The Sight Read online

  She won second prize on Get Up and Prove It Night at the Smells Like Good Coffee Café in Seattle.

  She sounds like a normal kid. She is still missing. She is sixteen.

  I look back at the photograph. In Marcus’s neutral face, I think I read obsession. Is the darkness I feel coming from him?

  I have to find out.

  I cross through the kitchen and then mosey down the hall. Diego’s door is open, and I hover in the doorway until he notices me. He’s listening to music on his headphones and chatting online.

  He lifts one earphone when he sees me.

  “Want to go on a stakeout?” I ask.

  Marcus Heffernan turns out to be a rich kid. He lives in a million-dollarish house that backs onto Lake Washington. We park the car outside and wait. The only problem is, I have no idea what we’re waiting for. But we do it for an hour. We finish a bag of donuts ("for atmosphere,” Diego says) and put the CD player on random.

  “This is fun,” Diego says. His voice doesn’t exactly ring with sincerity.

  Okay, so stakeouts are boring. Who knew? They go by so fast on TV.

  I feel responsible for Diego’s boredom, but I have no idea how to entertain him. I had to talk him into coming. First of all, he’s not allowed to drive to Seattle without permission, but I point out that Shay is in meetings all day and can’t talk to us anyway. It’s pretty lame, but it eases his conscience a little bit. Then it turns out that he doesn’t want to drive to Seattle. He has an intermediate license, which means if he gets even two tickets, his license is suspended. I don’t think Diego is afraid of anything, but if he is, it’s of not having a car.

  He drums his fingers on the dash. He shifts in his seat. He clears his throat.

  “So…” he says.

  “So…”

  “So why did you hire that guy to punch you?”

  I look out the window. It’s funny. My life here seemed so unreal to me for so long. But Diego’s question takes me by surprise, because suddenly that life seems far away, my life in Maryland after Mom died, when every day I woke up and had to talk myself into swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

  “Because I wanted to feel pain that wasn’t inside me,” I say. “I thought if I could focus on a different kind of pain, even for a few minutes, I could feel…I don’t know, relief. I could be the me I was before, even temporarily.”

  “Did it work?” He asks the question so delicately, as though he were a doctor probing a wound, which I guess he is.

  “No,” I say. “I just felt pretty stupid, basically. And Jake Buscemi just felt really bad. I think he was surprised that he actually did it. Me, too.”

  “You freaked everyone out,” Diego says.

  “Yeah.” Myself included, actually. That was one bad day.

  “They wanted to maybe put you somewhere for a while,” Diego says.

  This gets my attention. “What? Like a mental institution?”

  Diego nods. “Mom talked them out of it. She put her foot down. Threatened to call in lawyers and everything. They had talked her out of taking you right after…right after, and she gave in because she thought they might be right. That it wasn’t a good idea to remove you from everything you knew.”

  I thought Shay hadn’t wanted me. I thought she’d refused. Maybe they’d told me the way it really was. I couldn’t remember. I wasn’t listening to anyone then.

  “So anyway, you know Pop-Pop and Mimi, they always get their way. And Uncle Owen always sides with them, so Mom was outgunned. But after that thing happened, and they were all wondering what to do, Mom called and told them she wouldn’t take no for an answer, that your mom had wanted you to come live with us, and that’s how it had to be. We’d already redone the room, that summer.”

  “You did my room last summer?”

  “Yeah. In case you ever wanted to come. Anyway, they caved.”

  “I thought I was too much for Mimi and Pop-Pop.”

  “Well, you were.” Diego chuckled. “That’s for sure. They freak when they get rained out of the ninth hole, so you can imagine.”

  It was true. My grandparents are seriously stuck in their ways. If they run out of seven-grain bread at the supermarket, my grandfather wants to file a lawsuit. And everything has to be just so. Spoons go handle down in the dishwasher, forks go handle up. Shoes off when you come in the door. Wipe the cast-iron frying pan with paper towel only. Up, down, top, bottom, off, on, only, never, always. I never understood their rules, and they tried to be nice, but they were always redoing everything I did. Maybe it added to my craziness then, I don’t know. But I never felt right. It was the first time in my life I realized that love wasn’t enough to help somebody.

