Girl Last Seen Read online

  Kadence got her car from her uncle on her sixteenth birthday. She wanted a red Corvette like Jake Ryan in Sixteen Candles. Her parents refused, but her uncle gave her his beater. She used her birthday money to have it painted cherry red. Fake it till you make it, she’d said. That was always the way. Never satisfied with life the way it came, always pushing for more. And she always made it happen. It was admirable. Enviable, some might say. I might say, though I don’t always like to admit it.

  Right now the car door—the way it hangs open—looks like a sliver of fingernail broken off an otherwise perfect red manicure. I swallow the lump in my throat as I take a second to gather my courage. I knock on the front door and wait. Nothing. I knock again. Still no answer.

  I feel weird about letting myself into the Mulligans’ house, creepy stalker weird. But Mrs. Mulligan is nervous enough about Kadence that I know she’d want me to check things out for real. They keep a key stored in a fake rock in the garden to the left of the front door. I find it easily, unlock the door, and step inside the house.

  “Kady?” I call uncertainly. My gruff voice echoes off the walls.

  The Mulligans’ house is military straight, just like Kadence’s dad. The walls are a pale gray. No picture ever hangs crooked because no one ever slams the doors. Pieces of furniture sit at right angles to each other. The only hint of a blemish is a plaster patch on the wall—painted over with gray paint—where my elbow once dinged the drywall.

  It happened after our first song reached a million views. We posted a few videos our sophomore year, got a handful of subscribers, then BAM! When that millionth view came in, Kadence spun me around and around and around until I saw stars. She let me go, and even though my head said stop, my body kept moving and I staggered into the wall. I paid for the patch with my summer babysitting money. I thought Kadence would pitch in. If she hadn’t let go…But it was always so easy for her to let go now, wasn’t it?

  As I walk through the house, I can’t help but notice how quiet it is. That strange, waiting, breath-held kind of silence that a place gets when it’s empty. If Kadence were here, I’m sure I would sense her. The movement of air, the groan of a mattress, the rhythmic beeping of an alarm clock being ignored. I go upstairs.

  “Um, Kady?” I call again. There’s an edge to my raspy voice now. I push open the door to her room.

  Kadence’s bed is made, but the clothes she was wearing last night aren’t on the floor. There’s no purse, no laptop. There’s the antique chair by the window, the only piece of furniture in the whole house that reflects anything of Kadence’s personality, but even it looks wrong. It takes me a second before I realize that it’s missing the usual heaps of clothes hanging off it.

  I look around the room, spinning in a circle as if Kadence is merely hiding—perhaps braced against the corner and the ceiling like a ninja, ready to jump down on me and give me the scare of my life. But my eyes confirm what I already knew. Kadence isn’t here.

  Four

  Kadence

  Found Video Footage

  Kadence Mulligan’s Laptop

  Date Unknown

  Image opens.

  Kadence Mulligan’s face appears on-screen. Though she is obviously sitting on a bed, she is in full show regalia: tight purple dress with blue rhinestones lining the bodice, thick false eyelashes, bright pink lips. A glittery purple pashmina scarf is wrapped around her neck.

  “Is this thing working?” Kadence smiles and waves. “Hello, my beautiful Kady-Dids! I’m trying vlogging for the first time! I know, I know, it took me forever to get with the program and try this. It’s funny, as comfortable as I am on stage, I still feel shy on camera.”

  She ducks her head and runs a hand through her hair, then laughs nervously. “Wow, if Lauren heard me say that, she wouldn’t believe it. Anyway.” She sits up straighter and grins again. “Here we are. You, me, and only the tiny world of cyberspace between us. So, how are you, my lovelies?

  “It’s a cold January day up here in Minnesota.” Little cartoon penguins dance across the bottom of the screen.

  “Which is why I’ve got my super sparkly scarf on today. My boyfriend, Mason, gave this to me. I know”—she leans in as if conspiratorially—“don’t you all wish you had boyfriends who had good taste like mine does? The secret is to find guys who love their sisters. Or at least are forced to go shopping with them all the time.” She laughs.

