The Substitute

Chapter 9 — The Missing Girl

The plan was simple. Too simple, which was why it might work.

Nora would announce she was leaving Greyport — the semester cut short, a family emergency, the usual story. She’d pack her car visibly, say her goodbyes, and drive out of town on Route 1. Margaret Hale would relax. Whoever was watching would stand down.

And then Nora would come back.

“You’re going to hide in my apartment in Portland,” Rachel said. “While they think you’re gone, we work. We find Thomas Ashford. We get Milo’s story on record. We build the case.”

“And Milo?” Nora asked. “I can’t just leave him.”

“The Renners will keep him safe. They’re his parents — legally, actually, completely. No one can take him from them without a court order.” Rachel paused. “But Nora — you need to prepare yourself. If Milo talks, if this goes public, his life changes. Their lives change. Are you sure that’s what he wants?”

Nora thought about the black crayon, snapped in half on her kitchen table. She thought about *SHE’S STILL IN THERE*, underlined three times.

“He’s been trying to tell someone for twenty years,” she said. “I’m just the first person who listened.”

Monday morning, Nora resigned.

Mrs. Pruitt took the news with a nod that might have been relief. The kids were harder — Lily cried, Marcus gave her a rock he’d painted like a ladybug, and Milo — Milo held her hand for a long time and didn’t let go until the bell rang.

“I’ll be back,” Nora whispered to him. “I promise. Draw me something good while I’m gone.”

Milo nodded. Then he pressed a folded paper into her palm.

She opened it in the car. It was a drawing of the oak tree — and under it, in block letters:

BE CAREFUL.

Nora drove out of Greyport on Route 1 with her duffel bag on the passenger seat and her eyes on the rearview mirror. No one followed. Or no one she could see.

In Portland, Rachel’s apartment became a war room. They made lists. Thomas Ashford — last seen 2007. Financial records — sealed, scattered, possibly destroyed. The insurance company — merged twice, records archived God-knows-where. Eleanor’s “stroke” — the M.E. retired, living with Margaret. Margaret herself — the locked room at the center of everything.

“We need the proof Eleanor mentioned,” Rachel said. “‘The proof is with Margaret.’ If Eleanor found documents in Thomas’s study — proof he set the fire — and Margaret has them —”

“Why would Margaret keep proof that her brother-in-law committed arson?” Nora asked.

“Leverage. Insurance. Or —” Rachel tapped her pen. “Or Margaret was part of it.”

“Part of what?”

“Think about it. Thomas sets the fire, takes Lena, disappears. Eleanor starts asking questions, finds proof, dies of a very convenient stroke. Margaret inherits everything. The estate, the money, the house on Chestnut Street. Who benefits?” Rachel met her eyes. “Follow the money, Nora. It always leads somewhere.”

They were still working at midnight when Nora’s phone rang. Unknown number.

She almost didn’t answer. Then she thought of Milo’s drawing: *BE CAREFUL.*

“Hello?”

“Ms. Calloway.” A man’s voice — older, rough, like gravel in a tumbler. “My name is Daniel Okafor’s conscience. No — sorry. Bad joke.” A shaky laugh. “This is Pete — Pete Kowalski. I was a volunteer firefighter that night. At the Ashford place.”

Nora put the call on speaker. Rachel grabbed a notepad.

“Mr. Kowalski —”

“Pete. Listen. Danny Okafor called me. Said you were asking questions. Said I should tell you what I saw.” A long pause. “I saw Thomas Ashford that night. Before the fire trucks got there.”

Nora’s pulse quickened. “Where?”

“Driving away. Down Laurel Hill Road, away from the house. This was — maybe ten minutes before the call came in. I was coming home from my shift at the cannery. I saw his car — that big black Mercedes — flying down the hill like the devil was behind him.”

“Was anyone with him?”

“Couldn’t see. Tinted windows. But here’s the thing —” Pete’s voice dropped. “The fire call came in at 2:14 a.m. I saw him at maybe 2:05. And the house was already burning when the trucks arrived at 2:30. You do the math.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“I told Chief Boyle. This was back when he was just Harlan, a responding officer. He wrote it down. And then — nothing. The report said faulty wiring. My statement wasn’t in the file.” Pete laughed bitterly. “I was twenty-two. I didn’t know you could fight city hall. By the time I figured it out, the case was closed and Thomas Ashford was gone.”

“Why are you telling me now?”

“Because Danny says the girl might be alive. And because I’ve carried this for twenty years, and I’m tired.” He paused. “There’s one more thing. That night — before I saw the car — I saw a light. Up at the house. Like a lantern, moving. Someone was up there, awake, moving around. At two in the morning.”

After he hung up, Nora and Rachel sat in silence.

“He was already gone when the fire started,” Nora whispered. “He set it and left. And Lena —”

“Was with him,” Rachel finished. “In the car. The secret trip. Just like the diary said.”

Nora stood up. She walked to the window and looked out at the Portland lights.

“Rachel,” she said. “I need to see Margaret Hale.”

“Absolutely not. She called the police on you. She’s dangerous.”

“She’s my aunt.” Nora turned around. “And she has the proof. Eleanor said so. I’m done sneaking around. I want to look her in the eye and ask her what happened to my mother.”

Rachel stared at her. Then, slowly, she smiled.

“Okay,” she said. “But we do it my way. And we bring a witness.”