  “They are serious about toilet paper,” I say. “At first, I didn’t notice. It took me weeks to get it. If I put it on the roll with the paper coming from the bottom of the roll, they’d flip it over. Toilet paper has to come from the top of the roll.”

  “When I visited them, I used to keep switching it back, just to drive them nuts,” Diego says.

  We burst out laughing.

  With Diego poking fun at them in that genial way, I realize for the first time that flunking out of the grandparent living situation wasn’t totally my fault. They are kind of nuts. It wasn’t my fault that I couldn’t fit into their particular brand of craziness. Each family is weird in its own way, I guess, which makes it hard to find your way in a new one.

  “There’s our boy,” Diego says. He starts the engine.

  Marcus walks out of the house, jingling car keys. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt with lettering I can’t read and khaki shorts and boots. If I weren’t a detective, I would notice his legs in a much less clinical way. He hops into a Volkswagen Beetle and backs out of the driveway.

  I duck my head down until Diego says it’s okay. Then we proceed to tail Marcus through the unfamiliar streets of Seattle, through stop signs and red lights. I learn that Diego knows how to curse.

  Marcus stops at a gas station (I duck; Diego curses and keeps going, turns right; it’s a one-way street; we have to circle and get back, hoping Marcus needs a full tank of gas; we spot him as he zooms through a yellow light…), gets caught in a traffic jam (we keep four cars back), and then cruises in the U district, looking for a parking space. He finds one and pulls in.

  “What now?” I ask. I look around, but there are no spaces. Marcus is already getting out of the driver’s seat.

  “Follow him,” Diego says.

  “But how will you find me?”

  “Send me a text message. If I don’t find you or hear from you in fifteen minutes, I’m calling Detective Pasta. Now go.”

  I scoot out the door and bound onto the sidewalk. I keep well behind Marcus. It’s easy to keep him in sight. He’s tall and he’s not walking very fast, chugging on a bottle of sports drink as he goes.

  He disappears into the doorway of a restaurant. My palms are wet. I wipe them on my jeans, then walk slowly up to the window. I give a quick look in.

  Marcus has his back to me. He stops and reads a blackboard with the specials on it. Then he walks behind the counter and picks up an apron, which he ties around his waist. I don’t know how he manages it, but he looks pretty macho in it.

  He’s a waiter. I watch him for a few minutes. He says something to the waitress that makes her smile. He disappears into the kitchen and comes back out. I study his face. I wait for something to break inside me, some kind of flash that will tell me what I need to know.

  When Diego’s hand hits my shoulder, I jump about six inches.

  “Whoa. What’s going on?”

  “He went to work,” I say. “I guess we can go home. He’ll be here for a while.” I feel discouraged. This isn’t getting me anywhere. I have a sense of urgency now, that Emily is in trouble, that she needs me. I’ve got to find a way to link Marcus to Emily, or I have to find another suspect.

  “Come on,” Diego says. “We’ll think of something else. This smells like teen washout.” He
points overhead.

  “What?” I look up at the sign hanging overhead. The name of the café is Smells Like Good Coffee. I had been concentrating so hard on Marcus, I hadn’t noticed it.

  The Smells Like Good Coffee Café. Where Kendall Farmer won second prize on Get Up and Prove It Night.

  “It’s him,” I say, latching onto Diego’s arm. “He’s our guy.”

  NINETEEN

  "Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Diego says, after I explain the connection. “Emily and Kendall both knew Marcus. So what?”

  “The coincidences are piling up,” I argue. “What are the odds of two girls disappearing when they know the same guy? And the person who wiped those computers was an expert. It went way beyond sending stuff to the recycle bin.”

  Diego sighs. “We have to be careful, Gracie. You were certain about Zed.”

  He’s right. But that doesn’t mean I like hearing it. Time is running out for Emily. I can feel it now, and I realize it’s been there the whole day. While we were driving to Seattle, while we were talking in the car, I was feeling it.

