The Disappearance of Susannah Dane: Paige Parker Mysteries, #1

By Eliza Stopps

What do you do when your best friend disappears? Paige is thrown into a frenzy looking for her best friend, Susannah. With the help of Susannah's boyfriend, Owen, Paige uncovers dark secrets in her small Oregon Coast town. In this young adult mystery, Paige grows into herself as she says goodbye to her best friend one last time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eliza Stopps
• Release date: Jul 31, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227450333

Book preview

The Disappearance of Susannah Dane

A Paige Parker Mystery, Book One

Eliza Stopps

Copyright © 2022 by Eliza Stopps

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Previously Published as The Disappearance of Susannah Dane (Episodes 1-31) on Kindle Vella.

Contents

1.It All Falls

2.Into the Fray

3.Through the Woods

4.Deep in the Bay

5.Secrets are Kept

6.Sideways They Lay

7.Deeper They Sink

8.Into the Bay

9.Heaven Rains Down

10.It’s In Your Eyes

11.Do You Love Me?

12.Or Is It Demise?

13.It Crosses the Bridge

14.No Turning Back

15.It’s Quiet and Meek

16.Yet Raucous and Rowdy

17.It’s Calm and Heady

18.And Lowly and Weak

19.The Fronds are All Blowing

20.Soft in the Breeze

21.I’m Slipping

22.Lost on my Knees

23.It’s All Blood

24.And Broken

25.It’s Porous and Lean

26.It’s Falling

27.And Falling Still

28.It Will Never Be Clean

29.It Rounds the Corner

30.But I Know

31.We All Fall Eventually

The Absence of Aurelia Perez

Acknowledgements

Also by Eliza Stopps

1

It All Falls

Paige

Itook in a shaky breath and let it out with a groan. My back felt like it was made of springs. I pushed my hips back toward the ceiling and fought the shakiness in my thighs. After holding it for a few moments, I collapsed onto the yoga mat below me.

Mom, do I seriously have to participate in this? I pulled myself up onto my elbows and watched as she lifted her right leg up and back. She was probably a hundred pounds overweight and somehow still managed to be more limber than me. It defied logic and tried at my patience.

Paige, she reflected my tone, I can accept that you won't try out for any sports. It's your senior year, and I've given up. But you can't just sit on your butt all day. Yoga is for everyone, not just athletes. If you're gonna lay on the ground, at least try to do the cobra pose.

I knew the cobra pose well. My mom was a faithful attendant at all the local yoga classes and insisted that I go with her so that she wouldn't have to go alone. I'd been forced into practicing the same yoga routine, every day, all summer. I placed my hands on either side of my chest and curved my lower back. My chest opened up to the sky, or more accurately, the living room wall. It was still uncomfortable, even after months of half-hearted practice. I groaned again and Mom glared at me through her legs, while still in downward dog.

I wasn't known in my house for my pleasant demeanor. I was ruining my good track record of avoiding working out with my mom for the last 17 years, but I needed to do something to appease my mom's fear of becoming an empty nester. I have one more year of high school and then her only baby is free to roam the earth; or at least as far as my student loans will take me. Of course, she would also have to see my stepbrother on weekends and holidays, but he hardly counts.

There was one other bonus of working out, which was that I am going to look better than ever when I see Chase Miller in the hall at school. I've been crushing hard on him since at least 8th grade, and this was my last chance to date the hottest boy in school. He had his eyes set on Harvard and he didn't even know who I was, so it was literally now or never.

My phone beeped and vibrated, moving across the wood floor as it alerted me that it was time to get ready for school. Gotta run, Mom! It's been great. I hurriedly rolled up my yoga mat and slid it onto the rack in the living room that my mom had designated for all things working out. She was in year 5 of trying to lose weight. This morning, she seemed like she might stick to it. Sweat rolled down her beet-red face as she tried to hold her core for a complicated pose that probably wasn't supposed to look like that.

I dashed up the stairs and turned on the curling iron. I took one glance in the mirror and wished I could wash away the ugly with my new, expensive cleanser. Fifteen minutes later, I had slathered on some level of contouring, and eyeliner, and curled the ends of my mouse-brown hair.

I had already picked out my outfit the night before, but when I saw the flannel top with a white V-neck, French-tucked in my tattered jeans, I wondered if I'd gone too far into the 90s nostalgia trend. I snapped a picture and texted it to my best friend, Zeze.

Too much?

I tucked and untucked the top until I had wrinkled it enough to leave it tucked and call it stylish. A pair of short boots completed the outfit. There was no text from Zeze, which could only mean she was already driving to my house.

