A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

puddles; Bea and I part ways and step around them. It’s chilly
outside, no more than sixty degrees, but the gray skies, the threat of
rain and the relentless wind make it feel more like fifty. I didn’t think
to bring a coat, and I regret it.
We cross the street and go to the house directly opposite Josh
and Meredith’s. It’s a gray house that belongs to a young couple with
kids. Bea and I don’t know the Hanakas well because families with
kids tend to bond better with other families with kids, and Bea and I
don’t have any kids. But I’ve met them once.
The Hanakas are friendly with the Dickeys. I’ve seen Delilah and
Leo riding bikes on the sidewalk with their daughter. I’ve seen
Meredith and the other woman, Cassandra, talking on the street,
laughing. Meredith likes Cassandra, I can tell. She speaks of her
often on the nights Meredith, Josh, Bea and me share a drink on the
porch. It’s never anything much, but somehow her name always
makes its way into a conversation. Cassandra said the new bakery
on Jackson has the best cinnamon scones. Cassandra and Marty
are planning one of those Alaskan cruises next summer, with the
kids. Cassandra told me that a little baking soda and vinegar in the
drains will get rid of those annoying fruit flies.
Josh teased Meredith about it, said she had a girl crush on
Cassandra, before looking mortified and apologizing to Bea and me,
as if he’d said something to offend us.
I don’t know much about Cassandra and her husband, Marty. Most
of what I’ve heard is secondhand from Meredith. I know that they
moved from the city. I know that, like Bea, they didn’t relish the idea
of suburban living. Yet, as their daughter approached school age,
they had to choose between an extortionate private school
education, a shoddy public school system or moving to the suburbs.
They came here.
Bea and I step up to the door and knock. Cassandra comes. When
she draws the door open, the house behind her is quiet, still.
“I hope we’re not bothering you,” Bea says.
“No,” Cassandra says, “not at all. I just put my little guy down for a
nap.” A cat circles her ankles. Cassandra scoops it into her arms and
invites us inside. “You two look cold. Let me get you some coffee,”
she says, and we step out of our shoes and follow her down the