now?”
“Nothing I’m aware of. She may have some information. I’d just like to ask her some questions about the man she’s been working for. Has Erin been in trouble in the past?”
She leaned way out the door, took another hard drag on the cigarette, and exhaled the smoke at a hibiscus shrub. “I don’t see that my family is any business of yours.”
“Has she ever been involved with drugs?”
She snapped a look at me. “Is that what this is about? Is she mixed up with drug people? God. That’s all I need.”
“I’m concerned about where she’s gone,” I said. “Erin’s disappearance happened to coincide with the death of a very expensive horse.”
“You think she killed a horse?”
I thought my head might split in two. Krystal’s concern seemed to be about everyone except her daughter. “I just want to ask her some questions about her boss. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”
She stepped outside, tapped her ash into a plant pot, and hopped back into the house. “Responsibility isn’t Erin’s thing. She thinks being an adult means doing whatever you damn well please. She’s probably run off to South Beach with some boy.”
“Does she have a boyfriend?”
She scowled and looked down at the tiled floor. Down and to the right: a lie. “How would I know? She doesn’t check in with me.”
“Molly said she hasn’t been able to reach Erin on her cell phone.”
“Molly.” She puffed on the cigarette and tried to wave the smoke out toward the street. “Molly is twelve. Molly thinks Erin is cool. Molly reads too many mystery novels and watches too much A&E. What kind of child watches A&E?
Law and Order, Investigative Reports
. When I was twelve I was watching
Brady Bunch
reruns.”
“I think Molly has reason to be concerned, Mrs. Seabright. I think you might want to speak with the Sheriff’s Office about filing a missing person’s report.”
Krystal Seabright looked horrified. Not at the prospect that her daughter might have been the victim of foul play, but at the idea of someone from Binks Forest having to file a police report. What would the neighbors say? They might put two and two together and figure out her last house was a double-wide.
“Erin is not missing,” she insisted. “She’s just . . . gone somewhere, that’s all.”
A teenage boy emerged through a door into the upstairs hall and came thudding down the stairs. He looked maybe seventeen or eighteen and hungover. Gray-faced and glum, with platinum-tipped dark hair that stood up in dirty tufts. His T-shirt looked slept in and worse. He didn’t resemble Krystal or her daughters. I made the assumption he belonged to Bruce Seabright, and wondered why Molly had made no mention of him to me.
Krystal swore under her breath and surreptitiously tossed her cigarette out the door. The boy’s eyes followed it, then went back to her. Busted.
“Chad? What are you doing home?” she asked. A whole new tone of voice. Nervous. Obsequious. “Aren’t you feeling well, honey? I thought you’d gone to school.”
“I’m sick,” he said.
“Oh. Oh. Uh . . . Would you like me to make you some toast?” she asked brightly. “I have to get to the office, but I could make you some toast.”
“No, thank you.”
“You were out awfully late last night,” Krystal said sweetly. “You probably just need your sleep.”
“Probably.” Chad glanced at me, and slouched away.
Krystal scowled at me and spoke in a low voice. “Look: we don’t need you. Just go away. Erin will turn up when Erin needs something.”
“What about Erin?” Chad asked. He had come back into the hall, a two-liter bottle of Coke in one hand. Breakfast of champions.
Krystal Seabright closed her eyes and huffed. “Nothing. Just— Nothing. Go back to bed, honey.”
“I need to ask her some questions about the guy she works for,” I said to the boy. “Do you happen to know where I can find her?”
He shrugged and scratched his chest.
“Nothing I’m aware of. She may have some information. I’d just like to ask her some questions about the man she’s been working for. Has Erin been in trouble in the past?”
She leaned way out the door, took another hard drag on the cigarette, and exhaled the smoke at a hibiscus shrub. “I don’t see that my family is any business of yours.”
“Has she ever been involved with drugs?”
She snapped a look at me. “Is that what this is about? Is she mixed up with drug people? God. That’s all I need.”
“I’m concerned about where she’s gone,” I said. “Erin’s disappearance happened to coincide with the death of a very expensive horse.”
“You think she killed a horse?”
I thought my head might split in two. Krystal’s concern seemed to be about everyone except her daughter. “I just want to ask her some questions about her boss. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”
She stepped outside, tapped her ash into a plant pot, and hopped back into the house. “Responsibility isn’t Erin’s thing. She thinks being an adult means doing whatever you damn well please. She’s probably run off to South Beach with some boy.”
“Does she have a boyfriend?”
She scowled and looked down at the tiled floor. Down and to the right: a lie. “How would I know? She doesn’t check in with me.”
“Molly said she hasn’t been able to reach Erin on her cell phone.”
“Molly.” She puffed on the cigarette and tried to wave the smoke out toward the street. “Molly is twelve. Molly thinks Erin is cool. Molly reads too many mystery novels and watches too much A&E. What kind of child watches A&E?
Law and Order, Investigative Reports
. When I was twelve I was watching
Brady Bunch
reruns.”
“I think Molly has reason to be concerned, Mrs. Seabright. I think you might want to speak with the Sheriff’s Office about filing a missing person’s report.”
Krystal Seabright looked horrified. Not at the prospect that her daughter might have been the victim of foul play, but at the idea of someone from Binks Forest having to file a police report. What would the neighbors say? They might put two and two together and figure out her last house was a double-wide.
“Erin is not missing,” she insisted. “She’s just . . . gone somewhere, that’s all.”
A teenage boy emerged through a door into the upstairs hall and came thudding down the stairs. He looked maybe seventeen or eighteen and hungover. Gray-faced and glum, with platinum-tipped dark hair that stood up in dirty tufts. His T-shirt looked slept in and worse. He didn’t resemble Krystal or her daughters. I made the assumption he belonged to Bruce Seabright, and wondered why Molly had made no mention of him to me.
Krystal swore under her breath and surreptitiously tossed her cigarette out the door. The boy’s eyes followed it, then went back to her. Busted.
“Chad? What are you doing home?” she asked. A whole new tone of voice. Nervous. Obsequious. “Aren’t you feeling well, honey? I thought you’d gone to school.”
“I’m sick,” he said.
“Oh. Oh. Uh . . . Would you like me to make you some toast?” she asked brightly. “I have to get to the office, but I could make you some toast.”
“No, thank you.”
“You were out awfully late last night,” Krystal said sweetly. “You probably just need your sleep.”
“Probably.” Chad glanced at me, and slouched away.
Krystal scowled at me and spoke in a low voice. “Look: we don’t need you. Just go away. Erin will turn up when Erin needs something.”
“What about Erin?” Chad asked. He had come back into the hall, a two-liter bottle of Coke in one hand. Breakfast of champions.
Krystal Seabright closed her eyes and huffed. “Nothing. Just— Nothing. Go back to bed, honey.”
“I need to ask her some questions about the guy she works for,” I said to the boy. “Do you happen to know where I can find her?”
He shrugged and scratched his chest.
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