Chapter Two
“Thanks for letting him off the hook, Sergeant Kennedy.”
“I just hope this won’t happen again.” Midge tucks her iPad under her arm and glances from the weary-eyed woman on the doorstep to her young teenage son, picked up for an illicit swim on a sweltering summer afternoon.
Midge may be law enforcement now, but she experienced her share of backyard pool hopping with her older brothers and their friends back in the day. They just never did it in broad daylight.
Ninety-seven degrees, humid, sun-searing broad daylight.
And they never got caught, because there were no home-monitoring devices like the Ring camera that alerted the vacationing homeowner to an intruder on his property today.
When the call came in, Midge was already in the neighborhood, chasing down a greyhound puppy that had escaped its leash.
Dog days, indeed.
Within minutes of the intruder call, she was on the scene, still breathless and sweat soaked, armed and prepared for anything . . .
Well, anything but a scrawny fourteen-year-old splashing around wearing Hawaiian-print swim trunks and rubber goggles. She’d gladly have jumped into the sparkling pool to apprehend him, but he climbed out as soon as he saw her, apologizing profusely.
Now he stares at his flip-flops until his mother nudges him, saying, “It won’t happen again, Sergeant Kennedy. Right, Jacob?”
“Right.” He lifts his head to meet Midge’s gaze. His blond hair is still damp, his face goggle-imprinted.
“Good. Because next time, there will be repercussions.” She maintains an appropriately stern expression, blotting sweat from beneath the brim of her police cap, and tucks back unruly coppery strands.
If her friend Kelly were here, she’d say Midge is frizzled. She coined the phrase this summer, with Midge perpetually frazzled due to stressful workdays, her hair frizzy from the humidity.
Fortunately, Midge is one of those people who gives little thought to her appearance, while Kelly is one of those people who’s never looked frazzled, frizzy, or frizzled in her life.
Her phone buzzes. Checking it, she sees an incoming call from Walter Jackson, Mulberry Bay’s police chief, who’s been out on medical leave all summer.
He probably wants to discuss his scheduled return next week, and none too soon.
She sends the call to voicemail as Jacob’s mother tells him to go to his room.
“And no video games,” she adds as he disappears down the hall.
A door slams. The woman shakes her head, fanning herself with a supermarket flyer advertising organic heirloom watermelon.
“I’m really sorry about this, Sergeant Kennedy. I don’t know what to do with him. He’s been giving me trouble ever since his dad walked out. I can’t—”
“Mom! Where the hell is my uniform? I’m late!” A teenage girl appears, wearing a sports bra and skimpy panties. She has long blond hair; tanned, lanky limbs; and a pretty face. Seeing Midge, she turns to her mother. “Why are the cops here? Are you trying to have Dad arrested or something?”
“This has nothing to do with your father. It has nothing to do with you, either, Taylor. Go put some clothes on.”
“I can’t find my uniform!”
“Well, I saw it in the laundry yesterday. So unless you washed it, it’s probably still there. It’s time to start taking care of your own—”
“But I’m late! What am I supposed to do?”
“Get dressed and go to work.”
“In a dirty uniform?”
“I guess so.”
Taylor stalks away.
Her mother returns a weary gaze to Midge. “The world revolves around her, and the rest of us are just here to serve her. You know how it is with teenage girls.”
Midge doesn’t know—not from a parenting standpoint. And when she looks back on that time in her own life, she only remembers her friend Caroline Winterfield’s prom-night disappearance, and how it impacted every aspect of her own life. That summer, and for years after. Even now.
Especially now.
“Jacob is tough, but Taylor’s impossible. And my ex is no help. Do you have a husband? An ex-husband? Kids?”
“None of the above.”
“Yeah, well, no wonder. Being a cop, I’m sure you see the worst of them all.”
Midge nods, though the pool escapade is hardly the worst of what she’s seen in her twenty years on the Mulberry Bay police force. It’s far from the worst thing she’s seen in a summer that began with the village’s first homicide in over a decade.