I was not the only senior who didn't have their own car to drive in their senior year, but I did at least have my license. Zeze had her own car, which her mom had bought for her on her sixteenth, and she was the designated driver of our little group. Her boyfriend Owen, and my arch-nemesis, wasn't allowed to drive because his mom refused to take her anxiety medication.

I sat down in the wicker rocker on my front porch, with my backpack sitting in my lap. My cat, Gingersnap, jumped into my lap and rubbed his forehead on my palm.

Alright, I'm petting you. But don't get hair on my shirt. Hey! No kneading. I scratched him all over until he was satisfied and meowed for me to let him back in the house.

Zeze's not here yet? Mom called out the door.

No, what time is it? I looked down at my phone and realized that she still hadn't texted me back. I could still catch the bus if I ran for it. Riding the bus on your first day of senior year? Lame. Mom, can I borrow the car?

Not unless you plan to drive me to work and pick me up, she yelled back.

Shit. I shut the door and jumped off the porch. If I was going to take the bus, I had to book it. The sidewalk was wet from recent rain and I felt the little drops of water hitting my jeans as I ran. I skidded to a stop at the same time as the bus did.

The kids waiting were all middle schoolers. They sized me up when I climbed onto the bus and sat right behind the driver. It was gross and damp on the bus. The seats were a little sticky and condensation dripped off the windows. The heater blared yet the air was hardly warm. I pulled out my phone and sent a series of frustrated texts to Zeze.

If you're skipping on picking me up to make out with Owen, you're dead.

Creepy Jim is driving the bus today, Ze. If he watches me the whole ride, I'm blaming you.

I put my headphones in and tried to tune out the argument taking place in the seat behind me. They were middle schoolers who lived three houses down from me. They were born a year apart and seemed to be at each other's throats since they walked out of the womb. Jace, Jaron, seriously shut up, I said, barely over a mumble.

Do we need a red ticket on the first day, Miss Parker?

Jim, I think we both know that a bus suspension is worse for you than it is for me, I snipped. A salacious grin crawled across Creepy Jim's face and I turned my attention back to my playlist. My usual favorites seemed to tick me off. This was not the start that I wanted for senior year.

My phone buzzed. It was from Zeze, but it immediately threw me off.

Zeze: Stay out of it.

Me: What's wrong?

I was kidding in my previous texts and usually, she would get that. Besides, how could I stay out of it when it had been me waiting for her to pick me up?

There had to be something seriously wrong if it sucked her whole sense of humor out of her body. I stared at the three little blinking dots on the phone for a solid ten minutes. When the bus pulled to a stop at the school, the dots disappeared, and no text was sent.

What the hell, Zeze?

I was the last off the bus and I felt a scaly hand grab mine. I halted halfway down the second step and turned to look at Jim.

I hope you try out for theater this year. His words felt like they were thick as they passed through the air in a cloud of coffee breath.

What?

I saw your performance at the Summer Spectacular. Who did you play? Ah, Moira. You were beautiful.

You were beautiful. I pulled away from his grip and snarled down my nose at him. I don't want you to watch my plays, you old creep.

His face turned dark as he looked at me, but the sick smirk never left his mouth. I turned and got out of the bus as fast as my feet would take me. I felt his eyes on me as I kept walking toward the school. I needed to report him. I had to tell someone.

I walked through the enormous front doors of the multi-level brick school and made a beeline for the office. The attendant sat behind a layer of glass, with large, black-rimmed glasses sitting on her enormous nose. Her name was Carol, and I had the unfortunate knowledge that she really hated me.

Excuse me, I need to file a report, I said. It was a little too loud and a few kids passing me in the hall gave me a funny look.

Okay, against another student? she asked. She started flipping through papers.

No, against Creepy Jim who drives Bus 68. I pulled up my bus pass to show the number.

Carol sighed and licked her fingers before she grabbed a blank piece of paper. She wrote down a number. Call the bus junction to file a report with them. I can't do anything about a bus driver.

He works for the school, I said. I was interrupted by the sound of the tardy bell.

Carol pointed up at the loudspeaker that was starting to rattle off the morning announcements. You're going to be late for homeroom.

Carol, do I look like I give a —

Hey, Paige!

I spun on my heel to see Owen trotting through the doors. He was solo and looked like he had just rolled out of bed. His straight black hair was sticking out of his collar and looked like it hadn't been brushed in a week. Owen, where's Zeze? She was supposed to pick me up, I started to explain my hectic morning but Carol, bless her heart, cleared her throat loudly.

