A Cold Dark Place

ChapterTen

Tuesday, 5:40 PM, Cherrystone, Washington

Red spattered the countertops. A German-made butcher knife dripped crimson. A pot of water sent a cloud of steam from the stovetop toward the kitchen skylight. Emily Kenyon surveyed the kitchen. Orderliness had been replaced by chaos. Schoolbooks were scattered all over the tabletop; a navy sweatshirt was on the floor. Yet everything was still, save for the rolling boil of the six-quart Calphalon pot. A blue flame licked its blackened sides.

"Jenna?"

There was no answer and Emily's heart rate accelerated. Her eyes darted about the room.

"Jenna? Where are you?" She reached for the knob and turned down the gas. The pot slowed its boil to a simmer. "Jenna!"

Emily heard a sound and spun around.

"Hi Mom!" It was Jenna, emerging from the hallway. "Spaghetti tonight."

"So I see," Emily said, lightening, and feeling a little foolish, but not wanting to say so. "And a mess to clean up"

Jenna reached for a dishcloth. "Yeah, it did get out of hand" She picked up the knife she used to cut tomatoes for the sauce and deposited it in the sink. "But I wanted to make the sauce the way you like it and that takes work. Probably too much work. Next time, it'll be out of a jar."

Emily smiled. She opened the refrigerator and saw that Jenna had made a salad-more tomatoes, Bibb lettuce, English cucumber. She grabbed a half bottle of merlot on the counter, uncorked it, and poured herself a glass.

"Pepsi for you?" she asked.

"Sure.,,

Emily retrieved a second stemmed glass and filled it with Pepsi. Jenna had gone to a lot of trouble making a special meal and a fancy glass was in order.

"I had the proverbial day from hell," Emily said. She slipped off her shoes and took a seat on one of the kitchen barstools while Jenna dumped a box of pasta into the water.

"Did you salt it?" she asked.

Jenna nodded. "Yes. And I already heard about your day. Everybody at school is talking about the Martins."

The merlot in Emily's hand swirled in the crystal globe of the stemware, coating the sides and flowing back into a deep pool of garnet. The blood she'd seen at the Martin house flashed in her mind. She set down the glass.

"I'll bet. Seems like the whole world has literally turned over since the tornado" Emily swiveled the barstool to face her daughter, now stirring the pasta with a wooden spoon as it foamed, nearly boiling over. "You know Nick Martin, don't you, honey?"

Jenna shrugged slightly, her eye still on the pasta. "Well enough to know he didn't kill his family, if that's what you're asking." She set the stainless steel colander in the sink and retrieved the heavy pot of water.

The steam rushed from the sink as the water drained into the colander.

"I really don't know that much about Nick except I just can't believe he'd kill anyone. He was an artist. He looked a little creepy but his art was always sweet. Birds and nature stuff. He wasn't drawing death avengers or violent images of women being stabbed and bound like half the other guys in the class."

Emily knew exactly what she was talking about. The schools did a good job about being PC and tolerant when it came to every other group besides women. It was still all right for boys to run around with images of tied-up women on their T-shirts.

"That looks great, sweetie," said Emily as her daughter transferred the pasta to a bowl and began pouring on the sauce. "I'm getting to bed early," she said. "Sheriff's going to be on Diane Sawyer tomorrow and I don't want to miss it."

Jenna's eyes widened and she started to laugh. "Oh wow! That would be worth seeing. I'm calling Shali. The girl will think your boss is a superstar."

Wednesday, 6:39 A.M.

The bed held her like a coffin. Despite all that had gone on in Cherrystone, Emily slept more soundly that night than she had in a week. She'd laid her head on the pillow and the next moment the alarm clock beeped to wake her. The merlot, she thought. Better than knockout drops. She put on the thinning white terry robe she'd taken home from the hotel in Cabo San Lucas where she and David had honeymooned. They'd been so happy. It hadn't all been fury and vitriol. The man that made her angrier than any other had also been the love of her life. She couldn't bear to toss the robe, even though it was frayed at the cuffs. Her wedding ring was buried deep in her jewelry box, never to be worn again, but not the robe.

