Near Miss

Chapter Eight: Memory

Sylvie quickly checked the contents of her backpack. Laptop, extra clothes, glasses case, lip balm, wig. Everything was there, packed neatly and carefully so as not to damage anything.

Would she need any of those things, though?

It was easy enough to dress up as an awkward teenager and knock on someone's door, but most of the time that wasn't the absolute best strategy. It worked well with adults and it worked well with children, but young adults in general were usually less approachable. The best way to get the attention of someone that age was authority- but Sylvie didn't have any authority whatsoever. The article she had just submitted was not exactly flattering, and it probably wouldn't be a good idea to try questioning Jacob Long as a Gazette reporter.

Or would it?

Sylvie frowned. She knew Jacob Long from somewhere; she just couldn't remember how they'd met. Maybe it was Hannah Brunner's story, but she had the distinct feeling it was something else.

Maybe, just maybe, he remembered. Whatever it was, Sylvie got the idea that it had happened a long time ago- and since Jacob was apparently older than her (he was a friend of Magdalen's brother, after all, who was already married with a son), he might remember the incident in question quite a bit better than she would.

She seemed to remember that she'd done him a good turn at some point in the past.

If that was at all accurate, Sylvie would have a much better chance trying to speak to him directly than she would if she used her disguise. She'd have to be very careful, though; she'd need to tell him who she was, to start off with, and that she was helping out the police for this investigation. Not the newspaper, that'd look suspicious enough- the police.

She knew Knapp, she'd say. She knew Acting Detective Redmond. She'd worked with the Hathaway murder.

Glancing back and forth, Sylvie darted across the street, trying not to jostle her backpack. Once she was safe in the shade of a large maple tree, she carefully adjusted her glasses and smoothed her hair. Her posture was straight. Her smile was confident. She was ready.

Stepping up to the door, she gave a series of short raps. No one answered, but the noise set off an incessant frenzy of barking from what Sylvie assumed were several small dogs.

Making sure to remind herself how rude it would be to stare through the window, Sylvie let her gaze scan across the foliage of the front yard. Unlike Magdalen's untouched grass nextdoor, Jacob Long's front yard was full of trees and garden beds. Sylvie couldn't help but be reminded of the park as she stared at the circle of bare earth around each tree, carefully delineated but oddly uninteresting. It looked extremely unnatural compared to the haphazard arrangements of flowers in the garden beds, and Sylvie couldn't say she approved.

Suddenly, the door pushed open a crack, and a woman's face peeked through the opening. Sylvie could see at least two dogs jostling for position at the base of the door. "Hello?"

"Yes, hello," Sylvie said impatiently. "I'd like to speak to Jacob."

"Oh, all right. I'll be right back." The woman stepped away from the door without closing it, leaving Sylvie to the mercy of the two small dogs. As soon as she passed out of sight, the dogs squirted out from the narrow opening, their tiny paws scrabbling at Sylvie's jeans. Interest was evident in their wagging tails and panting tongues, but not in their small, round black eyes.

"Jacob?" someone yelled. "Can you come down here for a minute?"

"Is something wrong?" This voice was very faint, and seemed to emanate from the second story. Sylvie strained her ears, trying to catch the conversation.