Move along kids, you're gonna be very late and I'm not writing you a note. She slid the phone number for the bus junction through the cut-out hole in the glass window.

Thanks, Carol, you've been a real pleasure. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes and Owen looked between us suspiciously.

She didn't show up. I walked to school, Owen said. He didn't get a chance to explain more as we entered homeroom.

Ah, Mr. Mathers and Ms. Parker. Thank you for gracing us with your presence, our homeroom teacher, Mr. Raffa said. He passed a packet back to us and waited for a minute. Is Ms. Dane going to be joining us?

Owen and I both shrugged and shared a look. Zeze was a star student. She had probably never been late a day in her life. We knew this because she was convinced that we couldn't be late either. She would even give us a good morning text if she thought we slept in. The chances that she would skip the first day of our senior year were slim to none.

She probably got evicted, Sierra said. She was next in line to be cheer captain, after Zeze, and was eternally jealous of it.

Alright, moving on. Senior year is an extremely important time. You will, no doubt, find yourselves. You will be applying to colleges and working on securing financial aid and scholarships. Homeroom is going to focus on all of that. What exactly do you want to spend the rest of your life doing? Well, this year, you will find out. Let's start with a personality quiz. We're going to have to take a trip down to the library and borrow the computers. Your packet will provide places for you to record your answers. Keep the papers, kids, and walk-in single file. You should have had plenty of experience doing that. Mr. Raffa opened the door for us, and we shuffled through it.

Despite the morning drama, everyone seemed to be in pretty good spirits. There was a sense of hope in the air. It was, after all, our senior year. The last year that we would have to spend looking at the same worn-out walls and worrying about our GPA. Next year, our grades would mean something.

Owen slid into the chair next to me at the library and turned on both of our computers.

What's going on with Zeze? he asked, in a hushed whisper.

I don't know. I talked to her on Saturday, and she seemed fine. Sunday is 'Family Day', so I didn't expect to hear from her. But we had agreed that we would show up today, together. I turned my attention back to the computer and started answering the questions. They were at least multiple-choice. Sadly, there were also about 400 of them.

Owen and I were quiet as we worked our way through them. Once the quiz was over, we waited patiently for the results.

What do you think you got? I asked.

Owen shrugged, dismissively, Probably a gas station attendant. I don't have high hopes. What about you?

I had no idea. I didn't even know what I wanted to be, let alone be able to guess what some internet test would be able to tell me. Your guess is as good as mine. The real question is why this is taking so long to load.

Mr. Raffa clapped his hands twice to gather everyone's attention. Sierra, what do you think your answer will be?

A surgeon, probably, she said confidently. I want to be a cardiothoracic surgeon.

That's a, uh, big goal. Great. What about you, Miguel?

I'm going to work on cars. I've already started my apprenticeship with my older brother, he said. He leaned back in his chair and tucked his arms behind his head. His biceps flexed and I caught myself staring. His thick black curls were longer this year, grazing the edges of his high cheekbones.

Maybe if it doesn't work out with Chase, I can give Miguel a shot. I tried not to look too thirsty when he called on Owen, making everyone in the class look in our direction.

And what about you, Owen? Mr. Raffa tapped the clipboard impulsively, looking at the clock while he waited for Owen's response.

I don't know. A musician? Owen played the air guitar and winked at our homeroom teacher.

I snorted at the unexpected response and the class joined in on the laughter.

Alright, well we're talking about careers here, Owen, not pipe dreams. Let me know when you have a hundred thousand subscribers and then we'll talk. And here are the results, finally. Remember to write down your answers on the paper- Mr. Raffa rattled off further instructions but my eyes were glued to the screen.

Three options appeared in front of me: Law Enforcement, Case Manager, and Electrical Technician.

What kind of result is that? How could I possibly have the skills to be a cop or an electrician? Can anyone explain that? I looked around at Owen and to Mr. Raffa.

My teacher let out a soft almost-chuckle and looked at my results. Well, you got all of the questions about electrical currents correct. So, it probably is an option for you.

Those questions were common sense. I don't think anyone here would have gotten them wrong, I retorted. Owen shook his head in a way that told me I was most definitely wrong about that.

What did you get? I asked him.

Owen laughed and turned his screen toward me. You're looking at Ecola Bay High's next school counselor.

The good news is, that pays a lot better than a struggling musician, Mr. Raffa said. Alright, gather up your things and head to second period. Keep your results handy for the Career Fair later in the semester. You never know what might end up being a good fit.

I grabbed my backpack and Owen's and headed out the door to the library. I waited for him, while he took a minute to stare at his phone.