  “But seriously, guys.” She holds up the end of her scarf. “To all my fellow songbirds out there, you’ve got to take care of your throats in winter. If Lauren’s health issues have taught us anything, it’s to be vigilant about taking care of ourselves.” She shakes her head and looks off camera to the left as if lost in thought.

  “Performing without her still doesn’t feel right. It’s only been a couple months, but…we’ve been singing together since we were twelve, you know.” She closes her eyes and breathes out before focusing back on the camera. “But we’ve gotta keep thinking positive. She’s still resting up and the doctors say that’s all she can do right now. And I can’t say enough how much we appreciate all your prayers and good wishes. Seriously.”

  “Okay.” She breathes in, sitting back and slapping her hands on her thighs. “Now I’m going to answer some questions from our Facebook page. I figure it’s so much more fun to answer this way than in short updates, right?

  “First question.” She looks at her laptop. “When did you and Lauren start singing together?” A small frown tugs at her mouth, but she covers it quickly with a smile. “I was an army brat, so I’d moved five times by seventh grade when we landed in Pine Grove, Minnesota. But this time was different. Dad was retiring and we were finally going to stay in one place. I was so excited. Nervous too.”

  Kadence leans back, careful to keep her legs crossed as she gets into the retelling.

  “With each new school, I had this process. A plan for infiltrating so I didn’t turn out to be a friendless loser. The key was confidence. You had to walk into each new place like you owned it. That and finding a best friend as soon as possible.

  “But I was having a harder time than normal at this school. That is, until I finally got my schedule fixed so I could be in choir. I was a soprano but was sitting at the dividing line by the altos right by this girl. She was good. Like, really, really good. Our voices sounded amazing in harmony together. We were both grinning by the end of class, even though we hadn’t said a single word to each other yet.” Kadence sighs happily and leans back on her bed.

  “It was one of those destiny moments, you know? We became best friends. Perfect timing too. She had this guy hanging around kind of stalking her when we walked out of the choir room together. A total Creepy McCreepster. I guess he’d been hanging around her for a while. She was too nice to tell him to get lost, so he’d been keeping at it. With me around though, he backed off. She had protection and we both had a new best friend. And the start of not only a life-long friendship, but this awesome music thing too.”

  Kadence grins. “Thanks so much for tuning into this episode of the Kady-Did Show and for all your questions. Continue sending your support for Lauren via our Facebook page or through hashtag #feelbetterLauren. I know she’s moved by all of your love and support. Life is short, my darlings. Reach for the stars before they burn out!”

  Kadence flashes double peace signs and the video cuts off.

  Five

  Mason

  Jean-Paul Renaudin Memorial Hockey Arena

  Saturday, March 31

  6:00 p.m.

  I hadn’t expected to get a call from Lauren this afternoon. I half expected us to never speak again. Not that I blamed her for that. At least not entirely. Now everything is a mess. Kady hates me. Lauren hates me. God, even I hate me.

  It’s quiet here at the rink. The stands are empty. Everything echoes—from the scrape of my skate blades to the tap of my stick against th
e ice. I pull back my arm and take a slapshot to one of the pucks I’ve dumped out of a bucket. I send the puck flying into the open net. At first, I hadn’t been worried when Lauren called, asking if I’d talked to Kady yet. I figured she was probably sleeping in on a Saturday, or maybe she’d gone off for a little while to work out her own shit. I was hoping that was it. I didn’t know what I was going to do if she couldn’t forgive me.

  My mind flashes back to that day last week in the cafeteria. I should have stepped in when Kady and Lauren got into that fight. I’d never seen them go at it like that before, and definitely never in public. Girl fights are supposed to be hot, but this one didn’t do anything for me. It was horrible and made even worse because I was the cause of it all. Me and that stupid kiss.

  I take another shot, but it ricochets off the pipe.

