“Forget about it!” an angry voice calls out from behind me as the doors close with a menacing thud.
When I turn, there’s a woman with curly red hair and a full round face seated at a small desk on the far side of the doors. She’s wearing a turtleneck under a light blue cardigan that makes her seem at least two decades older than she is.
I hold up my hands. “Oh, I just—”
“Let me guess: You’re here to see our girl Claudia, aren’t you?” She crosses her short arms and pushes out her lower lip, which makes her look like an unhappy toddler. “You look like her type.”
“I don’t think—”
“Claudia doesn’t think, either. She goes into town and finds somebody she likes and convinces herself that she can invite a girlfriend over, like this is her own private bachelorette pad.” She shakes her head. “That girl’s got a bunch of screws loose. If I were you, I’d steer clear.”
“I’m not here to see Claudia,” I say.
“Well, whoever … it’s none of my business. I’m not trying tointrudeon anyone’s sexuality. There’s a whole mess of people here whodothink that way, but not me. He, her, them, they. What do I—”
“I’m here about my mother,” I say, cutting her off. “She lived here years ago.”
The woman’s eyes narrow. “What about her?”
“She’s missing,” I say.
“Well, she’s not here.” She snorts. “We don’t house adults. And we don’t have, like, reunion weekends.”
“I know. But I think maybe whatever happened to her now could have something to do with when she lived here,” I say. “It was back, you know, when there were all those problems?”
“Well, don’t look at me.” She holds up her palms. “That was way before my time.”
“I have a few questions. Is there someone who might be able to answer them?”
She stares at me for a long moment, like she’s trying to see if I’ll take it back. Finally, she sighs dramatically. “Go down the hall to the registration office and ask them if you want. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
I brace myself for another unwelcome reception, but when the very, very old lady inside the registration office looks up from her desk, her face lights up. Like she’s been waiting all day for me to walk through that door.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” She is stooped and frail; I try not to stare at her bony arms beneath her floral-print dress as she makes her way over to the counter. She leans in closer, squints. “You look so familiar.”
“My mom used to live here. We kind of look alike.”
“Oh my.” She brings a hand to her mouth. “You look exactly like her! It’s uncanny.”
And for the first time in my entire life, the suggestion doesn’t flood me with resentment.
“Her name was—” My voice catches.
“I know, Katrina Horning. She came here when she was nine and left when she was fourteen. I remember exactly. Of course I do.” She smiles. “She was adopted by Gladys Greene, I believe. I’m Rose, by the way, and I haven’t been here quite as long as this place has, but nearly.”
“Cleo,” I say, pointing to myself.
“Well, I have been surprised bya lotof things in my time here, but Gladys …” She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “That one … she was very sweet. But a few cards short of a full deck, if you know what I mean. For years she came up here every Saturday. Like clockwork. Had a driver who would bring her. She’d spend some time with the girls, read to the younger ones, bring games and books and clothes. Like she was visiting grandchildren, or maybe more like puppies at the pound. But she got real fixated on your mom, kept saying how she reminded her of her little sister, who’d died young. You ask me, Gladys thought your momwasher sister. Anyway, I didn’t think they’d ever let her actually adopt anyone, but shows what I know. And Gladys did give money to the school afterward. I always did wonder … worried a little, even, about what became of your mom. But hard to see how staying here would have been much better. Things aren’t necessarily perfect now, but back then …” She makes a clucking noise, then forces a smile. “Anyway, I guess it must have all worked out. Because here you are, beautiful as your mom.”
“Yeah—I mean, thank you—except … my mom is missing now. And I think it might have something to do with her time here.”
“Missing?” She blanches. “What do you mean?”
I press my lips together until I feel steady enough to speak. “She’s gone, and the police think something bad happened to her. They don’t know what yet. But someone from her past—from here, I think—has been threatening her.”
Rose charges with surprising force from behind the tall counter through a little swinging door. She grabs one of my hands in hers, a tiny, bony vise. “Come sit down here and tell me what is going on.” She motions to a bench along the wall, where we go and sit side by side.
“That’s just it: I don’t know. I found some texts. They mentioned something bad that had happened while my mom was here. Do you know what that might have been?”
