The Vanishing Girls by Callie Browning (great novels of all time .txt) 📗

was quiet, hard-working, liked to read,” said Ronald as his eyes grew damp. “Michelle wasn’t riff-raff.”

It was too much for Ronald. He broke down sobbing to the point that Holden patted him on the shoulder and told him they were sorry for intruding before helping him back inside the house.

Once they returned to the car, Holden exhaled. “I have a good feeling that he’s not the driver of the car that was outside your apartment. I’ll make some calls and see if I can find out which companies have brown uniforms for their male staff. The good thing about a small island is that it’s not hard to pinpoint these things.”

“I wonder if the guy with the car is what these girls all have in common,” Eileen mused. “Lydia and Michelle seem like model citizens.”

Holden nodded thoughtfully. “Which might explain why Errol didn’t care for Michelle’s relationship with Ronald.”

Eileen shrugged. “He has that beach-bum-surfer aura to him, but I suspect he’s alright otherwise.”

Holden shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. Ronald is what Bajans call an ecky-becky.”

“What’s that?”

“Imprisoned Irish slaves who worked on the plantations.”

Eileen raised an eyebrow. “I thought only Africans were slaves here.”

“Actually, the Irish were enslaved before blacks were. Oliver Cromwell was behind most of it, shipping the Irish here by the thousands to work the plantations until Africans replaced them.”

Holden rolled down the window to let in the fresh breeze as they drove along the narrow country thoroughfare. He gestured to both sides of the road where red poll cattle grazed behind rail fences. “After the Irish were freed, some became farmers and that type of thing, but others formed insular little communities like the one Ronald lives in. The problem is that many rich whites look down on them and some blacks do too.”

“But why?” she asked.

Holden scratched his chin. “I’m no anthropologist, but maybe it’s because they don’t fit within society’s construct. They have skin that should allow for privilege, but not the money. It’s a difficult space to occupy.”

Eileen was confused. “If they’re so insular, how did he end up dating Michelle?”

“Times are changing. Young people are intermingling more. It's not just about race or class. Plus, he said they were in love.” Holden smiled ruefully at Eileen. “‘Every piece of cloth in town got an owner’ as the old people say.”

“I don’t know if I believe that,” Eileen said. “Michelle seems so serious and he looks so easy going. How could two people who are so different be in love with each other?”

Holden was silent for a moment as though contemplating how best to answer her question. Finally, he stared out the window and sighed, “It’s one of life’s most vexing mysteries.”

Chapter 12

The Genesis of the Truth

On Tuesday morning, dressed for work with her thermos in hand, Eileen knocked on her neighbour’s door.

“Shh!” said the woman as she stepped outside. Eileen had only met the young woman named Ingrid once before when she had first moved in, but their paths hadn’t crossed since. She looked Eileen up and down, touching her matted hair and brushing her hand self-consciously over the wet yellow stain that glistened on her T-shirt. “What’s the matter?”

“Morning, Ingrid. I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m Eileen from upstairs.”

The woman stared back at her with eyes that had known no peace since giving birth. “The baby’s asleep now. Sorry if he woke you,” Ingrid said as she turned to go inside the house.

“No, that’s not why I’m here,” said Eileen.  “I wanted to ask you about the tenant who used to live upstairs before, Anna.”

Ingrid scratched her head. “What about her?”

“Did you see her the day she disappeared?”

“Why?” Ingrid asked, eyeing Eileen suspiciously.

“It’s important. I think I found something that may help the police figure out who killed her.”

Ingrid's eyebrows shot up as she stepped back. “Look, I ain’t talking. I’ve got my son to raise and I’m minding my — let go of my door!”

Eileen took a deep breath and slowly lowered her hand from the knob. “I promise that I won’t tell anyone that you said anything, but I need to know if you saw Anna that day.”

Ingrid glanced around and lowered her head before saying, “I went into labour the day Anna disappeared and spent six days in the hospital. I didn’t find out she was gone until the police came here asking questions.”

“Did you know much about her personal life?”

Ingrid shrugged. “Not really. Mostly she talked about her family from up north and money being tight. I helped out at first, but after I got pregnant, I didn’t have the energy anymore.”

“Helped with what?”

“Smocking. Anna’s fingers got sore from doing it at the garment factory all day. What made it worse was that she had so much work, she had to bring it home sometimes and sew until midnight.” Ingrid shook her head in disgust. “Anna hated it. The irony is that the last time I saw Anna, she said she had good news to share when she got back. Next time I saw her was at her funeral.” Ingrid quirked an eyebrow at the irony.

“Did she hint at what the news could be?” asked Eileen.

“I don’t know. She was rushing to catch a bus, so we didn’t have the chance to talk,” Ingrid said. She glanced pointedly at her watch.

“Someone told me a man waited hours for Anna that day,” said Eileen, hurriedly.  “Did you see anything?”

In the other room, Ingrid’s phone rang and woke the baby.

Ingrid squinted at Eileen and her voice was tight as she said, “I was rolled up in bed with labour pains. When they put me in the ambulance on a gurney, I wasn’t studying my surroundings.” The baby’s wails crescendoed and Ingrid rolled her eyes in frustration. “Look, unless you’re going to nurse him, I have to go,” she said irritably. With that, she slammed the door.

Eileen frowned as she walked across the gravel lot and got in her vehicle. She might have to give