Never Die Alone

“The police investigate.”

“Yes, I just thought we needed to check their rooms, but . . . let’s move on. ”

Selma had stiffened. “I told you they weren’t hiding from me or sleeping it off or whatever.”

“Right. I know. I’m sorry.” Though contrite, Bria

They’d stopped at a McDonald’s near campus for lunch, but Selma had picked at her Big Mac, barely touching it in favor of a Diet Coke and cigarette. Afterward, they had talked to a few of the girls’ friends who lived nearby and confirmed that their last contact with Zoe or Chloe had been around nine in the evening.

“I thought they were going to meet us at the Watering Hole,” A

“We hope so,” Bria

“Social media, too,” Bria

“Sure.” A

Once they were back in the car, Selma had confided: “I don’t think I can trust her to find the twins.”

“It’s a start,” Bria

Now, at last, the dean of students appeared in the reception area, his hands clamped to his chest, as if in prayer.

“I apologize,” he said with the barest hint of a brogue hinting at his Irish roots. “Summer is our season of retreats, and that keeps me busy. But come in, come in.” A fortysomething priest dressed in black slacks and shirt and a stark white clerical collar, Father Crispin was friendly, though harried, as he guided them up a curved staircase and into an office with tracery windows, coved ceiling, and a carved bookcase filled with well-worn tomes. Checking his watch, he waved Selma and Bria

“Now, then, what can I do for you?”

“It’s about my daughters. They’re students here. Zoe and Chloe De

As her story went on, the dean’s cocked head rose to alert, and his ruddy face clouded. “Murder?” Caution flared in his eyes. “Here?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” Selma answered. “All I’m sure of is that my daughters are missing.”

“But a serial killer?” Father Crispin glanced at Bria

It was time for Bria

The priest’s dark brows drew together as he listened to Bria

Bria

“Of course, there will be full cooperation on our end,” he said, glancing pointedly at his watch. “We’ll do everything we can. I assure you, All Saints is a safe haven for all students.” Then he stood, indicating the meeting was over. “Please, try not to worry,” he suggested while opening the door and effectively ending their discourse. “LA’s a long way from here and, as you said, the police think they’ve got their man. These other. . . incidents are disturbing. Unfortunate. But your daughters are adults now, ma’am. It’s time to let them make their own choices and hope that they choose wisely. Now, come along, walk with me. The afternoon workshops are about to begin and they’re on the other side of campus. Can’t keep our guests waiting.”

Selma and Bria

At a juncture in the paths, Father Crispin stopped and touched Selma lightly on the shoulder. “I’ll do what I can,” he promised. “God be with you.” He turned on his heel toward another cathedral-like building facing the manicured lawns. Taking the steps two at a time, he rose up the stone staircase and disappeared behind a massive door.

“He’s not going to do anything,” Selma said in a hollow voice. “He thinks I’m a nutcase. An overprotective mother.” Her skin was pale, her demeanor laden with weariness.

“He’s passing the buck.” Bria

“I told you I called them.”

“I know,” she said, guiding Selma toward her beat-up Honda. “But it’s time to see them in person.”

At the station, they encountered the same lack of concern they had sifted through all day. They found their way to an officer in the Missing Persons Division, Crecia Brown. A fit, African American woman, Brown gave off waves of self-importance and bureaucratic weariness. In her midforties, with clipped hair and a no-nonsense attitude, she listened somewhat impatiently to Selma, who stood with Bria

“You called earlier.” Her lips flexed a frown as she checked her computer.

“That’s right.”

“I just have a little paperwork for you to fill out.” Her chilly demeanor thawed slightly as she found some forms. “But we’ve already started checking with the necessary agencies. And we put out BOLOs on both girls.” Her dark eyes had given Bria

Selma, though, seemed heartened. Maybe it felt good to know that the alerts were out, even if no one seemed to be taking them seriously. Selma filled out the forms, providing as much information as she could. By the time they returned to the car, the older woman was beat. She slid into the Honda’s warm interior and closed her eyes. “I feel like I could sleep for a hundred years, and yet I’m so keyed up and worried . . . oh hell.” She checked her phone for what had to be the hundredth time as Bria

Nothing. I’ve done nothing but drive you here and help you file an official Missing Persons Report. It’s not enough.

Bria