep, rich, chocolaty brown. A little sad and totally sincere, like the eyes of a basset hound. Rhonda imagined the string of girls Warren must have back in Pennsylvania.
Nothing, Rhonda said, looking away. She leaned back in her chair and turned to see if there was any sign of Peter yet. No. Still in the office with Crowley.
Rumor had it, among the other volunteers, that Peter had the distinction of being Crowleys first suspect. Rumor also had it that the police had impounded Laura Lees Volkswagen and that theyd found one of Ernies red pigtail holders in the front seat. Rhonda herself had overheard Crowley ask Peter if he had a set of keys to his mother-in-laws VW, when she went back to get more pens from the storeroom.
I did, she heard Peter admit. But I lost my key ring about a week ago.
Rhonda could picture the key ring: a half dozen or so keys attached to a bottle opener and, of all things, a small white rabbits foot for luck.
Afraid of being caught eavesdropping, she grabbed the box of pens and returned to the phone table, where she resumed drumming her fingers, waiting for the phone to ring. It was bullshit that Crowley was wasting his time questioning Peter. Everyone, it seemed, was wasting precious time.
By the cash registers, Pat was holding a small press conference, her arm around the silent and tearful Trudy Florucci.
Its times like these, Pat was saying, that pull a community together. The people of Pikes Crossing are not the sort to just stand back and let tragedy overtake them. No, the people of Pikes Crossing are going to go out there and find that little girl. Mark my words: