Free The Feathered Bone by Julie Cantrell Page A

colorful alley. She turns toward the now-vacant takeout window, then toward the rear of the café where she last saw Sarah standing in line for the restroom. The rest of us follow Ellie’s stares and try to reason along with her.
    â€œHonestly, Mrs. Beth,” Ellie whispers, “I have no idea.”

Chapter 6
    Sunday, October 31, 2004
    Halloween
    O UR B ATON R OUGE NEWS REPORTER , F RANK D OUCET , IS UPDATING us from the television screen. A New Orleans station shares his footage here in the hotel lobby. “Sarah Broussard was last seen day before yesterday, when her sixth-grade class took a field trip to New Orleans. Friday at approximately 1:30 p.m., she waited in line for the restroom at Café du Monde. That was the last time Sarah’s classmates saw their friend. Today the Livingston Parish School Board, ignoring the advice of legal counsel, has sent their entire fleet of buses to New Orleans, carrying full loads of LP volunteers who are determined to find Sarah. The school district’s superintendent is with us now. Sir, what’s the latest on the search?”
    The superintendent is a family friend, a lifelong member of our church, and a well-respected leader with the parish Rotary. “We’re doing all we can to find Sarah,” he says. “We’ve filled every seat on every bus today. And we’ll do it again next weekend. And the next. For as long as it takes until we bring our student home.”
    Doucet takes the microphone again, summarizing the efforts of law enforcement and showing photos of Beth, Preacher, Ellie, and me on the screen. He explains our connection to Sarah.
    â€œHe showed Ellie?” Raelynn fumes, expressing what I’m thinking. His footage violates our private struggle. Posting Sarah’s photo on air is helpful, but broadcasting my daughter’s tearful face is another thing entirely. Especially when he tells the world that Ellie was her designated buddy of the day.
    â€œThe churches are sending vans too,” Preacher says, focusing on the good. “They’re leaving straight after today’s service.”
    â€œI can’t believe how many people are helping,” Beth whispers. Exhaustion is about to conquer her. “You haven’t slept at all, have you?” She clutches my shoulder, as if it’s me she’s worried about. We’ve been searching nonstop, both Friday and Saturday nights. Now we’re trying to refuel with the strongest coffee we can find.
    â€œI saw Vivienne,” Beth adds. Viv is my friend, a fellow clinical social worker who shares a therapy practice with me. “She drove down by herself, to offer support.”
    â€œYeah. She’s canceled my clients. Said to take as much time as we need.”
    â€œMa’am?” The lead investigator with the Louisiana State Police has arrived. He greets Beth first, then shakes hands with Preacher and Jay. He’s ready to give us the update we’ve been waiting for. Law enforcement organizers have charted a grid and given us precise instructions on how to spread out. He reviews our timeline. “We’ve got dive teams on the river now. Another team searching the canals.”
    Beth stares at the agent, her eyes swollen and red. It’s common knowledge that divers usually come for recovery, not rescue.
    â€œWe’ll find her,” I say.
    Raelynn, too, does her best to revive hope. “Today. I can feel it.” Despite her knee pain, she’s walked every step of this search with us, never complaining.
    Jay reminds us that sheriff’s deputies from three parishes are helping, and the police have placed checkpoints on all the roads running in and out of New Orleans. “We’re watching the bus stations. The docks. Amtrak too.”
    The state trooper adds his support. “We’ve got every arm on this case, Mrs. Broussard. Our guys, the sheriffs, NOPD. If need be, we’ll bring in the Feds too. We