  She’s giving up.

  She’s slipping away.

  And the answers are in front of me. I’ve seen the clues.

  I’ve been inside his head.

  “She’s given up trying to be brave,” I say. “She’s given up waiting to be rescued. She’s…fading.”

  “What?” Diego asks.

  “Emily. I feel her emptying out. So that”—my mouth is dry—“so that when the worst happens, she won’t feel it.”

  Diego looks shaken. “Maybe if you had something of Marcus’s, something he owned…”

  “Maybe I’d get a vision!” I say. “It’s worth a shot.”

  We’re only blocks from the computer camp, and I know they don’t start until noon. Diego and I hurry toward it. We push through the doors and run up the stairs to the second floor. All the classrooms are locked.

  “What now?” I ask, frustrated. “Should we try to break in?”

  Diego sighs. He raises his hand and knocks.

  “Or I guess we could try knocking,” I say.

  The door opens. Ryan’s head appears. He brightens when he sees me, then frowns when he sees Diego standing next to me.

  “This is my cousin Diego,” I say.

  Ryan brightens again. “I came in early to get some work done. Come on in.”

  “How come you have a key?” I ask.

  “The instructors give us one if we ask,” Ryan explains. “You have to sign in and stuff. Hey, what brings you here?”

  I hadn’t had much time to prepare a story, so I thought a mixture of truth and fiction was best. “I’m really worried about Emily,” I tell him. Truth. “I guess I was kind of distracted yesterday. I think I left my sunglasses here.” Fiction. “Can I look around?”

  “Sure. Can I help?”

  Diego smiles at Ryan. “That’s okay. We don’t want to interrupt.” He says this firmly, and disappointed, Ryan sits back down at his computer.

  I pretend to look around, and Diego stays between me and Ryan so Ryan won’t have a good sight line. I drift toward the desk where Marcus had been working, but it’s clear of anything, even empty soda cans. Then I see a row of mailboxes with names on them—the names of the instructors. Marcus’s is full to overflowing.

  Bending down and pretending to look on the floor, I rifle through the pages. Memos, mostly, and takeout menus, and assignments handed in by the students. Then I see a corner of a photograph. I slide it out. It’s the same photograph Ryan had given me.

  Something clangs in my head. Something’s wrong. Somewhere behind me, I can hear Diego sneezing, and I wish he’d stop, because I can’t concentrate.

  Suddenly, Ryan reaches down and takes the photograph.

  “It was on the floor,” I say.

  His face is red, as though he’s angry. “Jonah Castle gave us each a copy,” he says. “This must belong to Marcus.” He quickly stuffs it back in the mailbox.

  Diego knocks over a pile of circuits, and Ryan yells, “Hey!” and runs over. Quickly, I stuff the photograph in my purse. I dig out my sunglasses.

  “Found them! I must have kicked them under the desk. Thanks so much, Ryan.” I pour as much flirtatiousness as I can manage into my thank-you, but Ryan doesn’t respond. His head is down as he reassembles the circuits, and he mumbles a good-bye.

  As soon as we’re outside, I turn to Diego. “You could have warned me Ryan was coming.”

  “I did! I sneezed!”

  “What kind of a signal is a sneeze?”

  "A clever one.”

  “A sneeze isn’t a signal; it’s an allergic reaction.”

  “Great. Next time I’ll fart.”

  Suddenly, I realize what it must be like to grow up with an older brother. I take out the photograph.

  There’s something different about it. What?

  And then I get it.

  “Emily’s not here,” I say. I shake my head, confused. “She’s gone.”

  Diego looks over my shoulder. “Where was she?”

  “Here, next to Ryan. Now there’s just empty space.”

  “So they took two photographs that day,” Diego says.

  “But everyone has the same expression. And Jonah Castle is still holding the cell phone in the same position. No, this is the same one.” I look up at Diego. “Someone digitally altered it. They removed her.” I shivered.

  “The question is, who?” Diego says.

  “It was in Marcus’s box.”

  “But Ryan looked really freaked.”

  “He always looks freaked.”