She padded down the hall toward the kitchen. Passing her daughter's room, she knocked once. "Jenna, get up! Kiplinger's on TV in ten minutes or so. I'll make coffee"

The kitchen was still a mess, but Emily could deal with that. She turned on the burr grinder and it made its interminable racket. Fresh ground coffee never smelled so good. She imagined Kiplinger getting his big handsome face powdered by some assistant provided by the Spokane ABC affiliate, where he was going to appear via satellite.

"Jenna!" She called once more, as she filled the filter with the dark roast that smelled heavenly at that hour. Always did. She poured distilled water in the reservoir and flipped the switch. The machine rumbled.

Diane Sawyer, all sunny and blond, was on the tube, talking about Cherrystone and the twister that miraculously had killed no one, but now the town was the scene of a murder investigation.

The show broke for the local Spokane weather.

Good, it was just a tease, telling the audience what was coming after the next commercial break. She hadn't missed the sheriff.

Emily hurried down the hall and pushed open the door. Jenna's room was empty. The bed made. She looked at her watch. It was almost seven. Shali must have come to get her early. It passed through her mind that earlier this week Jenna had mentioned something about posters and banners needing to be put up at school.

"First a devastating tornado and now a small town in Washington State is reeling with a mysterious homicide."

It was Diane Sawyer talking.

Emily, her robe flapping as she ran to the living room, fixed her eyes on the TV screen.

Brian Kiplinger stared into the camera. Or stared at something. Emily couldn't be sure what he was looking at. His eyes looked around nervously. He nodded like a doll with a spring neck as Diane coolly asked what was known about the Martin family.

"This is a good family. The kid was troubled. We're not sure what happened, but we think the answers will be uncovered once we find him. I have my best detective on the case"

Nice, Emily thought, a shout out from the sheriff. Of course, I'm the only detective so that makes me the best by default.

"What theories do you have about what might have happened?" Sawyer asked.

"We don't know. We don't speculate. But we do want to find Nicholas Martin." His eyes darted in search of a place to focus, and the camera mercifully cut to a high school yearbook picture of Nicholas. Unsmiling, with his dark locks and spooky blue eyes, Nichols did look troubled. "He's not a suspect, but he is a person of interest." Kiplinger's face came back into view. Sawyer thanked him and as the camera cut away, he continued to talk, thanking her for the opportunity to be on her show, but the sound was cut off.

Emily made a mental note to tell him he did a great joband that he could have the next biggie when it came to interviews. She didn't need the grief.

Emily poured her coffee and given the state of the world, the effects of the wine from the night before, and what was facing her that day with the Martin investigation, she used the steaming brew to swallow three aspirins. No cream in the coffee that morning. She still needed the buzz.

A familiar horn beeped from the driveway. It was Shalimar Patterson's VW bug. The girls must have forgotten some thing. Emily wished they'd come back ten minutes sooner; they'd have seen Kiplinger's media debut.

The horn honked again and Emily went to the door. Not wanting the neighbors seeing her in her bathrobe, she stuck her head out.

"Hey Mrs. Kenyon," Shali called from the open driver's window, "tell your daughter to get her butt out here"

"What? Jenna's not home. I thought she was with you"

"Here I am. And she's not here?" She turned off the ignition and the VW coughed until the engine stopped. "Where is the weirdo?"

Emily ignored Shali and hurried down the hall. The bed was made. The desk light was on. Jenna wasn't in her bathroom. Everything there was in its place. She looked in the shower stall and it was dry. She touched a towel. Dry.

"Where is she?" It was Shali Patterson, who must have let herself inside.

Emily tried to stay calm.

"Did she say anything to you? Did she have a meeting at school this morning? Early?"

Shali Patterson stood frozen, searching her memory for something that she had probably screwed up. She never paid attention to anything.

"I don't know," she finally said. Shali slumped down into the cushioned desk chair in front of the pink computer. Its dark empty screen stared at her like an enormous blank eye.

