“Don’t let me stop you,” the newcomer said, voice even and overwhelmingly professional. “I’ll wait.”
Something in the tone of his voice made me lose my taste for whimsy, so I turned around and saw a police officer standing by the counter, looking up at me.
From my vantage point, I could see everything he had hanging on his gun belt: gun, radio, pepper spray, handcuffs, cell phone.
When you have secrets, even if they’re not secrets of the illegal sort, seeing a police officer in your of the illegal sort, seeing a police officer in your workplace has a terrible effect on you.
I slowly climbed down behind the counter and said, with a halfhearted gesture to my crane, “It wasn’t working very well, anyway. Can I…help you find something?” I hesitated on the question, since I knew he wasn’t here to talk about books. I felt my pulse, hard and fast, pounding in my neck. Isabel had disappeared, and for all intents and purposes, the store looked empty.
“Actually, if you’re not busy, I’d like to talk with you for a moment,” the officer said politely. “You are Samuel Roth, right?”
I nodded.
“I’m Officer Koenig,” he said. “I’m working on Olivia Marx’s case.”
Olivia. My stomach felt tight. Olivia, one of Grace’s closest friends, had been unwillingly bitten last year and had spent the last few months as a wolf in Boundary Wood. Her family thought she’d run away.
Grace should’ve been here. If lying were an Olympic sport, Grace would’ve been champion of the world. For someone who hated creative writing, she certainly was an awesome storyteller.
“Oh,” I said. “Olivia.”
I was nervous about the cop being here, asking questions, but weirdly, I was more nervous because Isabel, who already knew the truth, was listening. I could imagine her crouching behind one of the shelves, arching an eyebrow scornfully when a lie fell flat on my unpracticed lips.
“You knew her, correct?” The officer had a friendly look on his face, but how friendly could someone be when he ended a question with correct?
“A little,” I said. “I met her in town a few times. But I don’t go to her school.”
“Where do you go to school?” Again, Koenig’s voice was completely pleasant and conversational. I tried to tell myself that his questions felt suspicious only because I had something to hide.
“I was homeschooled.”
“My sister was, too,” Koenig said. “Drove my mother crazy. So, you do know Grace Brisbane, though, correct?”
Again with the correct? stuff. I wondered if he was starting with the questions he already knew the answers to. I was again acutely aware of Isabel, silently listening.
“Yes,” I said. “She’s my girlfriend.”
It was a bit of information they probably didn’t have and probably didn’t need to have, but it was something that I wanted Isabel to hear for some reason.
I was surprised to see Koenig smile. “I can tell,” he said.
Though his smile seemed genuine, it made me stiffen, wondering if I was being played.
“Grace and Olivia were good friends,” Koenig continued. “Can you tell me the last time you saw Olivia? I don’t need an exact date, but as close as possible would be really helpful.”
Now he had a little blue notebook flipped open and a pen hovering over it.
“Um.” I considered. I’d seen Olivia, snow dusting her white fur, just a few weeks earlier, but I didn’t think that would be the most helpful thing to tell Koenig. “I saw her downtown. Here, actually. In front of the store.
Grace and I were killing some time, and Olivia was here with her brother. But that must have been months ago. November? October? Right before she disappeared.”
“Do you think Grace has seen her more recently?”
I tried to hold his gaze. “I’m pretty sure that’s the last time she saw Olivia as well.”
“It’s really difficult for a teen to manage on his or her own,” Koenig said, and this time I felt sure that he knew all about me and that his words were loaded with meaning just for me, drifting without Beck. “Really difficult for a runaway. There are lots of reasons that kids run away, and judging from what I heard from Olivia’s teachers and family, depression might have had something to do with it. A lot of times these teens just run away because they need to get out of the house, but they don’t know how to survive out in the world. So sometimes, they only run as far away as the next house over. Sometimes—” I interrupted him before he could get any further.
“Officer…Koenig? I know what you’re trying to say, but Olivia isn’t at Grace’s house. Grace hasn’t been slipping her food or helping her out. I wish, for Olivia’s sake, that the answer was that easy. I’d love it for Grace’s sake, too. I’d love to tell you that I knew exactly where Olivia was. But we’re wondering when she’s going to come back just as much as you are.”
I wondered if this was how Grace spilled out her most useful lies—by manipulating them into something she could believe.
“You understand I had to ask,” he said.
“I know.”
“Well, thanks for your time, and please let me know if you hear anything.” Koenig started to turn, then paused. “What do you know about the woods?”
I was frozen. I was a motionless wolf hidden in the trees, praying not to be seen.
“Excuse me?” I said faintly.
“Olivia’s family said she took a lot of photos of the wolves in the woods, and that Grace is also interested in them. Do you share that interest?”
I could only nod wordlessly.
“Do you think there’s any chance she would try to make a go of it out there by herself, instead of running to another city?”
Panic clawed inside my head, as I imagined the police and Olivia’s family crawling over the acres and acres of woods, searching the trees and the pack’s shed for evidence of human life. And possibly finding it.
I tried to keep my voice light. “Olivia never really struck me as the outdoorsy sort. I really doubt it.”
Koenig nodded, as if to himself. “Well, thanks again,” he said.
“No problem,” I said. “Good luck.”
The door dinged behind him; as soon as I saw his squad car pull away from the curb, I let my elbows fall onto the counter and pushed my face into my hands.
God.
“Nicely done, boy wonder,” Isabel said, rising from amongst the nonfiction books with a scuffling sound on the carpet. “You hardly sounded psychotic at all.”
I didn’t reply. All of the things the cop could’ve asked about were running through my head, leaving me feeling more nervous now than when he’d been here. He could’ve asked about where Beck was. Or if I’d heard about three missing kids from Canada. Or if I knew anything about the death of Isabel Culpeper’s brother.
“What is your problem?” Isabel asked, a lot closer this time. She slid a stack of books onto the counter with her credit card on top. “You completely handled it.
They’re just doing routine stuff. He’s not really suspicious. God, your hands are shaking.”