You'll Thank Me for This by Nina Siegal (top novels txt) 📗

“It must be Martijn,” she told Jenny. “I should take that.”

“Of course you should,” said Jenny. “Try to keep it…chill.”

“Yes,” said Grace. “Chill.”

No matter what Martijn had to say this time, Grace planned to do exactly what Jenny had laid out for her: She’d put a couple of bags into the trunk of the car. When Karin’s dropping was over, she’d pick up her daughter, and they’d drive down to The Hague. The tricky part was to try to figure out what to say to Martijn, since he didn’t always like it when she made plans to see her friends without him. If she played it off all casual, it probably would be okay. He didn’t know Jenny, so he didn’t need to see her too, right?

She answered the line that was ringing, “Hello, honey,” doing her best to sound chipper and completely unagitated.

Suddenly there was a deluge of Dutch words coming at her, an unfamiliar voice, high-pitched and somewhat disconcerting.

“I’m sorry, can you speak a little bit slower?” Grace answered in Dutch. “I can’t really understand what you’re saying.” Although Grace spoke Dutch, she sometimes couldn’t entirely follow if a person spoke quickly or with an unfamiliar accent.

“English?” said the caller. “Are you English?”

“I’m American,” she said. “But I speak Dutch, if you wouldn’t mind speaking a bit slower.”

“Are. You. Karin?” the caller asked, staying in English, and trying to slow down and speak clearly so Grace would be able to follow.

“I’m not Karin; I’m her mother,” said Grace. “I’m Karin’s mother,” she repeated, not hearing anything on the line. “Is something the matter?”

“We found a girl’s T-shirt in the Veluwe,” said the caller. “This phone number was written into the name place on the inside. We thought we would just check if Karin knew it was missing.”

Karin was missing her shirt? Surely not the one she had been wearing. Her home phone number had been typed onto little tags they’d sewn into all of Karin’s clothes, as part of the preparation for the dropping. The Scouts didn’t appreciate lost articles and didn’t want the kids to get their clothes confused.

“You are her mother?” said the woman.

“Yes, I’m the mother. Karin is my daughter,” she said. “It must have dropped out of her bag, I guess. She’s on a camping trip. Where did you find it?”

“I don’t call to alarm you,” said the woman, slowly and carefully. “Everything is okay. But you are the mother.”

Grace found this string of sentences confusing. Nobody says they don’t want to alarm you unless you’re about to be alarmed.

“The shirt has…” The woman hesitated, before continuing. “The shirt has blood on it.”

“I’m sorry, what? Blood?” Grace swallowed. “Is Karin hurt?”

“No,” said the woman. “I don’t know where Karin is. That’s why I’m calling. We found the shirt in de bos. In the forest. Karin wasn’t with it.”

Grace felt her mouth get suddenly very dry. “Where’s Karin, then? And what do you mean, that her shirt has blood on it?” She knew already that this woman didn’t have these answers, but the questions had spilled out of her mouth anyway.

The woman on the other end of the line seemed to understand that she had indeed stirred up confusion. She slowed down and spoke more calmly. “Can we speak Dutch?” she asked. “It’s easier for me.”

Grace agreed, and the rest of the conversation took place in Dutch.

“Listen, I really don’t mean to upset you. I will assume it really is nothing,” she said. “I’m a mother too, and I would certainly be concerned if I got this phone call from a stranger. Normally I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Probably it’s just a lost piece of clothing; maybe she dropped it. But I am just that kind of person who likes to dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s, and I always return a transit card to its owner if I find it—that sort of thing. With just a little bit of extra vigilance, I thought I should call.”

“Well, I’m certainly grateful there are people like you in the world,” said Grace. She understood that the woman was trying to minimize the fear. But that only served to make her think there was reason to be afraid.

“But Karin is with you, isn’t she? She’s okay, right?” the woman said.

“No, she’s not with me,” said Grace, feeling her throat constrict, finding it hard to answer. “She’s…she’s on a camping trip in the Hoge Veluwe. A dropping. She should be there, with her group, with her Scout leaders. My husband is with her…I’m sorry.” She stopped. “Who is this?”

She realized that she was gripping the phone with two hands, holding hard as if it was somehow a way to get a grip on everything.

“I’m, oh, I’m nobody,” said the woman. “I was just out walking my dogs. We live near the park and I let them run out there in the evenings. Jezebel is a German shorthair, bred for hunting. We don’t hunt, but she’s a pretty dog. She sometimes comes back with rabbits or voles between her teeth. It’s not pretty, but it’s what is in her nature.”

She went on, maybe out of nervousness: “This time she came back with this T-shirt in her teeth, and I noticed blood in her mouth. I thought she had killed something. I was confused. Then, you know, I thought maybe her mouth was bleeding. It was very strange. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I don’t want to worry you. I was just concerned…” She was speaking rapidly, and then finally answered the question. “My name is Maaike. Maaike Bol.”

“Thank you, Maaike,” said Grace. “Is it possible that the dog attacked something and then somehow found the T-shirt after that?”

“Oh yes, anything is possible,” said the woman. “I don’t know. I’m not a forensic scientist or anything like that. I have no way of knowing. But I just…If you don’t mind my asking, how old is Karin?”

Grace’s mind had gone off in a