"Think. Think, Shali. This isn't like her. You know it." Could Shali see panic starting to emerge on her face?

"I don't have a clue. She's Jenna. She probably went jogging or something." Now Shali was looking panicky.

"That's an idea," Emily said, realizing now that she was scaring the girl.

Right now, she was scared witless. It was one thing to have some kid missing from the mall, but with the Polly Klaas case had come an indelible marker in the annals of crime. Parents across America had learned that brazen lowlife creeps driven by the need to fulfill their twisted needs will go right into a little girl's bedroom to get what they want. No fear. No worries. Just a way to get what they want.

Emily was jumping to conclusions and she knew better. Facts first, feeling second. The room was in perfect order. The window was shut and latched. She looked around. Jenna's pink Juicy sweats were hung on a peg. She hadn't gone for an early morning jog. And even though all of that was apparent, she didn't let on that her heart was pounding with fear.

"This is crazy," she muttered. "This is Jenna. There must be an explanation."

Suddenly, Shali started to cry. "Right. Yes. There is. Maybe I was supposed to meet her at school." The teenager buried her face in her hands. As she did so, her elbows nudged the computer mouse. The screen sprang to life. Emily put her arms around Shali's shoulders and tried to comfort her.

"It's fine. There's nothing to worry about. We'll find her," said Emily.

"Jenna has been a little off lately."

"What do you mean?" Emily was startled.

Shali didn't answer. Her eyes were riveted to the computer screen, its ghastly blue glow casting a pall over her tear-streaked face.

"Mrs. Kenyon," she said, her voice full of fear. She pointed to the screen.

Emily's eyes followed Shali's finger. A chat window had been left open. She bent closer and read each line

Batboy88: Don't give up on me.

Jengrrl: Never.

Batboy88: I messed up.

Jengrrl: We all do sometimes.

Batboy88: Yeah. But this is big.

Jengrrl: Where RU?

Batboy88: I'll meet U.

Jengrrl: Same place?

Batboy88: Y.

Jengrrl: When can you be there?

Batboy88: Two hours.

Jengrrl: OK. R U sure U don't want me to tell mom?

Batboy88: She won't understand.

Jengrrl: K.

"Who is Batboy88?" Emily tugged at Shali's shoulder.

Shali shook her head.

"Do you know?"

"I don't know. She's never mentioned him to me. I never heard of Batboy. A chat friend? She didn't say anything about him last night."

"Last night?" Emily brightened. "You talked with Jenna?"

"Yeah, she said she'd tape the Good Morning America show so we could watch it later. I told her okay. She said she was too distracted to get up super early."

"Distracted?"

"I don't know. I'm thinking. She said you had a blowup with her dad yesterday. Does that help?"

Emily remembered. But Batboy88 surely wasn't David's handle. "Was she upset?"

Shali watched as Emily frantically moved around the room, looking for something-anything-that might indicate where Jenna had gone. Her coat was missing. Her purse was nowhere to be seen. The hamper was empty. She'd left wearing what she'd had on at dinner.

"She seemed a little off, but she didn't tell me to forget coming to pick her up this morning."

Emily processed what she was hearing and seeing. The bedroom that she had grown up in, the room that she lov ingly painted pink for her daughter when they returned to the big old house in Cherrystone, made her shudder.

She dialed David's number and he picked up. Noise like an ocean growled in the background. He was on the freeway, probably headed to the hospital.

"Are you alone?" she asked.

"Do you mean is she with me?"

"Not her. Is Jenna with you?"

David adjusted the volume of the speaker phone, his fingers too big for the tiny controls. Traffic whizzed past. He leaned closer to hear.

"For a second, I thought you said Jenna," he said.

Emily let out a breath. It seemed like the first one since she dialed her ex. It was as if she was one of those apnea patients and had forgotten how to breathe.

"I did, David. Jenna's missing."

"Missing?"

"Did you hear from her last night?"

"No "'

"Our daughter is gone"