Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Scarlett picks up the first photo, stares at it for a second before turning it over to read the writing on the back.
“Eliza Bennett,” she reads softly. “Fourteen.”
Gabriel takes the second. His expression tightens as he does the same. “Marisa Lane. Fifteen.”
My fingers close around the third. “Anthony Hoggins,” I whisper. “Also fifteen.”
“There’s a report inside,” Gabriel says in a strained voice.
I reach back into the envelope. It’s a struggle to keep my hands steady as I unfold the single typed page and start reading out loud.
CONFIDENTIAL INVESTIGATION SUMMARY
Mr. Sutton, following your request, I conducted an investigation into Saltspray Cove Youth Camp.
During this process, I identified three additional cases involving minors who attended the camp and were subsequently reported missing after leaving the premises without authorization:
- Eliza Bennett, age fourteen, reported missing two years ago
- Marisa Lane, age fifteen, reported missing five years ago
- Anthony Hoggins, age fifteen, reported missing seven years ago
In each case, the minor was confirmed to have been enrolled at Saltspray Cove Youth Camp prior to their disappearance.
According to available records, all three youths left the camp grounds voluntarily or without staff knowledge and were later reported missing by the camp’s counselors or other associated parties.
None of the three were found. Law enforcement ultimately declared all deceased based on investigative findings, though no remains were located.
At this time, I have uncovered no direct evidence implicating the camp in any wrongdoing.
I will attempt to identify and contact individuals who may have known the missing children and will update you as soon as possible.
I lower the page with tears in my eyes.
“The police said they were dead,” Scarlett whispers, blinking back tears as well.
“They declared them dead,” Gabriel corrects. “That’s not the same thing.”
I look down at the photos again. At their faces, all non-smiling at the camera. Eliza has big brown eyes that match her skin, Anthony’s lips are parted and I detect a missing tooth, and Marisa has a prominent widow’s peak and a tiny nose.
I cover my mouth with both hands as fear spreads through my body like frostbite, starting in my fingertips and working up my arms to my heart.
My fingers hover over Eliza’s face.
“She’s the one,” I say quietly. “Saul said she had a tragic end.” I look up at Gabriel. “What does that mean?”
He exhales slowly. “There was another report after this, but I left it at home. It was mostly focused on her. After she disappeared, her clothes were found near a landfill.” He hesitates. “There was blood on them.”
Scarlett makes a strangled sound beside me, but I barely register it as the word blood echoes in my mind, growing louder with each heartbeat.
Gabriel continues carefully. “All of the missing children were eventually declared dead, even though no remains were ever found. But her case was different. The amount of blood they found made investigators believe she may have been killed.”
I feel suddenly weak, so it’s a good thing I’m sitting.
I force myself to look down again at the children’s faces. They look like they want to say something if only they were not frozen in time.
I pick up Eliza’s photo and stare at it. I wish I had the power to reach into the photo, to bring her to life, to hear the sound of her voice as she tells us what happened to her, to the others.
“Whoever killed her could have done it again.” My pulse pounds in my ears.
“Judy,” Gabriel cuts in gently.
I ignore him. “They could have taken Sadie after she left the camp. If they knew where to look. If they watched the camp. If they—”
“They got him. He didn’t touch Sadie,” Gabriel says quickly.
I look up with tears beading my eyelashes.
“They didn’t find Eliza’s remains, but they caught the man who murdered her,” he says firmly. “Ronald Hastings, a known offender. He’s behind bars.”
My lungs finally draw a full breath, but it still doesn’t feel like complete relief. “He can’t do it again?” I look back down at Eliza’s face.
“No, but there’s more,” Gabriel adds, squeezing my hand. I guess he doesn’t want any more secrets between us. “Her mother died two weeks after Eliza was declared dead.”
Scarlett gasps. “What?”
“Died how?” I ask slowly.
“By suicide. She also had cancer before she died.”
No one speaks. Unspoken words hang in the air, thick and suffocating, as if saying them out loud would suck every breath of oxygen out of this entire apartment.
Gabriel’s hand is still holding mine tight and Scarlett hasn’t moved at all for the last three minutes, blankly staring ahead.
“What was her name?” I ask when I manage to wade through the shock.
“Brenda Bennett.”
“Okay.” I pick up my phone and type it into Goggle. I don’t even know what I’m looking for. I just need to do something.
An obituary appears almost immediately, linked to the town’s website.
Brenda Bennett, 43. Beloved member of the community. Passed away after a brief illness.
That’s it. After that there are only details about the funeral.
There’s no mention of how she died or a daughter.
Just a short paragraph followed by a request.
Fundraiser: Help Cover Funeral Expenses
Organized by: Grace Kitchen Outreach, 124 Ocean Road, Saltspray Cove.
The bank details at the very bottom complete the obituary.
My chest tightens painfully. “I need to know who Brenda was, so I can know who Eliza was.”
Gabriel frowns. “What?”
“I need to know what kind of child she was. Where she came from, and what happened before she ran from the camp.”
“That won’t change what happened,” Scarlett mutters, wiping away tears.
“And what if it does?”
Scarlett shifts slightly but says nothing.
I gather Eliza’s photo and the report page and slide them back into the envelope. Then I’m on my feet.
“Where are you going?” Gabriel asks.
“To Grace Kitchen.”
In the bedroom, as I pull clothes from the drawer, a new fear slips into my thoughts.
Hastings may be behind bars, but men like him rarely work alone. They find one another. They look out for each other and commit the same crimes.
What if one of his twisted friends is out there, finishing what he began?
What if that person has Sadie now?
The thought hits me so hard I have to grab the dresser to keep myself steady.
The phone starts ringing.
I spin around, heart hammering, breath trapped in my lungs, as if the monster I just imagined is standing in the doorway, watching me.
My pulse stutters as I answer. “Hello?”
“Hello,” a man says, his voice gravelly. “I may have some information that might help you find your daughter.”