Panic (11 page)

Mrs. Landers mumbled something incoherent and hurried out of the room.

Mercedes turned to Shasta, who was looking at her with big, hopeful eyes. “So, how you holdin' up, Miss Shasta?” Mercedes asked.

“Not so good,” the little girl admitted.

“Can we go hide in your room?” Mercedes asked.

“Okay. I think that's the only place in the house the police haven't turned upside down—yet.”

As they headed for the stairs, Mercedes counted three policemen in the living room and two more in the den. Phones rang. Strange wires had been stretched across the floor. A bulky piece of electronic equipment sat on the dining room table next to a set of telephones.

“That stuff is for in case the kidnappers call for ransom—so they can trace the call,” Shasta whispered.

“How do you know all this?”

“I listen at the top of the stairs.”

When they reached Shasta's room, Shasta closed the door and locked it. Mercedes looked around. She'd never actually been in it—she'd only ever given it a quick glance on her way to Diamond's room. It was done in little-girl pink, with ponies and Barbie dolls and sparkly decorations on the walls. All the walls except for one. Black crayon and marker had been scribbled all over that one, at least the bottom four and a half feet of it that Shasta had been able to reach. Deep black streaks of black Magic Marker. Jagged circles and swirls. Thick, angry lines of black crayon.

Shasta plopped down on a pale pink beanbag chair. Her bed was unmade, the sheets in a pile on the floor.

Mercedes sat in the desk chair. “Interesting decorating style,” she said, nodding toward the wall.

“I got mad.”

“I see. Did it help?”

“Not really.”

“Did your mom see this yet?”

“She wouldn't notice. Mama's living in crazy land. Daddy too.”

“It's pretty bad, huh?”

“Mama keeps throwing up. And crying. Daddy breaks things.”

“That must be a little frightening,” Mercedes ventured.

Shasta shook her head. “You know what's a really scary thing to see?”

“What?”

“My daddy crying.”

Mercedes reached over and gently touched Shasta's cheek. “What about you?”

Shasta started to cry. “I did something bad.” She hiccupped.

Mercedes moved over and squatted beside her, alarmed.

“What did you do, Shasta?”

“Mama and Daddy are gonna be so mad.” She cried harder.

“What? You can tell me,” Mercedes said gently.

Shasta looked through teary eyes at her, then over at the pile of sheets on the floor.

“I wet the bed last night.”

Mercedes felt relief surge through her. “Oh, sweetiegirl, that's okay. Really.”

“I haven't done that since I was, like, two years old!” Shasta admitted, covering her face with her fingers.

“Shhh. Shhh. Shhh. We'll just put some clean sheets on your bed. No big deal.”

“What if I mess up again tonight?”

“Then I'll come over and help you again tomorrow.”

Shasta stopped crying and gave her a baleful look. “You won't tell my mama?”

“Pinky promise. Plus, she's got enough on her mind.”

Mercedes found some bright yellow sheets in a hall closet and swiftly changed Shasta's bed. She smoothed the blankets and patted the pillows, then motioned Shasta to climb up.

“Smells good,” Shasta said.

“Yeah, I like clean sheets. Maybe they'll help you sleep better tonight.”

“Probably not, if Diamond isn't home yet.”

“She'll come home soon.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she loves you, and she knows you're worried about her.”

“Remember when I asked if I could come to the mall with you and Diamond?”

“Yeah.”

“If I had been there, Diamond wouldn't be missing.” Shasta started wailing. “She wouldn't have left me alone in the food court.”

“She never would have—you're right. But you can't beat yourself up over what happened. That's what everybody keeps telling me.”

“Nobody thinks a food court in a mall is dangerous,” Shasta said. “Except sometimes the food is nasty.”

“True that.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Shasta said, “Mama said I can't go to dance class. She won't even let me go to school tomorrow.”

“She's just being careful. Are you all coming to the candlelight vigil tonight?” Mercedes asked.

