The only item out of place was a plastic bag with the uneaten sandwich I’d packed for her that morning. Now it looked like a school bus had run over it. I debated whether to throw the bag and contents away, but if Holly noticed they were gone, my snooping would be revealed. I wondered how long the squashed sandwich would remain there. I wished somebody was around to make a bet with me.

The zip pocket on the back yielded a library book, another workbook and nothing else. I was reminded of my morning’s futile search. I checked the back pocket’s pocket—every pocket had bred another. I gave up and started to replace everything in the main compartment when I felt something hard against my fingertips. I realized I’d missed a zipper.

I pulled out Holly’s phone.

I’m not the digital genius Sophie and other staff members are, but I recognized that this one was bare bones, and well suited to a child. The phone looked sturdy, the numbers were large and slightly raised to make tapping simpler, and each tap produced an audible click. I played around and found that the phone had no internet capabilities—perfect for a child not old enough to use them safely—but I found the caller list immediately.

Holly had received no calls in the past week.

Disappointed, I fiddled for another minute and found text messaging. The last text she had received from my sister had been weeks before, and had to do with where to wait at the local library until Wendy could pick her up.

So Holly’s mother hadn’t called since leaving on her trip, not even before things fell apart. And she hadn’t texted. But there was good news, too.

Holly’s father had.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Finding a way to text Bryce and actually doing it were two different things. What would I say to him? “Hey Bryce, don’t worry about your girls? Wendy might be running from the law, but I’ve got things covered?” Or maybe, improvising on the case Sophie had turned up, I could casually ask if Russian spies were in the market for any of his secrets. Just in case.

I went to bed wondering what to do about Bryce, and woke up the next morning having decided not to do anything. His contact information was a piece of good luck, and I’d added it to my own phone. If the time came when I needed to get in touch with him, I knew how—at least I did if he was somewhere he could receive messages. I didn’t know exactly how that worked on a sub, but at the moment, I didn’t need to. Once I did, my mother could probably tell me. In the meantime, the less concerned I seemed and the fewer questions I asked her, the better.

I managed to get the girls off to school with multigrain waffles in their little tummies. Poor Holly drooped her way out the door, as if the sandman had held her hostage all night. At most, she’d had seven hours of fitful sleep. If that didn’t change in the next few days, I had to consult a doctor, and I hoped my mother had the necessary permissions.