  Lauren should never have put that note in my locker. I should never have agreed to go to the fort with her. Lauren should have kept quiet and said nothing to Kady, just like we agreed. I should have pulled them apart before Lauren hit the cafeteria floor. Shoulda, shoulda, shoulda.

  My dad always tells me not to should on myself. It’s supposed to be a joke, but it’s not very funny.

  By the time I got to the rink this afternoon, Kady still hadn’t returned any of my texts. And by then I’d sent plenty. Each one more pathetic than the last. I even used the crying face emoji. Maybe that’s why she’s not responding.

  The beginner figure skaters are showing up for lessons. Twenty or so little girls in mittens and colorful sweaters. They remind me of my little sisters, which reminds me that I need to get home. I collect all my pucks and drop them in the bucket. Then I head for the locker room. The first thing I do there is check my phone. Still nothing. And now I’m starting to freak out a bit. Kady’s never been quiet this long.

  Six

  Lauren

  Cuppa Cuppa

  Sunday, April 1

  12:07 p.m.

  A day passes. Major and Mrs. Mulligan have come home from Duluth. Still no sign of Kadence. They’re out of their minds with worry. I’m a jittery mess. Maybe I have caffeine poisoning or something. Maybe I’ve been unintentionally ingesting it. Like breathing in caffeinated air or something at Cuppa Cuppa. Mom tells me to sit down. I’m making her nervous.

  I jump online, looking for an easy distraction. Google Alerts tell me that someone has just tweeted about me and Kadence. Out of habit, I click on it to see which of our songs is getting some buzz. But they’re not talking about a song, and they’re not mincing words.

  @MBlake96 WTF just heard Kadence Mulligan is missing??? One guess who’s behind it. Payback’s a bitch, Lauren.

  A cold trickle of dread runs down my arms, and sweat prickles the back of my neck. Who the hell is MBlake96? Her profile pic is a yellow duck, and she’s got no bio. I slam my laptop shut and get up from my chair so fast it topples over.

  The noise makes Mom jump. “Holy—!” she exclaims, and then with a tone of exasperation, “Isn’t there any homework you could be doing? You’re wound as tight as one of your guitar strings.”

  Dad looks up from his book and his eyebrows come together, like he’s seeing me for the first time.

  “I don’t have any homework,” I say, and for once in my life I wish I did.

  “Do you have work-work today?” Dad asks.

  I shake my head and bite at a hangnail. I’m not scheduled to work again until later this week, but they’re right. I can’t just sit here at home. I need to stay busy. Mom always says, “Busy hands quiet the mind,” but this time it comes out as, “Why don’t you unload the dishwasher?”

  I’m grateful for the suggestion and happily get to work. Maybe if I stay busy all day, I’ll be able to sleep tonight. When I’m done with the dishes, I call Charlie to see if I can come in to work.

  “You’re not on the schedule, dumb ass.” Coming from Charlie, that’s a term of endearment. I roll my eyes even though he can’t appreciate the effect.

  “I know I’m not scheduled. That’s why I’m calling.” Dumb ass. “Can I, please?”

  “Fine,” he says, “come in”—because by now I am practically begging him—“but only if you promise you’re not still sick.”

  For a second I don’t know what he’s talking about, but then I remember my little white lie. “I’m not sick,” I say because I’m not. Not really. It’s just that I didn’t get much sleep last night. My mind kept replaying Friday night like it was on some perpetual loop in my head:

  Kadence arrived at Cuppa Cuppa at six o’clock. She unloaded her gear. The place was packed. She sang; I held myself together. Afterward, she stuck around to watch me clean up. I thought we were going to talk out the Mason situation. We didn’t.

  She left abruptly, saying “Abyssinia!” which is an old-fashioned expression she picked up when she was going through a retro phase. Apparently it’s 1930s slang for “I’ll be seeing you.”

  I found her gone from her house the next afternoon. Abyssinia!

  Repeat.

  Repeat again.

  Sometimes my mind wanders into more detail in the sequence. Like how, when she stuck around after everyone else left, she didn’t say anything right away. How her silence made me fidget. How in my awkwardness, I said, “Great show.”