“Good thing school starts next week,” Jacob’s mother says. “It’s been a long summer—not in a good way, you know?”
Hell yes, Midge knows.
“Mom!” Taylor hollers from somewhere in the house.
Her mother looks at Midge. “I swear I’m going to strangle her.”
“Ah, I’ll let you go.”
“Wait, you know I didn’t mean that, right? I wouldn’t really—”
“No, I know.”
“She’s just—”
“I get it.” Midge flashes a smile over her shoulder. “No worries. Good luck.”
Heading for the sunbaked car at the curb, she shoots a wistful glance at the sprinkler spritzing the lawn next door.
This development may be called Shady Grove Acres, but trees—even the town’s insidious mulberries—are conspicuously absent amid the cookie-cutter ranch homes.
With the windows rolled down and the air-conditioning on full blast, Midge finishes entering the report details into the iPad, mounts it on the dashboard, then checks the time.
She’ll be off duty in half an hour. She has dinner plans with friends later this evening, but she might have time to head down to the lake for a quick swim.
By then, the sun will be lower, an added bonus for a fair-skinned ginger like her.
Not that burns and fresh freckles have been much of a concern this summer.
In years past, she’s slathered herself in the highest-available SPF and devoted every nonworking, nonsleeping hour to outdoor recreation. But this summer, for Midge, there’s been no swimming, kayaking, hiking, playing softball and tennis. There’s barely been time for sleeping.
She returns Walt’s call as she heads back toward town, reminding herself that he’s due to return after the holiday weekend. Maybe she’ll be able to salvage what’s left of the summer after all.
After a few rings, a reedy voice answers the phone.
She hesitates. “Uh . . . Walt?”
“It’s me. Good to hear from you, Midge. Keeping cool?”
“Always.”
A warbled chuckle. “The coolest gal in town, hands down. Listen, Midge, I hate to do this to you, but my doctor says I’ll be laid up awhile longer. Do you think you’ll be able to—ah, I hate to ask, but . . .”
“Walt, I’ve got everything under control for as long as you need me. You just focus on getting better.”
“I’m . . .” He clears his throat, and her heart sinks. “Yeah. I’m really trying. And thanks, Midge. If it were anyone else standing in for me, I’d be on the job, dragging this damned IV pole. But with you, well, that’s one less thing for me to worry about.”
She does her best to sound chipper. “I’ve got you, Walt. For as long as you need me.”
So much for salvaging the summer. But as long as nothing happens in the next half hour, she can still go for that predinner swim. She has a bathing suit in the gym bag she keeps at the office, along with running shoes, ever optimistic that she’ll manage to squeeze a workout into these busy days.
Tourist traffic builds along Route 28 as she nears the town proper. This was once a wooded country byway with sweeping Catskills vistas. Now it’s a four-lane thoroughfare lined with condos and town houses, chain stores and restaurants.
Like many Ulster County towns, Mulberry Bay’s economy fluctuated for the better part of the last century, with most of this one devoted to a renaissance.
Business is booming, and a burgeoning population has led to soaring real estate prices and ongoing construction.
Controversy abounds, with developers, summer residents, and newcomers frequently battling longtime locals at town zoning board meetings.
She passes Wildgreen, the upscale supermarket that replaced the old A&P, and a frequent source of such contention. All summer, it’s been the scene of protests by old-timers who consider it a health-food store, overpriced and sorely lacking in Kellogg’s Rice Krispies and Hostess Ho Hos.
On this sweltering afternoon, there’s not a picket sign in sight—just a crowded parking lot and a massive bin of organic heirloom watermelons with a big yellow sale banner.
Midge’s mouth waters. What she wouldn’t give for a wedge of cold pink watermelon, served up with ribs, corn on the cob, potato salad . . .
There have been no backyard barbecues for her this summer. No hot dogs on the grill, no toasting marshmallows for s’mores, watching fireflies flit beneath a starry sky.
