“In a perplexing tale that has haunted the Pacific Northwest, twenty-eight-year-old Madison Tory disappeared after leaving her jobin Seattle one year ago this evening. Joining us today is her mother, Michelle, to give us the latest in the case.”
This story dominated the local news last year. Living so close, I devoured every detail at first, certain a predator was prowling our streets, targeting young women. Madison grew up here in Blair, a grade above me. We weren’t close, but knowing someone from our tiny town might have been killed made it feel unbearably personal.
Her mom sits in a brown leather chair on a studio set, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. On a stand next to her is a large photo of Madison, showing off her beautiful smile and toffee hair—before her life took a mystifying turn. I wonder if her mom still lives on the lake.
“Michelle, you know your daughter best, and I’m well aware there are some things in this investigation that you cannot share. But tell us, what do you think happened that night? And do you think Madison’s ex-boyfriend, or someone from work, had anything to do with whatever happened to her?” the interviewer, Susan Ritter, asks.
I turn up the volume, anticipating her response.
They haven’t found Madison’s body—assuming she was murdered because, well, everybody does—so I’m interested to hear her mom’s theories. Madison left her job in the city one night and was spotted on a few surveillance cameras strolling past stores and bars before vanishing. She lived in an apartment only blocks away, her usual walk taking a mysterious turn. That’s all I remember.
“I’m willing to say that I wasn’t a fan of her boyfriend when he was dating my daughter, and I, of course, have wondered if he did something to her. But the police tell me they don’t think he’s guilty, so…” Michelle trails off, staring at the floor.
This poor woman. She looks exhausted.
“When you say you weren’t a fan of him, could you elaborate? And is there anything you can tell us about him?” Susan presses.
“He’s not a suspect, so I’m not going to be the one to dox him,” she huffs. “But I think she was better than him. I didn’t think they were a good match when they were dating—which was only for a few months. When Madison broke up with him before she went missing, he seemed to leave her alone. So I don’t know. It could have been anyone, I guess. Any guy she was casually dating. Or someone who saw an opportunity while she walked home from work. She was perfect.Isperfect,” she corrects herself.
The camera pans to the audience, showcasing many sympathetic faces.
“Then, is it your impression that someone else could have been after her? Maybe someone she rejected? Possibly even someone from work, as has previously been posited?”
Michelle thinks for a moment. “Before she went missing, she told her best friend that she wanted to get a new job—that something was bothering her, and she wanted to get out of there and maybe even move. But she loved her job at Pacific Records. Music is her passion.”
“And we know she didn’t run away, based on police finding her purse on the corner of Fourteenth and Howell, isn’t that right?” Susan asks with a borderline imposing tone.
Michelle doesn’t even take a beat before replying. “I know my girl didn’t run away. Yes, they found her purse. Now, where would she be without her purse? Without any money? Without letting me know she’s okay? She hasn’t used her phone or her bank cards since that day. How did she just vanish off the street like that?”
I’m thankful when my stomach growls, yanking me away from the TV and into the kitchen. I don’t have the bandwidth to deal with more sadness, though I feel for Michelle.
When I pull on the stainless-steel fridge handle, I’m hit with a glum reminder: the scarce edible remnants of Mom’s kitchen. The perishables of a single woman. Sour half-and-half, a bag of wilted spinach, and a deli sandwich from Rainbow Acres Grocery that, curiously, isn’t expired.
I often forgot that she was alone in this house. Probably because she’d always been alone when Amelia and I weren’t around. My father left before we were born, making it just us girls.
Mom handled single parenthood with grace. But when Amelia and I started our own lives, she lost a big piece of hers and I don’t think she ever got it back.
Plucking spoiled food from the cold shelf, I stack it all against my chest and dump the lot straight into the trash.
Growing up in a town of nine thousand people, you’d think it would be a big enough population where you could have some discretion.
Wrong.
After pulling up to Rainbow Acres, the Holloways’ store, I rush inside to escape the downpour. As I wring the rain from my golden hair, I nearly collide with a clerk I haven’t seen in years. Before I can apologize, she pulls me into a bear hug.
“Oh, Imogen,” she says. “I am so sorry about Alice, honey. How are you and sissy holding up?”
It’s sweet of her to remember me after all this time, but I don’t feel like reminiscing. I force a small smile. “We’re okay. Just… dealing with it. I hope you’re well.”
She squeezes my hand with an empathetic frown before I slip away down the aisle. Green basket in hand, I stock up on apples,sharp English cheddar, local eggs—little anchors of normalcy. But with every turn I feel eyes on me, the casual smiles and passing hellos feel too pointed, like everyone knows. I keep my head down and hurry, piling bottles of wine into the basket until my arms protest and the weight tells me it’s time to check out.
At the register, I unload my groceries on the belt and catch the male checker staring.
My gaze meets his, and he startles, snapping back into motion, scanning items in silence. Something about him nags at me—dark hair, sharp jawline, tall frame. Familiar, but I can’t place him. I glance at his name tag:Cale. I’d remember a name like that, even in this town.
“Having a party?” he asks flatly, plucking me out of my own head.
“No, I… No.” I almost explain why I need this much wine but shut myself up instead.