Hear anything from Zeze? I asked when he finally made his way to my side.

Nothing. That's kind of weird, right? Owen's deep brown eyes were heavy with worry. I've got biology next.

Okay, wow. You didn't take that Freshman year? I teased, knowing that Owen was not all that interested in getting a college education. I've got AP English.

Owen grabbed his backpack and waved goodbye. He stared at his phone as he walked away. I headed in the opposite direction and up the wide staircase that led to Beekman's class. I had taken the same class last year, since they do a Junior/Senior split, and loved every minute of it. There would be no way Zeze would miss this. On the first day, it was Beekman's tradition to screen part of Monty Python. They said they loved to see the kids groan at the ancient comedy. I secretly loved it.

Beekman stood outside the class, giving each kid a high-five, as though we were second graders. When they got to me, their expression changed to a sympathetic frown. Hey, Paige, you need to go to the office.

What? I had one foot halfway into the classroom and didn't want to miss out on The Search for the Holy Grail. Why?

I think it's best if you just go to the office first. You can come back in quietly if you still have time. Beekman stepped past me and to the front of the classroom.

Sierra, who had been waiting to enter the room and was close enough to hear the order to the office, rolled her eyes. Lucky you, I don't want to be stuck in here with it for the next hour, she muttered as she squeezed past me.

What? Were you born in 1975? Get over it, Sierra.

Head to the office, Paige. Hope you're getting expelled!

My feet were already carrying me in the direction of the office, back down the stairs, and the hallway was already empty. I had never been called to the office for anything. Did something happen to Zeze? My stomach churned as I imagined them telling me that she had been in a car accident or that I was getting in trouble for the interaction I had with Carol this morning.

I took a deep breath and opened the door to the office. In the gray room was a large L-shaped desk where Carol sat behind her window. Along with her was another secretary that I hadn't met, Owen, my mom, and Zeze's mom, Ellen. Standing by the door to usher me in was Mr. Guen, our principal.

What's going on? I asked. I felt the eyes in the room turn to me and saw Ellen's light up. She charged toward me, mascara streaming down her face, and her thick perfume assaulting my senses. In her hand was a crumpled school picture of Zeze from last year. She waved it in my face as she started yelling.

Where is Zeze? What happened to her? Where is she?

She was inches from my face and her tirade forced me to take a step back out of the office.

Mr. Guen grabbed her arm, a little rougher than I expected, and pulled her back from me. Mrs. Dane, please calm down. I'm sure Paige will share this information with us in a few moments.

My mom came to my rescue, skirting around the principal and wrapping a strong arm around my shoulders. She too looked to have been crying. Paige, no one has seen Susannah. Do you know where she is?

My brows furrowed. What did she just ask me? My heart felt like it would pound out of my throat. No one had seen Susannah. I looked to Owen for answers, but he shrugged dismissively.

She came to my house on Saturday, I started. My voice trembled as I spoke, and I felt my ears grow hot. She didn't even spend the night. She wanted to finish the summer reading for Beekman's class. She drove herself home.

Okay, thank you, Paige. I know this is... a lot. Did you see or talk to Susannah after that? Mr. Guen asked. He still had a hold on Ellen, who seemed like she was ready to tear me apart.

She's lying! Susannah said she spent the night. She said she was with you! Her sharp nails painted a violent red, pointed at me accusingly.

No. No, I didn't. Mom, you can look at my texts... I held up my phone and my mom took it before Ellen had a chance to reach for it and slid it into her purse.

Yeah, I'll look into that. She didn't stay at our house. Paige and I watched a movie together that night. Ellen, did you call the police? Mom asked. Her arm around me flexed defensively as she spoke.

Ellen burst into tears. They streamed down her face, spreading the mascara into an even larger mess. I did. They said someone would come here to talk. But I couldn't wait. I can't believe she didn't come home!

Owen, Paige, Mrs. Parker, thank you for coming down here. Will you give me a moment to speak to Mrs. Dane? Once I’m done, I’ll talk with you again. Mr. Guen opened the door to his personal office and waited until we were inside.

We sat down and I watched through the gaps in the blinds as Carol wrapped her arms around Ellen, whose sobs only grew louder. My mom shut the door and stood behind it as if she were ready to block the way if Ellen tried to break in.

You really didn't see her, right? my mom asked me.

I felt my chest tighten. I couldn't breathe. Zeze was gone and I was the last person to see her alive.

2

Into the Fray

Paige

Itapped my fingers on the principal’s desk. Pointer. Middle. One-two. My fingers shook as I continued tapping. Respond, please