Panic

  The deeply angled walls felt as if they were closing in on her. She spun around, beating on the walls, screaming up at the distant window. She screamed and yelled and begged until her throat was raw and raspy.

  Finally, bleakly, she sipped a bit of the orange juice. She figured she needed to keep herself strong if she ever had any chance of escape.

  She sat on the chair, curling her knees up to her chin. There was no way she going to sit on that bed. The only sound Diamond could hear was the rain and wind against the tiny window.

  As she picked at the striped upholstery of the chair, she couldn’t stop thinking of her parents. Her sister. Were they looking for her? Did they think she’d run away? They’d come looking for her, right? With a pang, she realized no one had any inkling of where to start a search. Like a bubble, Diamond had simply vanished.

  She started to cry, softly, emptily, dreading the coming night.

  20

  MERCEDES, Sunday, April 14 3 p.m.

  “She is an abandoned little creature.”

  —from Peter Pan

  Sunday dinner at Mercedes’ house was supertraditional. “I think I have the only mother in the universe who still cooks Sunday dinner,” she’d once told Diamond. “Fried chicken. Mashed potatoes. Green beans. Chocolate cake. On real plates—not paper ones.”

  “You can get the same thing at KFC,” Diamond had replied, licking the icing off a thick slice of cake that Mercedes had brought for lunch. “But not like this. Yum. Your mom rocks!”

  “My mom has issues,” Mercedes had responded, laughing.

  “Don’t they all?”

  “She keeps the spices in alphabetical order. Canned goods are stacked by size of can, then by ingredients. Don’t even ask about the bathroom!”

  Diamond had laughed. “I’ve seen your bathroom. Red towels on the left. Blue washcloths on the right. Does she count sheets of toilet paper?”

  “Probably! Me and my dad just go with the flow.”

  “I wonder if it’s hereditary,” Diamond had said pensively.

  “I guess a little OCD comes in handy when you’re trying to keep a busy house in order. But when I get my own place, I’m gonna keep everything in the middle of the floor and just dig for stuff when I need it!”

  “That’s gonna drive your mom crazy,” Diamond had said, laughing again.

  “I know. I love it!”

  Mercedes smiled as she finished up the dishes with her mother, thinking about the last time Diamond came over.

  “What do you think about the candlelight vigil the school has planned?” her mom asked. “It’s a little soon, don’t you think?”

  Mercedes frowned. “I don’t know. I guess people feel like they gotta do something,” she replied. “I mean, there’s not much else we can actually do. I just feel like I’m gonna throw up, you know?” She slammed a stack of spoons noisily into the drawer.

  Her mother dried her hands quickly and pulled Mercedes toward her. “They will find her, baby girl. They just have to.”

  Mercedes melted into her mom’s damp, soap-smelling arms. “Will you and Daddy come to the vigil?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Mercedes said softly. After a moment she pulled away and said, “I think I’ll run over to Diamond’s house for a minute.”

  “You don’t want to get in the way, honey.”

  “I won’t, but maybe there’s something I can do to help.”

  “Well, I made an extra cake to bring over tomorrow, but why don’t you take it now? Give me a minute to frost it,” her mother said. “And I get it—wanting to do something. I don’t know what else to do but pray and cook.”

  Mercedes ended up loading her car with a large box that held the cake, plus a full meal in a half dozen little plastic containers, which her mother kept, of course, neatly stacked, sized, and color coded. And she realized that those little containers were order. Somewhere, there was order. She started the car feeling more hopeful than she had all day.

  But when she got to Diamond’s house, she was stunned by all the activity. Three police cars were parked in the driveway. Several police officers huddled on the front lawn.

  A television news van with a huge satellite extending from the top of it was positioned two doors down.

  Yellow crime-scene tape encircled the yard. Why the drama tape? Mercedes thought. It’s not like a crime happened here. Maybe it was just to keep the crowd away—a good-size group of people, maybe neighbors, maybe just nosy folks who’d heard the story on the news, hovered just outside the tape. Many had their cameras and cell phones out.

  What do they think they’ll get a picture of? Mercedes thought, getting angry. Diamond’s cat? Her front door?

  More police patrolled the taped area, warning onlookers to keep back.

  She opened her door, then hesitated, not sure what to do or say. Grabbing the box of food items, she slammed her car door and then stomped up to the first police officer she saw. She didn’t wait for him to try to keep her out.

  “My name is Mercedes Ford. I am Diamond’s best friend. I am delivering this box for my mother, and I need to get into that house right now.”

  The officer was unimpressed. “Driver’s license, ma’am.”

  Mercedes wasn’t sure whether to be thrilled or annoyed to be called ma’am, but she set the box down, pulled her wallet from her purse, and handed over her license.

  He examined it as if she might have been a criminal on the loose. Even though it was broad daylight, he took out his flashlight and peered at the license more closely.

  Just as she was about to lose her patience, Mercedes heard a small voice yell out her name. “Mercedes! Mama says come in! Hurry!”

  The officer turned to see Shasta peeking out the front door. Cameras clicked at the movement and sound. Shasta disappeared in a hurry.

  The policeman returned Mercedes’ license and lifted the yellow tape so that she could enter the yard. She was aware of being filmed and photographed as she made a quick dash to the house. Instead of entering through the front door, she went in the side entrance, the kitchen door she always used when she visited.

  Once inside, she breathed a sigh of relief. She went to place the food on the counter, but found there was barely enough room for her box. Dozens of store-bought cakes and pies, casserole dishes, soda bottles, and boxes of KFC chicken were already piled high, so she set her box on the kitchen table.

  Mrs. Landers, her hair uncombed, her face blotchy, her eyes red, grabbed Mercedes and hugged her close. She began to weep. Mercedes found herself crying as well.

  “Thank you for coming,” Mrs. Landers said, grabbing a paper towel and wiping her eyes. “It’s so good to see you. You give me hope.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. L.” Mercedes’ voice wavered. “I . . . I feel like I’m to blame here. We shoulda stayed together.”

  “Oh, Mercedes. Please don’t give yourself that burden.” Diamond’s mom hugged her even tighter. “A horrible, horrible person did this. Not you.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know how else to feel.”

  Mrs. Landers stepped back and took Mercedes’ hands in hers. “We need your strength—maybe your brainpower.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re a teenager. You and Diamond think a lot alike. Where would you go? What would you do if you were caught in something . . . terrible? We’ve got profilers here who might like to talk to you.”

  “I’ll do anything! Just tell me . . . ” She paused and pointed to the box. “My mom, uh, sent food.”

  Mrs. Landers’ shoulders sank. “Please thank her. I appreciate all of this, I really do, but this stuff is what you send for a funeral! And she’s not dead! My Diamond is not dead!” She leaned against a counter and started sobbing anew.

  Shasta ran into the room, plucked a Kleenex from the box, and handed it to her mom. “Daddy needs you upstairs in Diamond’s room,” she told her. “The police want to check Diamond’s computer.”

  Mrs. Landers mu
mbled 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 wro
te 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.”