Chapter Twenty-Six

MORNING BIRDS ARE STILL CHIRPINGwhen Chelsey pulls up to the Blacks' house. Kat's car isn't in the drive, but Jimmy's truck is. She knocks on the door, and Kat swings it open wide. "Detective Calhoun," she says, surprised.

"Hey, Kat," Chelsey says with an amiable smile, even though she notes how Kat is using her title. No more first-name basis. "I'm here to see Ellie."

Kat's brow dips. The lines around her mouth deepen with a frown. "She's not here."

"She's gone? We were supposed to meet here. This morning."

Kat bobs her head. "She asked to borrow my car this morning. She wanted to visit Sam."

"What is going on?" Jimmy appears behind Kat.

"Detective Calhoun is here to see Ellie." Kat gives her husband a tight smile.

"We were supposed to meet today, first thing this morning here, to finish our conversation from yesterday at the station," Chelsey clarifies. Her skin prickles with worry.

Kat slips from the entrance. "I'll just call Ellie."

"Come on in." Jimmy opens the door wider, and Chelsey follows him into the living room. The windows are open. A once-white, now-yellow curtain swishes in the breeze. The stirred air is soft and sweet, a little dusty.

Kat comes back less than a minute later, phone in hand. Concern grows on her face. "Ellie isn't answering."

Jimmy clears his throat. "Try Sam."

Kat nods and dials. "Hey, honey," she says. "Is Ellie with you? Detective Calhoun is here and needs to see her." Kat's brows edge together. "She's not?" Chelsey swallows hard and keeps her gaze steady on Kat. "She said she was headed to Danny's?"

"Ask how long ago," Chelsey prompts.

Kat does. "An hour?" A pause. "No, there's no need to worry. I'm sure it's all a miscommunication. I'll call you back, okay? Give Mia a kiss for me." Kat hangs up. "She stopped by Sam's an hour ago but left and said she was going to Danny's." Kat shakes her head. "I don't understand. She never said anything about Danny."

"Try Danny," Chelsey says.

Kat does and Chelsey listens. She listens as Kat asks Danny if he's seen Ellie. Listens to the disappointment in Kat's voice when he says he has not. Listens to the quavering of Kat's breath as she hangs up. "He hasn't seen her. He said they didn't have plans today." Kat's hand finds Jimmy's hanging in the air. And Chelsey does not miss how they squeeze each other.

Chelsey opens her mouth, and the phone rings, the sound shrill. Kat looks at the screen. "It's Sam." Kat answers. "Hi." Sam's voice is a murmur at the end of a line, and Chelsey cannot determine what is being said. But Kat's face whitens with terror. The air in the Blacks' home seems to grow thicker, the breeze a touch more stifling.

"What is she saying?" Jimmy asks.

Kat ignores him. "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," Kat reassures Sam. "Let me speak to Detective Calhoun, and I'll call you back, okay?" Kat disconnects, looking as if someone has just walked over her grave. "Sam says Ellie had a backpack in the car."

Dread tightens in Chelsey's chest. A backpack? Why? To run away?

"I don't understand," Kat says. And she looks tired. Jimmy too. Both as if they've been staring into the sun.

"You're sure she didn't mention going anywhere else?" Chelsey asks.

"No," Kat says. "No." She rubs her eyes. "I don't understand. What is happening? Where is Ellie?"

Chelsey flashes to the night Lydia disappeared. Her toes flex in her shoes, feeling the carpet again. The urge to run off after Lydia. If only. It's quiet and Chelsey realizes Kat's and Jimmy's gazes have latched on to her, searching for answers.

"Something isn't right," Chelsey thinks aloud. Ellie is missing. Again. She glances at Jimmy and Kat. Where could Ellie have gone now? They've spoken with Sam. With Danny. Both had no idea. Where has Ellie been spending most of her time since she returned? Chelsey glances around the Blacks' house, up the shaded stairs. "Do you mind if I search her room?"

Chelsey slips on a pair of latex gloves in the middle of Ellie's room. Kat and Jimmy hover in the doorway. Jesus, the room is destroyed. Chelsey has been in here before. Two years ago. She sees her past self rifling through Ellie's things—tubes of flavored ChapStick, photographs of friends, a half-empty bottle of vodka on the top shelf of her closet. It was a different room then. Messy but still tidy. Now it is chaotic. This is a room with its hair torn out, with its face clawed, with its throat raw from screaming. A barren, ravaged place.

Chelsey starts slow, picking through the piles of clothes. Then she lifts a sheet to peer out the window. Opens Ellie's dresser drawers, sweeping the inside, then pulling them out to check the back. All clear. Next up is the closet; she uses a flashlight to search it. Nothing. She places her hands on her hips. She has no clue. "Is there any other place Ellie has been hanging out in the house?"

Kat and Jimmy share a heavy look. "I caught her sleeping in the crawlspace a few times," Kat says. "In Sam's old room."

"Show me," Chelsey says.

Chelsey crouches low and crawls into the space Ellie has been sleeping in. It's tight and claustrophobic, with enough room for a body to lie curled. Her eyes strain in the darkness. She kneels on a rumpled comforter and splays a hand on a lumpy pillow, the fabric smooth and cool beneath her fingers. Chelsey knows Ellie is not here, but she can sense her in the moldy air, in each dust particle. She flicks on her flashlight.

There. Something behind a wooden beam catches her eye. She reaches. Her hand closes around a brown package. There is also a pipe remnant and two crumpled pieces of paper. Chelsey pulls it all out and reemerges, laying what she found on the guest room's gray carpet. She sits back on her haunches and uncrumples the papers. They are postcards, all of the same photograph. A line of birch trees.

Jimmy makes a strangled noise. "I've seen that before." His face is white. "Ellie was holding one at the truck by the docks when you came to see us. I thought it was some flyer or something, left on my windshield randomly…" He trails off.

Chelsey flashes to that day. To Ellie, standing by the truck, white piece of paper in her hand, watching it flutter to the gravel. "What'd you do with it?" Chelsey's spine tingles.

"I threw it in the back of my truck. I'll get it." He turns and trots off.

While Jimmy is gone, Chelsey opens the package. It's empty, but there is residue in the corners and cracks. She fishes out a couple of specks. It doesn't smell, but she recognizes what it is. Gunpowder.

"You have any firearms, guns in the house?" she asks Kat over her shoulder. Chelsey's father used to make his own ammunition. And Chelsey remembers swirling the pool of gunpowder with her finger to make concentric repeating rings, like a Zen garden.

"No." Kat wilts in the doorway.

Chelsey turns away from Kat. She studies the plastic pipe. Rolls the gunpowder between her fingers.

The two main ingredients for a pipe bomb are in front of Chelsey.

Chelsey's mind fills with dark thoughts, things she does not want to think about, to believe. Could Ellie be planning to hurt herself? Others? A jolt of fear runs through her.

Jimmy returns, out of breath. "Here." He thrusts the postcard at Chelsey. She unfolds it. Same picture of birch trees. She lines the three postcards up, then flips them one by one. On the back are numbers. She uses one finger to slide them into order.

Three, two, one.

She glances up at Kat and Jimmy, feeling as if she is dissolving away, slipping into the void.

"What is it?" Kat asks.

Chelsey shakes her head. She lets the silence of the room wash over her. "I'm not sure." To her own ears, her voice is scratchy, far away. Her vision hazy. "But I think it's a countdown."