Madison Torycomes up immediately. When I click her name, a thread unfolds in front of me. There are countless texts—all businesslike, friendly.
I keep whipping my head back, imagining someone creeping into the room behind me each time I look at the screen. I can hardly read clearly as fear rises.
The final message from Madison is dated September 26, 2023, at 1:17 p.m. It reads:
Hi! Can we meet after work? There’s something I want to talk to you about.
Eerily vague…
Six minutes later, Harrison replied.
Sure—come up to my office when you’re done for the day…
I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and open the Calendar app to see what the date was last Thursday, when the one-year anniversary interview with Michelle aired onThe Susan Ritter Show.
It was September 26.
Meaning Harrison Klein was potentially the last person to see Madison Tory before she disappeared on her way home from work.
A low chime slices through the silence and my breath audibly hitches. I look behind me again, but the room is empty. The sound came from the computer, from an incoming text. It comes down in a notification, and surfaces at the top of the conversation list. I exit out of Madison’s text. When I do, this new message replaces it. I don’t mean to look, but when I see who the text is from, I can’t help but stare.
Rory’s father, Emmett Holloway, just sent Harrison a text.
Still on for tonight?
The Christmas party photo told me that, at least back in the ’90s, Emmett and Harrison knew each other. But seeing that they’re presently in touch surprises me somehow. Rory told me he didn’t know who Harrison was, or who lives in the black house on the cliffside.
Admittedly, I don’t know every single friend of Mom’s. But I know most of them. Maybe it’s different with men. Maybe Rory doesn’t insert himself in his dad’s personal life that way. I try desperately to give him the benefit of the doubt for the first time.
My eyes crawl up the thread, desperate for more—anything to give details on tonight. The last texts they exchanged were four days ago, nothing more recent to indicate a new plan.
I read the messages repeatedly in disbelief, even blinking rapidly to ensure my eyes aren’t playing a vicious trick on me… Because on Thursday, September 26, the anniversary of Madison’s disappearance, Harrison texted Emmett:
Now that Alice is dead—I need to figure out what to do with her girls. They’re back in town…
Emmett replied minutes later.
We should talk on the phone about this.
I will call you in 5.
The words echo in my skull over and over.
Figure out what to do with her girls.
My mind is racing, trying to decode the meaning like an answer will miraculously emerge on-screen.
I shakily drag the mouse toward the corner of the screen, ready to put the computer to sleep and get the hell out of here.
Thump.
A car door closes outside, and I shoot out of the chair in a panic.
Harrison’s home.
31
IMOGEN
