She finally nodded solemnly to the other parent and then started to move, but instead of heading to the parking lot, she began to move in the opposite direction, following one of the cement paths running across the school lawn.
I broke into a sprint until I almost caught up and then followed her as the sidewalk looped around to the far side of the school. When it eventually intersected with a village sidewalk, J.J. hung a left. She was walking home, I realized.
She eventually made another left, down Elm Street, and I decided to strike while I had a clear field. I called out her name, and she turned around, her expression guarded. After closing the gap, I quickly introduced myself and added, “I’m sure it’s been awful to come back and hear the news. Would you have a few minutes to talk?”
“Did youfollowme?” she demanded. I could see why the idea would upset her, but I had a funny feeling it wouldn’t take a lot to work J.J.’s last nerve. Now that I was up close, I had a sense from the set of her jaw and the look in her wide-set eyes that there was an edge to her.
“I actually dropped by the school for another reason and happened to see you leave,” I said. “We’re trying to paint a really vivid picture of Shannon for our readers, and it would be so helpful to include your impressions.”
She threw her head back disdainfully. “My best friend is missing. How are myimpressionssupposed to get her back?”
“The more information about Shannon that’s out there, the greater the chance that someone will call in a legitimate tip about her whereabouts.”
I was waiting for another blunt retort, but instead her shoulders sagged and her expression softened.
“I’ll talk to you,” she said, “but it has to be tit for tat. I need to know what’s going on. All the sheriff’s office wanted to do was pump me for information.”
“Absolutely. I’ve got info to share.”
“We can do it at my place. I need a hit of coffee.”
I walked alongside her for a half block to a cute, yellow-painted clapboard house with white shutters and a front porch lined with pots of orange and yellow mums.
After unlocking the door, J.J. ushered me through the living room into a sparkling white, nicely appointed kitchen, and as she poured us each a mug of coffee, I slid onto a barstool at the counter. There were echoes of kids in the kitchen—a wicker basket of sneakers by the back door, school photos and award ribbons tacked on the fridge by magnets. But no masculine vibe. I remembered Kelly mentioning that J.J. was divorced.
“I really appreciate your time, because I can only imagine how tough this is for you,” I said, pulling out mynotepad and pen. “How did law enforcement finally get ahold of you?”
“I actually got ahold ofthem,” she said, after taking a slug of coffee. “I’d been staying in the Adirondacks without any cell service, and when I stopped in a town for lunch yesterday, I saw that my phone was blowing up with calls and texts. I drove straight to the sheriff’s office yesterday afternoon.”
That probably explained the canceled press conference.
“I heard you and Shannon spoke by phone on Monday. Did she say anything that might hold a clue to where she is?”
“No, but it was all very quick. Hi, bye, see you in a couple of days.”
I studied her face as she spoke, alert for any sign that she was lying. There was still the possibility that if Shannon had run off, she’d been assisted by J.J.
“Did she say she was going for a jog?”
“No, but I assumed she was. She does every day.”
“Did—?”
“OK,” J.J. interrupted, raising a hand. “It’s time for the tat part. I need to know what the hell is going on. I’ve tried to reach Cody, but he hasn’t returned my calls, and neither has Kelly.”
I took her through the highlights that I’d garnered from the news coverage and my afternoon at the volunteer center. I sensed from her expression that some of it was new to her—and that it was scaring her even more.
“Those poor kids,” she said. “Do you think the cops are really doing everything they can?”
“It seems that way, and there are a ton of volunteers, coordinated by a guy named Hank Coulter. Do you know him?”
“Yeah, I know him. Used to head the Lake George police before they disbanded it and put the village under the county sheriff’s office. He can be gruff, but people always felt he knew what he was doing.”
“And what about Cody?” I asked. “Is he a good husband?”
J.J. pulled back in her stool, narrowing her pale-blue eyes. “Are you thinking there’s a chance he’s responsible?”
“That’s always a possibility in these situations.” There was another possibility occurring to me now, too, but I didn’t raise it with her. Sometimes a husband has an affair with his wife’s best friend and then plots to remove the wife from the picture.
