Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
Mom told me to meet the family out at the McKenna farm.
As I pull onto the property, it’s not the same as it was yesterday afternoon.
The land where the barn used to be as well as the grassy field is filled with cars and trucks.
It takes a moment before I find a place to park.
After finessing my rental between two large trucks, I ease out of the car and begin walking toward the tree line.
It’s not only the direction others are headed, but also the way I hear voices, more specifically, one voice.
At the crest of the hill, I look over the field where yesterday afternoon there was a growing pile of brush.
This morning, it’s a sea of people. With my hands in my jacket pockets, I make my way toward the crowd, wondering if all these people are from Blue Gil.
It isn’t unusual for people from farther distances to come when a person is missing.
If I were to think about the shows, I’d say that if there’s a person responsible for a disappearance, he or she is here.
It’s a common profile. Arsonists stand behind the police tape and watch the building they set on fire burn. Kidnappers are often part of the search team. Murderers attend the funeral of their victim.
Psychologically, it has to do with narcissistic tendencies. Often the guilty party is certain of their ability to not be caught and will infiltrate the case posing as a concerned friend or good-hearted Samaritan.
I remind myself that we have no reason to believe Julie is a victim of foul play.
She simply didn’t come home after a party.
Since talking to Becky, I’ve compiled a multitude of questions, the biggest one being who else failed to return home besides Julie and Marty Thompson?
The demographic of the search gathering is difficult to pinpoint.
There are young and old, families with children, and men and women with firearms. There are even some people with dogs.
I assume they are hunting dogs, not cadaver trained, based on the attire of their owners.
Some canines sit obediently at their owner’s feet while others pull on their leashes, sending high-pitched whines through the brisk afternoon air.
“Jillian.”
I stop and turn back toward the deep voice.
“Theo,” I reply with a nod, taking in the man from the Walleye Tavern, the one who kept my arrival to Blue Gil secret, at least from my parents.
Trotting down the hill, he catches up to me, still a distance from the crowd. “Man, I’m sorry about your sister.”
“Thanks. I’m not sure it’s sunk in. I’m hoping—”
“Just a little too much partying,” he says, finishing my sentence.
My cheeks rise in a sort of smile as the breeze blows my hair around my face and I take in Theo’s appearance.
Not much different than the night at the bar, he’s wearing faded blue jeans.
His muscular chest and arms are covered by a large Lions hoodie.
I recognize it as the throwback jersey, the last time the Detroit Lions won the NFC championship.
While I doubt many of my friends in California would know that fact, growing up with a diehard Lions fan for a father, I could probably recite the team’s statistics as soon as I learned to talk.
The commemorated win occurred before the Super Bowl existed.
In 1957, the Lions beat the Cleveland Browns 59 to 14. The Browns were favored, mostly because our quarterback, Bobby Layne, broke his right ankle in the conference final—the game before the championship. Tobin Rote, previously from Green Bay, stepped up and gave us a win.
Since that was the last championship win for Detroit, it lives in infamy for fans of the team.
“Yeah,” I reply to Theo. “Did you go to the party?”
He shakes his head, and I decide from the mess of his hair that he came here straight from bed. In his hand is a mug of what I can assume is coffee.
“No, I worked last night.” He lifts the mug. “I just woke and saw the text. Four in the morning wasn’t that long ago.”
“At the Walleye Tavern?” I ask.
“Yeah, we close at three and then there’s cleanup.”
Sheriff Mane’s voice comes from a megaphone.
I step closer to Theo. “Was the bar less crowded than normal with the party happening?”
“No, this” —he tilts his chin to the crowd— “was for underage and outsiders. The Walleye Tavern had its regulars.”
“I thought it was a send-off of sorts for Coach?”
Theo shrugs. “Still too many underage for most Blue Gil residents to attend.”
“But they knew about it?”
“I assume most people did.”
I turn and look down at the sheriff speaking before the crowd. “What about him?”
After taking a drink from his mug, Theo turns his attention to the man talking.
“It’s been a shitty couple of weeks around here.
I can’t say if the sheriff or the rest of the department knew.
My dad didn’t mention it, but if they did get wind of it, I guess they probably patrolled the area for drunk drivers and let the partiers, especially the seniors who have dealt with so much, let off steam. ”
Let off steam.
Word is there will be a few kegs of brew, Skittles, and plenty of blow at the bonfire. Those were some of the last words my sister said to me. It seems Blue Gil hasn’t gotten with the program regarding underage usage. “Any idea about who specifically was here?”
“I could come up with a list of people at the Walleye Tavern, if you think that might help Sheriff Manes.”
I smile and nod. “Thank you, Theo. Anything to help.”
Turning, I continue walking until I make my way toward the front of the crowd where I get a closer view of the man whose voice is booming through the air, Sheriff Manes.
“...for coming out today. Together we will work to systematically cover as much ground as possible.”
“Are there any signs of foul play?” someone yells from the crowd.
Sheriff Manes holds the megaphone in one hand and lifts the other.
“All we know for sure is that the Thompson and Thorne girls were last seen here, where you’re standing, last night.
We have multiple statements confirming their presence.
They were reported to be last seen some time after eleven but before midnight. ”
The crowd murmurs as I move between the people. Finally, I see my family. My father is standing with his arm around my mother. Liv is on her other side. Matt is there next to Ollie.
It’s the first time I’ve seen my younger brother in person in years.
Of course, there’s been occasional social media posts and many pictures from my mother. Nevertheless, I’m a bit surprised at how tall he has grown; he’s at least an inch taller than Matt and three or four taller than our father.
Walking behind them, as Sheriff Manes continues to talk, giving the town as much information as possible, I reach for Liv’s shoulder. When she turns, her eyes are red and her cheeks damp with tears. After releasing our mom’s hand, she wraps me in a hug.
“You should have gone to the party,” she whispers against my ear.
“We thought...” I don’t finish the sentiment as we both turn and listen to the sheriff.
“...searching this area since before nine this morning, but I believe more can be accomplished with groups.” He points to his side.
“We would like everyone to divide up. Deputy Morton, Deputy Ford, and Deputy Williams will each coordinate up to thirty people. But before you divide up, there is one more thing.”
There isn’t a sound beyond the rustling of the immature leaves blowing in the wind or the flutter of duck feathers landing on the pond as we wait.
“Mills County has 140 lakes, 128 of those have homes. That is over ten thousand structures. Of those ten thousand, nearly 4,500 are occupied by seasonal occupants.”
Though I thought the percentage would be higher, I can’t help but wonder if this goes along with my conversation with Becky and phrogging.
“Some of you may live next door or down the lane from one or more of these homes. We don’t have the manpower here in Blue Gil to adequately search the open land and search each and every empty house. We need your help.”
“What about bringing in the county or state police?” a man somewhere behind us yelled.
“If it comes to that...”
My mother’s shoulders quake as she covers her face with her hand.