Free Through the Darkness by Marcia Talley

some of this.”
    Emily wrapped both hands around the mug but made no move to drink it.
    â€œThey’re taking down names, addresses, and telephone numbers,” Garnelle added. “Then Dunham says they’ll start letting people go home.”
    As if they knew we were talking about them, Paul and Dante suddenly appeared, followed by Officer Dunham. “Reinforcements have arrived, thank God,” Paul announced, coming to stand by my side.
    â€œOfficer Powers needs to secure the nursery,” I informed my son-in-law. “Can you take him a key?”
    Dante executed a rapid U-turn and left the room.
    A few minutes later he was back, accompanied by Ron Powers. “Everyone take a seat,” Powers ordered, taking charge.
    â€œCoffee?” asked Garnelle.
    â€œYes, thank you. That would be nice. Black, no sugar… Okay,” he continued, accepting the steaming mug from Garnelle. “So, who was the last person to see the child?”
    Emily blew her nose noisily into a tissue. “The child’s name is Timmy.”
    â€œSorry. Timmy. Who was the last person to see Timmy?”
    â€œI was,” Emily snuffled.
    â€œAnd that was, what time?”
    â€œFive minutes after one.”
    I glanced at my watch. Two o’clock. Timmy had been missing for nearly an hour.
    Powers looked up from the notes he was scribbling with a ballpoint pen into a slender, flip-top notebook. “Anybody else see the little, uh, Timmy, in the nursery?”
    Emily shot out of her chair. “What difference does it make who else saw him? I saw him!”
    I started to say that I had seen Timmy, but then I remembered that I hadn’t. I’d accompanied Paul to reception, then gone straight to Dante’s office. I’d not stopped by the nursery at all, knowing that I’d be going there later to play with Timmy.
    Powers turned to my son-in-law and asked, “And where were you between one and one-thirty this afternoon, Mr. Shemansky?”
    Dante bristled. “Surely you don’t think that I —”
    â€œI’m just trying to establish where everyone was at the time Timmy disappeared,” Powers insisted. “I’ll be asking everyone the same question.”
    Dante looked only slightly mollified. “I was right here, being interviewed by a reporter from Shape magazine. Hope Katz. Last time I saw her, she was heading for the garden with everyone else.”
    François appeared at the conference room door carrying a fresh carafe of coffee and a plate of sandwiches. He paused on the threshold, as if waiting for permission to enter. “I thought you could use something to eat.”
    When nobody said anything, François crossed the room and placed the plate of sandwiches on the credenza next to me. I recognized his turkey wraps with apples and cabbage; his sweet potato and portabella wrap; his famous crustless, almond-butter finger sandwiches. My stomach lurched, and I pushed the platter away. If I took a single bite, even of one of François’s delectable sandwiches, I knew I’d throw up.
    â€œAnd you are?” Powers asked, his eyes following the platter.
    François favored the officer with a withering glance. He flourished the carafe, the hot liquid slopping dangerously close to its lip. “Do you mind if I set it down first?”
    Powers flapped his hand dismissively, waiting.
    François exchanged the full carafe for the empty one, then pulled himself up to his full six-foot-two. “I am François Lesperance, executive chef at Spa Paradiso.”
    â€œAnd where were you, Mr. Lesperance, between one and one-thirty today?”
    â€œIn the kitchen, supervising the lunch preparation. You may check with my staff.”
    Powers scribbled something, then turned to Paul, one eyebrow raised.
    Paul alibied for Garnelle and vice versa.
    Dante, who had been growing increasingly red-faced as he sat in a corner, fidgeting with a pencil,