Maybe this weekend, though. She’s hoping for some downtime. Her friend Talia is coming to Mulberry Bay with her family, staying at Haven Cliff with Kelly.
Despite the heat wave on this Thursday before Labor Day weekend, the town hums with activity.
Locals, summer residents, and tourists are out en masse, clogging the streets with vehicles, bikes, or skateboards.
Double-parked delivery drivers unload crates onto hand trucks.
Pedestrians carry shopping bags, push strollers, or have dogs on leashes.
A line stretches along the sidewalk beneath the pastel-pink-striped awnings at Get the Scoop, where a hand-printed banner advertises a heat wave special.
The ice cream parlor, located on the first floor of the old Mulberry Bay Daily News building, is presumably far more lucrative than the newspaper, which went from a daily to a monthly before folding altogether in the early 2000s, and is now tentatively back in print as a weekly.
In the grassy commons across the way, every tree-shaded bench is occupied, and a few sweaty souls are actually using the jogging path. Midge, a lifelong athlete, wouldn’t dream of it in oppressive weather like this.
The police station is located at the corner of Main and Center Streets.
With four floors, a clock tower, and an 1890 cornerstone, the granite building presides over the town square.
Municipal offices, meeting rooms, and the historical society occupy the main and upper floors, with headquarters on the subterranean level.
As always, Midge feels a flicker of gratification as she parks in the spot designated Chief Only, All Others Towed. It’s a perk she’ll miss when Walt comes back.
She grabs her iPad and climbs out of the car. There’s a garbage truck near the outdoor stairway, giving off a sickening stench and making a deafening racket as it backs up toward a dumpster.
Descending the steps, she can see the front desk through the glass doors.
Allie, the temp who’s covering for the regular receptionist on maternity leave, is scrolling on her phone, leaning back in her chair, crossed feet propped on the desk.
She’s wearing a tank top and dangly earrings, and Midge notices a purple streak in her brown hair that wasn’t there on her first day.
Midge wishes she’d played a more active role in the hiring process. Surely they could have found someone more presentable for a forward-facing position in law enforcement.
Spotting Midge just before she steps through the glass doors, Allie straightens and shoves the phone into her pocket.
“Hey, Midge.”
“Hey, Allie. All good here?”
“All good. It’s been quiet. I guess the bad guys are too hot to commit crimes.”
Midge flashes her a smile and moves on to her office. Yeah, she might not have had purple streaks in her hair at eighteen, but at least Allie isn’t lying to everyone she knows, including the authorities, to cover up the truth about her friend’s disappearance.
Caroline wanted the world to think she was dead and extracted a promise from her best friends never to reveal the truth. To this day, Midge, Kelly, and Talia have honored their word.
But Midge wrestles with guilt and always will.
In her office, she wraps up her reports with an eye on the clock. The room is warm. On a day like this, central air can only do so much.
But even this late in the season, the lake, fed by Catskills streams, will be icy. She needs that swim, needs to wash off the sticky, smelly, uncomfortable day.
Five more minutes to go . . .
Two . . .
The desk phone rings.
It’s Allie. “Yeah, Midge, I’ve got a lady on the phone who needs to talk to you. She says it’s urgent. Her name is Sarah . . . something.”
“Sarah something? Allie—”
“I tried to get her last name, but she’s, like, hysterical. She wants to report a crime, but she said she won’t talk to anyone except Detective Sergeant Imogene Kennedy.”
Midge doesn’t know anyone named Sarah, and no one in her personal life has called her by her given name in decades.
She tells Allie to put the call through and checks her watch, hoping Sarah will make it snappy.
A voice comes on the line, shrill and loud. “Hello? Hello? Is this Imogene Kennedy?”
Midge winces, holding the phone a few inches away from her ear. “Yes?”
“It’s Sarah Greene! My daughter! She’s disappeared!”