Missing Persons

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A girl was missing.

In any other town it would have been local news. Even here, on any other day, it might have been just local news.

But it wasn’t any other town.

It was Boulder.

It wasn’t any other day.

It was Christmas.

And a girl was missing.

Again.

God.

The fact that I was sitting with Diane behind Hannah Grant’s office at 6:30 on a mid-December Thursday evening meant that I’d already lost the argument we’d been having since she yanked me out from behind my desk five minutes earlier. She killed the ignition on her Saab and summed things up for me anyway. “We can’t leave in the morning if we can’t reach Hannah. It’s that simple.”

She was right.

With only nine shopping days until Christmas, Diane Estevez and I were scheduled to make the short flight over the Rockies to Las Vegas for a weekend professional workshop-Diane, I suspected, was pretending to be much more enamored of EMDR than she really was-and Hannah was generously providing coverage for our clinical psychology practices while we were away. Without coverage, we couldn’t go.

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