“Yeah. We'll be there.” Shasta paused. “Uh, Mercedes, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What's a vigil? Everybody keeps talking about it, but . . . I was afraid to ask. It sounds kinda scary.”

Mercedes pulled Shasta close. “It's where all of Diamond's friends will gather tonight to pray for her safe return. It should be nice.”

“Okay. Thanks. All I knew was that it was outside, in the dark.”

Mercedes gave her a hug. “Hey, you want something to eat? There's good food downstairs.”

Shasta shook her head. “I'm not hungry.”

“Not even for my mom's chocolate cake?”

Shasta gave a little giggle. “Well, maybe a little.”

Mercedes left Shasta scribbling in a notebook rather than on the walls. At the bottom of the steps, she ran into Mrs. Landers.

“Mercedes, one of the officers wants to speak with you—he's a computer expert and profiler.”

“Sure, anything to help.”

Diamond's mother led her toward a youngish-looking man with sandy brown hair. He offered his hand to Mercedes. “Thanks for speaking to me. I'm Officer Rockside, and I'd like to ask you a few questions.”

He motioned for her to sit at a chair in the dining room, where Diamond's Dell laptop with the custom-made rose-covered cover lay on the table, cords running to and from it. It was attached to a larger computer, which the police must have set up.

Diamond would sizzle if she knew someone was going through her personal stuff—her e-mails, her Facebook postings, her online history—was Mercedes' first thought.

“What are you looking for on Diamond's computer?” she asked.

“Any kind of clue that might help us find her. You and Diamond are pretty close friends, right?”

“Yeah, we've been tight since grade school.”

“Would you know if she'd been talking to someone online, someone not in your usual circle of friends?”

“Yes, I would, and she wasn't!”

“How can you be sure?”

“We tell each other everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Are you aware she'd been talking on Facebook to someone named Justin Braddock?”

Mercedes had to stifle a smirk. “He's a guy in our dance class. He goes to our school; he's our friend.”

The officer didn't respond, but jotted a few lines in his notebook. “So you know him?”

“I just told you. He's in our class at Crystal Pointe Dance Academy. If she's texted or e-mailed him, it was dance-related. There's nothing going on there. Besides, he likes another girl at the studio.”

“Her name, please?” His pencil was poised.

“Layla Ridgewood.”

He looked up then and asked, “Do you and Diamond text each other much?”

“All the time. Practically twenty-four-seven.”

“May I have permission to look at your cell phone and check your past text messages?”

“If it will help find Diamond, you can download every stupid message I've ever sent or received in my whole life. But you won't find anything. We're just high school kids keepin' up with each other. We don't talk to weirdos.”

Again, he wrote more notes. “Do you spend much time online?”

“Me? Yeah, I guess.”

“What kind of sites do you visit?”

“Music sites. Games. Movie stars and singers. Looking up stuff for school. The usual.” Even though she'd never done anything out of the ordinary on her computer, Mercedes suddenly felt uncomfortable with the policeman's questions. What if she had clicked on something wrong by accident?

“Do you have a Facebook page?”

“Yes.”

“Do you post regularly?”

“Yeah, pretty much every day. It's kinda how we keep in touch with our friends. Texting and Facebook.”

“Do you tweet? Or follow the tweets of people other than your friends at school?”

“A little. Sometimes I actually talk to real people!”

Officer Rockside laughed at that. “Me too.” Then he asked Mercedes abruptly, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Mercedes frowned impatiently. “Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“His name, please?”

“Steve. Steve Wilkins. He's a senior at our school. Why are you asking me all this? They asked me all this stuff yesterday.”

“Bear with me, please. I'm trying to get a feel for Diamond's life. If we understand you, her best friend, it will help us to understand Diamond, and maybe that information will assist us in finding her.”

Mercedes couldn't contain herself. “Maybe if you'd actually
look
for her, you'd have a better chance of finding
her than sitting here asking me questions!” she cried.