  “Thanks,” she said like I was just anyone, just one of the many who came up nervously to say, “Great show,” not knowing what else to say but desperate to make some kind of personal connection with her.

  Kadence was always the less approachable of the two of us. It was probably because she was the showiest. It was the hair, I think. And the way she carried herself with her shoulders back. She was tall enough to look over a lot of people’s heads. It was funny because onstage she would connect with the audience, but when the show was over, it was like a switch had been flipped. Enter diva mode.

  Not me. I was always happy to talk to people about the music. They’d come up and say, “You have such a beautiful voice.” Had. Had such a beautiful voice.

  “This really is the coolest little coffee shop,” Kadence had said finally. Maybe she was sincere. Maybe she was being patronizing. It was sometimes hard to tell. One thing was for sure—Kadence always had an eye for style and design.

  She had redecorated my bedroom for my sixteenth birthday present. She’d said I had outgrown the little girl decor. The pink walls and pink chiffon curtains had been with me since I was four—so I could see Kadence’s point—but there was history in the cotton-candiness of it all. My history. So it took me a little while before I finally caved.

  My mom gave us free rein, and Kadence jumped in, clipping magazine pages of what she called “hip” and “glam” styles of the rich and famous. Fake it till you make it, she’d said.

  She came over one morning with a gallon of paint that looked like melted chocolate, as well as a sky-blue comforter she bought at Bed Bath & Beyond. An early birthday present, she said. She even talked me into buying a used chandelier at Goodwill. It had about a hundred dangly crystals and probably belonged over a dining room table rather than my bed, but she spray-painted the metal parts blue, then convinced my dad to install it.

  Later, I got some paint pens and wrote my favorite song lyrics all over the walls. Lots of Lennon and the Eagles. Communist Daughter and Trampled by Turtles. Some Damien Rice. I have to say the room turned out pretty cool, though it took me a solid week before I was comfortable enough to get a good night’s sleep. Any bit of light caught the crystals and turned my room into a spinning light show. It was like sleeping under a disco ball. Kadence was all about the show. The Kadence Show.

  Enough with the bitter thoughts already, okay? I rub both my hands down my face, feeling my calloused fingertips against my cheeks. I’m so tired. I got used to the room eventually, but how am I supposed to sleep in there now? Every inch of it reminds me of Kadence.

  Looking bac
k, I wish it had occurred to me to come up with something equally cool for Kadence’s sixteenth birthday. Her parents would never have let me decorate her room (not that I had that kind of skill), but still. I could have come up with something on par with a bedroom remodel if I’d tried.

  Instead, I went with the sentimental gift. Something that would remind Kadence of all we’d been through together. I spent days going through old photo albums, both books and online, until I found the perfect picture. It was of us the summer after eighth grade, right before we won the Washington County Fair Talent Show. We were so nervous, and you could see it on our faces. It was like we knew we were going to win, but would we really?

  When I gave it to her in a Best Friends Forever frame, she said thanks, then sulked for the rest of the night. So, yeah.

  Flash forward two years. Now we’re both eighteen. Kadence’s birthday was last week. March twenty-third, to be exact. I’d learned from my mistake and had plans to make it really special. Then I didn’t end up doing anything because she found out that I’d let Mason kiss me in the F.U. Fort.

  Let’s just say, letting your best friend’s boyfriend kiss you puts a damper on lots of things, starting with birthday parties. As I watched her pack up her guitar last night at Cuppa Cuppa, I wasn’t sure where I stood with Kadence anymore. Were we even still friends?

  I squeeze my eyes shut tight. I don’t want to think about any of this anymore. It’s all such a mess.

  Seven

  Jude

  Troy’s Garage, Pine Grove

  Sunday, April 1

  2:30 p.m.

  I climb out of the work pit underneath the Honda and nod to Rocky as I grab the oil dispenser line that hangs from the ceiling between the two workstations. Rocky’s finished topping off the car next to the one I’m working on.