that her abusive professor may have been brought up in that same kind of environment.
Isla found photos online of Julian with his rock band. He was the lead guitarist, of course. And photos of him and his rich, privileged friends dressed in designer clothes and drinking, vaping, smoking weed. In every photo he smiled in a stoned manner, wore that knitted hipster cap, and sported that fuzzy beard. Isla registered the long, flowing hair, the kind certain girls preferred. In some photos, he’d tugged it up into a man bun on the crown of his head. Lots of Instagram and Facebook entries, all open to public viewing. There were hundreds of them. Knowing she wasn’t going to get much sleep tonight, she began to scroll through the remaining pictures she’d uncovered.
She stopped when she saw the photo of Julian sandwiched between Katie and Willow, his long arms over their shoulders. All three of them were smiling. Willow was almost as tall as him. It was the same photo she’d discovered on Katie’s computer.
Isla sensed that she was onto something. What if he had something to do with the girls’ disappearance? He hadn’t looked very excited to be part of that search party today. She needed to mention Julian to Karl and see if he would look into the kid’s history. Leave no stone unturned. Maybe she’d start asking around town herself, at the risk of offending her best client, Samantha. But Katie came first and foremost. The hell with her salon. Katie needed her right now, and she would do anything in her power to bring her back.
KARL
THE HEAVY RAIN HAD SUBSIDED BY THE TIME HE ROUSED HIMSELF OUT of bed. He hadn’t slept well. Events had conspired to deprive him of what he typically took for granted. He made his way into the kitchen and started some coffee. While it brewed, he showered and shaved. The search would continue this morning, although the odds of finding the two girls alive lessened with each passing hour. Today the state police would be bringing in dogs and a helicopter.
When the coffee finished brewing, he poured himself a cup and sat in front of the television. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d watched the stupid thing. The light from the screen filled his tiny living room and endowed the space with an other worldly glow. It had taken only a few minutes for the crisis in Shepherd’s Bay to make the national news. The story of the two missing girls appeared to be a ratings boon. Reporters had interviewed the police chief and a few other volunteers, all of whom he knew in one way or another. Optimism prevailed, as it usually did so early in a search. People were optimistic by nature, until they weren’t. Of course he’d not done many missing-person searches in his capacity as a police officer. Sure, he’d helped look for a few old people with dementia who’d wandered off, but they had been quickly located by fellow officers or loved ones. The only dead person he’d ever seen was the bloated body of an old lobsterman who’d gone overboard in a storm and washed ashore.
He wondered about Isla. If he hadn’t been able to sleep, he doubted that she’d managed to get any slumber. He envisioned himself finding the two girls in a cabin somewhere deep in the woods, hiding out from the world, as if this was all some kind of crazy scheme to become famous reality stars, the two girls having no way of knowing how frantic their parents or the community at large was. Nor would they have any idea how much time, effort, and money had been expended to find them. He wouldn’t put it past Gil to be in on the plan. If this was true, criminal charges would certainly be filed.
Bitter thoughts of his failed marriage came back to him. The last year had been the worst. They had barely spoken to one another, as the marriage had appeared all but over. Much of it was his own fault. He had never denied his role in bringing his wife and daughter here or the fact that he worked crazy long shifts. Although she had agreed to come to Maine, Sofia had never really wanted to live in this small, frigid town three thousand miles from home. Their inability to communicate had only intensified the gulf between them, making matters worse. The root of many arguments had been money, but