Officer Rockside ignored her outburst and calmly went on to the next question. “Does Diamond have a boyfriend?”

“Not right now. She broke up with a guy when school started last fall, and she hasn't really settled on anyone since. She doesn't date a lot, but she's been to parties and danced with a couple of dudes.”

“I'll need their names, if you don't mind.”

Mercedes sighed and shifted in her seat. “The guy she broke up with was Pierre Dennis. Turned out Pierre was going out with three other girls while he was supposed to be exclusive with Diamond. The girls met at a party one night, and all four of them dumped him the next day. It was kinda funny.”

“So she wouldn't be charmed by this Pierre fellow if he'd contacted her online or by text?”

“Not a chance.”

“And the others?”

“Nobody special, really. She stays busy with her dancing and her schoolwork. We dance four or five nights a week. When we get home from dance, we do our homework and collapse. We don't have time to look for dudes online!”

The officer scribbled something, then continued. “We've read the text she sent you. Is Diamond a big fan of California Clover and Diva Dawson?”

“Not any more than anybody else. They're our age, and they've made it big, so we admire them, but it's not like we're fan stalkers or anything.”

“So you don't think Diamond would run away to be in a movie with either of those movie stars?”

“Look, Diamond did
not
run away,” Mercedes insisted, her voice rising. “She was
not
lured away by some pedophile online. Somehow, somebody convinced her she could be in a movie, and she's with that person now. Look, I don't mean to be rude, but why don't you quit asking me dumb questions and go out there and find her?”

Officer Rockside's eyes grew kind. “Miss Ford, I understand your frustration. I can assure you that we have a team scouring the mall and that parking lot. We have a team checking video surveillance tapes in the area. We have officers looking for anyone who has recently rented movie equipment. We are using every means at our disposal to find your friend, and the answers to your questions can actually help us.”

Mercedes took this all in, willing herself to calm down. “Did you find out if a studio is filming a movie in the area? Wouldn't it be on the news if Diva Dawson and California Clover were in town?” she asked.

A shadow crossed Officer Rockside's face. “I probably shouldn't tell you this, but California Clover is in London, and we've tracked Diva Dawson to Brazil. Both are on location and have been for several weeks.” He paused, then added, “Neither of them has anything scheduled for this area.”

Mercedes felt her heart grow icy, and let out a groan. “Uh, well, thanks for letting me know,” she finally said.

The policeman rose and closed his notebook. “I
appreciate your candor. I hope your friend is found soon. We're doing our best. Trust me.”

Mercedes stood up, feeling shaky, and found her way to the kitchen to make a sandwich for Shasta. She added a piece of her mom's cake to the plate, then poured a glass of milk.

As she trudged back up the stairs, she wondered how the heck she'd manage to keep cheerful and upbeat in front of Diamond's little sister.

“Hey, I cut you a slice with the thickest frosting,” she told Shasta as she entered the room. “And I made you a sandwich—your mom needs you to be strong and healthy. You don't want her to worry about you being sick on top of everything else, do you?”

Shasta took a bite, then set the sandwich down. “I heard you downstairs.”

“What?”

“Talking to the cop.”

Mercedes' mind churned as Shasta reminded her that she hid at the top of the stairs to get info. How much of that conversation would a nine-year-old have understood? she wondered.

“You probably shouldn't have done that,” was all Mercedes could manage to say.

“That's the only way I find out anything around here!” Shasta shoved the plate away, hitting it into the milk and spilling it. “Diamond's never coming home, is she?” she asked, her voice fierce.

Mercedes didn't know what to say. She was worried about exactly the same thing.

“It's all a bit tragic, really, isn't it?”

—from
Peter Pan

Layla whipped off a text to Mercedes about the vigil, then flopped on the faded flowered sofa. She picked up the remote, but tossed it aside—she didn't think she could handle the noise of the overly cheerful television commercials that encouraged everyone to buy this toothpaste or that pasta or that sleek new car.