demands on her. “I don’t even know what that is. I’ll have to have my husband help with that.”
“And an e-mail to you or your husband from Maddy,” Peet said. “We need her IP address as well.”
“Yes, yes. I promise we’ll do what we can.”
“We saw letters to Maddy from her grandmother. Are the two of them close?”
“They were, but all of Maddy’s grandparents are now dead.”
“How about any other relatives she’s close to?”
“There’s no one. I’m an only child, and my husband’s family isn’t close.”
“Close as in tight, or do you mean they live far away?” Jan asked.
“Both, I’d say.”
She led them to the front door. Jan watched her face recompose itself into a concerned mother expression. She thought she’d seen better acting by Peet’s eight-year-old daughter.
“One last thing,” Jan said. “Did Maddy have any luggage in her bedroom closet?”
“Luggage? No, that was kept downstairs and there’s nothing missing. But she has a backpack. You know, the large kind for when you’re camping. She kept that in her room.”
“It’s gone now.”
Mrs. Harrington looked stricken. “So she has run away?”
“It looks that way. Now we go find her.”
Chapter Two
Jan and Peet were back on Willow Road before either said a word. Jan stared out the passenger window, lost in thought.
“Okay, let’s hear it,” Peet said.
“What?” She turned to Peet. “What’s there to say? The Harringtons are jerks and their daughter’s a runaway. We do our job; that’s all.”
Peet’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “Jerks? No. A jerk is someone who spills beer on you at Wrigley Field and then laughs about it. These people are criminal, as far as I’m concerned. You probably had a better upbringing than Maddy did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jan felt a flush climb up her face.
“You grew up in the system, right? Out west? I’m just saying you probably got more love and caring there than Maddy Harrington has.”
Jan stared back out the window. “It was a group home. An orphanage, not a foster home with a brood of happy, mismatched kids.”
“Sorry.”
“Think Oliver Twist and you’re halfway there.”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I just can’t imagine parents who don’t notice when their daughter’s been gone for two nights.”
Jan shrugged. “At least we have one motive for Maddy running away. I doubt it’s the whole story.” She wanted the conversation steered away from her own childhood. She’d known when Peet became her partner that she’d have to say something about her past. Peet was too curious and chatty to not ask questions and expect answers. Jan told her the same story she’d been telling since she was sixteen—parents killed, no relatives, the group home. It usually shut people up. She’d never had to flesh out the details because most didn’t probe too deeply. She rebuffed, ignored, or abandoned those that persisted. The lie was much easier and safer than the truth. She didn’t think she had the ability to describe her childhood.
Though she tried to avoid remembering her life in the camp, she knew it was impossible. Just as it became impossible for her to stop thinking of a life outside the camp once she started to realize one might exist. In the two years prior to her escape, Jan had discovered ways to slip beyond the camp’s perimeter and explore the woods beyond. Timing and stealth were all she needed. She discovered a ranch four miles north of the camp, and in the ranch she found her hope. It was a small homestead run by a large family, and Jan would spend every moment she could tucked up next to a boulder on a ridge overlooking it. She watched men, women, and children doing chores, sitting together on the porch of the house, entertaining guests, hugging and kissing, coming and going from the property as they pleased. She knew she had to have some of that, any bit of it, in her life. She would
“And an e-mail to you or your husband from Maddy,” Peet said. “We need her IP address as well.”
“Yes, yes. I promise we’ll do what we can.”
“We saw letters to Maddy from her grandmother. Are the two of them close?”
“They were, but all of Maddy’s grandparents are now dead.”
“How about any other relatives she’s close to?”
“There’s no one. I’m an only child, and my husband’s family isn’t close.”
“Close as in tight, or do you mean they live far away?” Jan asked.
“Both, I’d say.”
She led them to the front door. Jan watched her face recompose itself into a concerned mother expression. She thought she’d seen better acting by Peet’s eight-year-old daughter.
“One last thing,” Jan said. “Did Maddy have any luggage in her bedroom closet?”
“Luggage? No, that was kept downstairs and there’s nothing missing. But she has a backpack. You know, the large kind for when you’re camping. She kept that in her room.”
“It’s gone now.”
Mrs. Harrington looked stricken. “So she has run away?”
“It looks that way. Now we go find her.”
Chapter Two
Jan and Peet were back on Willow Road before either said a word. Jan stared out the passenger window, lost in thought.
“Okay, let’s hear it,” Peet said.
“What?” She turned to Peet. “What’s there to say? The Harringtons are jerks and their daughter’s a runaway. We do our job; that’s all.”
Peet’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “Jerks? No. A jerk is someone who spills beer on you at Wrigley Field and then laughs about it. These people are criminal, as far as I’m concerned. You probably had a better upbringing than Maddy did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jan felt a flush climb up her face.
“You grew up in the system, right? Out west? I’m just saying you probably got more love and caring there than Maddy Harrington has.”
Jan stared back out the window. “It was a group home. An orphanage, not a foster home with a brood of happy, mismatched kids.”
“Sorry.”
“Think Oliver Twist and you’re halfway there.”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I just can’t imagine parents who don’t notice when their daughter’s been gone for two nights.”
Jan shrugged. “At least we have one motive for Maddy running away. I doubt it’s the whole story.” She wanted the conversation steered away from her own childhood. She’d known when Peet became her partner that she’d have to say something about her past. Peet was too curious and chatty to not ask questions and expect answers. Jan told her the same story she’d been telling since she was sixteen—parents killed, no relatives, the group home. It usually shut people up. She’d never had to flesh out the details because most didn’t probe too deeply. She rebuffed, ignored, or abandoned those that persisted. The lie was much easier and safer than the truth. She didn’t think she had the ability to describe her childhood.
Though she tried to avoid remembering her life in the camp, she knew it was impossible. Just as it became impossible for her to stop thinking of a life outside the camp once she started to realize one might exist. In the two years prior to her escape, Jan had discovered ways to slip beyond the camp’s perimeter and explore the woods beyond. Timing and stealth were all she needed. She discovered a ranch four miles north of the camp, and in the ranch she found her hope. It was a small homestead run by a large family, and Jan would spend every moment she could tucked up next to a boulder on a ridge overlooking it. She watched men, women, and children doing chores, sitting together on the porch of the house, entertaining guests, hugging and kissing, coming and going from the property as they pleased. She knew she had to have some of that, any bit of it, in her life. She would
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