  We walk to the car and get in. Diego starts the engine. I stare back down at the photograph. The absence of Emily registers as a presence. It’s like the ghost of her is there, the ghost of the Emily that is fading, and it’s saying, find me.

  TWENTY

  Shay makes spinach lasagna that night. I eat two helpings and then drag myself to my room, ready to fire up Google once again.

  Shay appears in my doorway. “Want to catch some mindless TV for the masses?”

  “No thanks,” I say. “I’d rather use the computer.”

  “Okay.” Shay smiles, but I can tell she’s disappointed. I almost feel like changing my mind and losing myself in a laugh track, but my brain is burning to hit the Internet for info, and I just can’t take a detour. The feeling I got today about Emily pushes out everything except this need to find her.

  I’ve turned Shay down for so many things over the past months. TV, movies, Scrabble, hikes, pedicures at the day spa. I don’t know why tonight I feel badly about saying no. I guess it’s because she keeps trying.

  I log online and plug Marcus into the search engine. I don’t exactly hit paydirt. I get the website of the computer camp, but I knew that already. And apparently, Marcus writes for the campus newspaper, because a bunch of articles pop up, but none of them look as though they have even a remote connection to Emily or Kendall, dull stuff about school policy, off-campus lectures, and a couple of film reviews.

  Then, back in July of last year, I see something interesting.

  Interview with Jonah Castle.

  At least I might learn more about the computer camp. I click on the link.

  I quickly scan the article. It’s all about how Jonah Castle funded the computer camp to help gifted students. Out of all his charities, this is the one close to his heart. He was a prodigy and he knows how lonely it can be. Blah, blah, blah. It all sounds so canned. Potential. Encouragement. Leadership. Synergy. Dreams. Values. The usual.

  Q: You had an unusual childhood. You were home-schooled, you had eleven brothers and sisters, and your family lived on a private island in Puget Sound. Has your upbringing influenced the way you look at education today?

  A: It’s funny. I don’t see my childhood as unusual. Does anyone? It’s your reality, and you don’t have anything to compare it to. I consider myself lucky to have been home-schooled by my parents, who were brilliant scho
lars and imaginative teachers. Each of my siblings was encouraged to develop a specific skill. My sister Frances was an accomplished vocalist. My brother Tate was an outstanding mathematician. Another sister played the clarinet. Our playtime always involved our studies, and our family fun always had an educational element.

  Q: In other words, you weren’t hanging out watching South Park.

  A: No, we were reading aloud, or putting on our own entertainments. We were off the grid, anyway.

  Q: Sounds like a pretty cool childhood.

  A: It was.

  Sorry, Jonah Castle, but your childhood sounds like a snooze fest.

  Diego pops his head in the doorway. “Eureka, I found it.”

  “Found what?”

  “The original photograph. Megawall has its company newsletter archived online. I printed it out. Here.”

  He hands me the photograph. It’s identical to the one I took from Marcus’s mailbox. No Emily.

  “So what does it mean?” I wonder. “Did someone scan Emily in or scan her out?”

  “I’ve got one way to find out.” Diego hands me the phone. “Call Ryan.”

  “But if he’s involved, he’ll lie.”

  “We’ve got to take that chance. At least, we’ll be doing something.”

  I read Ryan’s number off the back of the photo he gave me and punch it out. He answers on the first ring. When I explain who I am, he says, “Wow, I never thought you’d call. I mean, I hoped you’d call. But I never—”

  “Ryan, I saw the photograph today in Marcus’s box.”

  “Yeah,” he says cautiously.

  “Emily isn’t in it, but she’s in the one you gave me.”

  “Yeah.”

  I wait.

  “Okay. We got a pile of photos from Megawall? And they had edited out Emily because she wasn’t in the camp after all? The photo goes out for publicity and everything, so I guess they wanted it to be accurate. So that made me feel bad, and I thought that it would be a nice present if I gave her a photograph with her in it. I’d taken a photo of her that day wearing the shirt. So I scanned the photo and scanned her in. It was just to make her happy, okay?”