"The subject for the emails is all about the disappearance of Joseline Madeline."
"Do you mean..."
I nod, "The emailer could be the kidnapper."
"We should arrange an interview as soon as we can," Art insists, producing her iPhone and scrolling around for a moment. "We have the following Wednesday free. We can arrange the interview then."
"Noted."
Something catches my eye in the centre of the room. It's a young woman, dressed in a fuzzy wool sweater and chunky glasses that framed her youthful face. Only, she wasn't just some random kid. She was Laura Makes.
"That's her," I say, pointing to her table. "That's Laura."
Art turns to face her, frowning. She sees us looking. Although, she doesn't recognize us. We haven't formally met. I only know her through the photographs I've been provided for our investigation.
"We should confront her," Art insists, getting up from her seat.
"Art, wait!"
•••
"Laura Makes." Art sits down beside her at her table. Thankfully, almost preciously, she's alone.
She frowns, staring at the both of us, her face falling. She gathers her denim bag. "I'm sorry," she asks, acting like a startled mouse. "Do I know you?"
"No," I say, sitting down opposite her. "But, you know Joseline Madeline and that's what's important here."
"Wait," Laura says. "You're that journalist. Aren't you?"
I place my iPhone on the table. "Do you mind if I record you?"
She turns to face Art. Her hand is wrapped around Laura's wrist, holding her in place, anticipating an escape. "What's wrong with you people?"
I shrug, tucking my hair behind my ear. "What's wrong with you? Why don't you want Joseline's case to be solved? Don't you want to find your best friend? Don't you want to imprison those responsible for her kidnapping?"
Laura just stares at me, her eyes turning red, glossing over. "I don't want to be involved with this."
"Well," I say, leaning forward and crossing my arms over my chest. I stare at Art. "You already are."
"All we want to know is what you saw the night Joseline went missing. We have evidence that you were with her that night, but why? What were you doing there?"
"I was..."
There's a moment of silence. Nothingness. As if she's about to make up an elaborate story to save her ass. I'm not having it.
"We would like it if you were honest," I say tightly. "After all, this is in the best interest of your friend. Someone you're supposed to love."
"I... Joseline wanted to go out with some guys she met at school. I don't know. I didn't want to go, but she persuaded me to come. So I went. I don't remember anything after that. I just. I can still feel myself in their car, tumbling into that ditch. When I woke up, Joseline was gone. And so were the guys. They must have left me there. I don't know. "
"Where were the four of you going?" Art asked.
"A party somewhere out of town."
"Out of town where?"
"The party was supposed to be somewhere at a bridge," Laura said.
"A bridge."
•••
"That's the second time someone has mentioned a bridge," Art says, leaning over the stove in the cabin. She's decided to cook dinner.
"Yeah..." I sit on a bar stool by the kitchen island, watching her carefully. I can smell fresh chopped tomatoes and boiling pasta. "What are you making?"
She shrugs, tasting something that was cooking in a saucepan. It was red and smelt heavily of spice. "Tomato sauce."
"You can make tomato sauce?" I ask, getting up from my seat. I stand behind her trying to see what she's doing.
She turns to face me, frowning but smiling sweetly all the same. "Stop, I don't want you to get hurt. Just take a seat and wait patiently for dinner to be finished."
"Can I at least have a taste? It smells so good."
Art shakes her head disapprovingly but holds a spoonful of her tomato sauce to my lips anyway. I smile, sipping obnoxiously.
"I think..."
She steers me away from the stove and onto the couch. "I didn't ask for your opinion."
"But—"
She hands me a food magazine. "Look for desert—or something."