Chapter 20

“I’m going to be sick.”

Amy thrusts the yearbook back into the producer’s hands and runs past her to the powder room. She makes it just in time, heaving up her lunch. When she’s sure her stomach is empty, she splashes cool water on her cheeks, gargles with the mouthwash Evan keeps under the sink in case his girlfriend stops by unannounced, and wipes the tears from her eyes. A quick glance in the mirror establishes she looks as shaken as she feels, but there’s no help for that.

She straightens the hem of her shirt, takes a deep, not entirely steady breath, and returns to the family room where she left Jordana. The younger woman hasn’t moved. She’s standing near the couch, staring down at the old yearbook.

When Amy walks in, she looks up. “Are you okay?”

Amy wets her dry lips and nods. “I need a glass of water. Can I offer you anything?”

She looks like she’s about to say no, but after a pause, she says, “I’d love some water, too.”

Grateful for a task, something, anything, to focus on instead of the boy smiling out at her from the old yearbook, Amy hurries to the kitchen and fills two glasses with water from the pitcher in her fridge. Jordana trails into the room behind her.

Amy hands her a glass, and she takes a drink. “Thank you. So is it safe to assume you recognize Andre?”

“Is that his name? Andre.” The name stings her tongue like a bitter poison or a toxin.

“Yes. Andre Newport.” She places the book open to the page with his picture on the counter in front of Amy.

Amy avoids looking at it. Her voice is tight when she asks, “Have you talked to him? Did he tell you anything?”

“No, Maisy and I haven’t talked to him.”

“What are you waiting for?”

Jordana waits, letting the venom of Amy’s question—more of an accusation, really—dissipate before she answers. “Well, for one thing, we wanted to confirm he’s the guy Heather was with that?—”

“—He’s the guy,” Amy bites off the words.

Jordana goes on as if she hasn’t been interrupted, “—night. And for another, he’s dead.”

Amy deflates. “He’s dead?” She closes her eyes. They waited too long.

“Presumed dead. He went missing the same weekend as Heather did, and he’s never been found.”

Amy’s eyes fly open and she stares at Jordana, her mouth slightly agape. “Are you serious?”

The producer’s expression answers the question for her. She’s dead serious.

“I am.”

Amy’s mind is racing, and her thinking is fuzzy, unclear. “He—Andre—was never found either?”

“That’s right.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t remember hearing anything about this.”

“I’ll pull together some old articles and news clips, but the way our source recalls it, the media was focused on Heather’s disappearance. Andre’s may not have gotten as much coverage.”

Could they have run away together? Amy’s instinct is to reject the question, to declare there’s no way Heather would have taken off and left her family to worry, grieve, and mourn for thirty years. But this scenario means Heather might be alive and well somewhere. For all the other questions it raises, it gives her hope.

Jordana seems to know what she’s thinking. “Do you think they might have run away together?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like they were dating or anything. Who runs away with a boy they just met? But he disappeared, too. That can’t be a coincidence.”

“We don’t know that,” the producer cautions.

After a long silence, Amy croaks, “We don’t know because nobody told the whole truth about that night.” Her voice cracks and wobbles.

“That’s true, unfortunately. Unless someone told the Pittsburgh police Andre was in Dead Man’s Hollow that night, there’s no reason they would have connected his disappearance to Heather’s,” Jordana agrees.

Amy blinks. “What did the witnesses in his case say?”

“We don’t know, yet. We’re continuing to focus on Heather, but this new information raises questions.”

“Can’t you at least call his parents and ask?”

“My understanding is that he was raised by his mother, and she’s passed away.”

Amy moans, stricken. “What have we done?”

Jordana nudges Amy’s glass toward her. “Take a drink of water. Then take a breath. You were just kids.”

Amy’s struck by the generosity of this statement, given that Jordana can’t be more than a few years older than she was when Heather disappeared. She picks up the glass with trembling hands and sips the water.

“But we’re not kids anymore.”

“No, you’re not. Instead of beating yourself up for what happened thirty years ago, help us now.”

Amy nods. “Do you think his disappearance is related to Heather’s?”

Jordana takes a moment to answer. “Before I started producing the podcast, I worked at a law firm for a long time. Any lawyer presented with these facts would suspect the two disappearances are connected, but they wouldn’t make that claim without hard evidence. That’s what we need now—evidence. We need people to start talking about that night.”

“I’ll help you any way I can,” Amy says. Then she wrinkles her forehead. “Where’s Maisy?”

“She’s interviewing Kristy. We thought it was important to find out right away if Andre was the boy you saw. So I dropped her off and came here to talk to you—and Rich. Is he around?”

The mention of her husband’s name makes Amy’s chest tighten. “No. He’s at his monthly poker game.”

“It would be good to talk to him sooner rather than later.”

“I’ll let him know.”

Jordana glances at the clock. “I should go. Maisy’s probably about finished. Are you sure you’re okay with doing your interview at the scene?”

Amy gives her a blank look. She’s completely forgotten why Jordana stopped by. “Oh, right. I’ll be fine to go to Dead Man’s Hollow with you and Maisy.”

Jordana smiles and picks up the yearbook. “Great.”

Amy walks her to the door. Before she opens it, she says. “I’ll talk to Michelle and Lynn. I think I can convince them to talk to you.”

“That would be really helpful,” Jordana tells her.

“I owe Heather at least that much.”