When We Go Missing

by April Henry

Genres: YA Mysteries & Thrillers

Synopsis

New York Times bestselling author April Henry delivers a true-crime-style mystery featuring a teen determined to save a missing girl she sees in a disturbing photo. 

What if you found evidence of a crime, but no one believed you?

Seventeen-year-old Willow always has a camera around her neck. She volunteers as a photographer at Finding Home animal shelter. When Willow stumbles upon a lost camera memory card, it’s filled with hundreds of photos of teenage girls. Some are smiling, others unaware, and a few seem terrified.

The police tell her taking photos in public isn’t a crime. But Willow can’t seem to let it go, especially after she finds her own photo on the card. Willow teams up with new volunteer Dare to figure out what happened to the girls. As their investigation heats up, so does the chemistry between them. But everyone around Willow has a secret: Finding Home’s owner, her own mom, and even Dare. When Willow learns that some of the girls on the camera card have gone missing, she realizes the unknown photographer might be a serial killer. Can Willow find him before he finds her?

Release date: May 13, 2025

Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

Print pages: 272

Sample

July 7 (Eleven weeks later)

“LOOKING GORGEOUS, GIRL!” WILLOW MURMURED, HER FINGER ON the shutter button.

Bella turned her head away, feigning shyness, but then cast a quick glance over her slender shoulder. She was playing coy, but Willow could see right through the facade, see how much she enjoyed being praised.

“That’s it! Work it!” Willow pressed the shutter button, taking a burst of photographs. Later, she would pick the best, the ones that really spoke to Bella’s personality.

Bella dipped her head, then looked up at Willow with tip-tilted eyes.

“I’m going to make you a star, baby,” Willow crooned.

Her words were interrupted by a creak. And suddenly Bella was darting past her. She slipped out the now-open door before Willow could stop her. On the other side of the door, his hand still on the knob, a guy stared open-mouthed.

As Willow jumped to her feet, the camera thumped against her chest. “You just let Bella out!” She ran out onto the porch, yanking the door closed behind her. She couldn’t see Bella anyplace. But only a block and a half away was a busy road.

“Who’s Bella?”

“The cat you just let out. You have to help me catch her.”

“Oh no.” The guy bit his lip. “Of course I’ll help. I’m sorry!”

He looked about Willow’s age, seventeen. He had light brown skin and thick black hair and was wearing a long-sleeved white T-shirt and gray cargo shorts. They didn’t have any adoption appointments scheduled for today. Maybe he was one of the other volunteers’ kids. Willow didn’t care why he was there, just what he’d done.

She pointed at the door. “That’s why there’s a sign.”

OPEN DOOR CAREFULLY—WATCH OUT FOR OUR FURRY FRIENDS

“I thought it meant to be careful not to step on one once you got inside.” He raked his hand through his hair. “This isn’t the best way to start my first day as a volunteer.”

As he spoke, Willow scanned the front yard of the house turned animal shelter. It had been donated by an old lady who died with no heirs other than four felines. Patchy grass, maple trees, glossy rhododendrons—but no sleek black cat. After a weekend full of illegal Fourth of July fireworks, all the animals were on edge today.

“Here, kitty!” the guy called. “Come here, kitty!”

“Her name’s Bella,” Willow said. “Unfortunately, she doesn’t like strangers. That’s one reason no one’s adopted her yet.” And her photos showing another side to the cat wouldn’t help if they couldn’t find her.

“I’m really sorry. I’m Dare. What’s your name?”

“Willow.” Still angry at his carelessness, she bit off the word. Reaching into the pocket of her jeans, she pulled out a plastic sandwich bag and opened it. “Take one of these. It might help lure her in.”

He pinched one of the quarter-sized pink curls. “What are they?”

“Freeze-dried shrimp.” Willow used to use canned tuna to encourage cats to sit still, but if the liquid got onto her clothes, they just reeked. She remembered John’s exaggerated grimace, then pushed the thought away. “You take that side of the yard, and I’ll take this one. If you see Bella, don’t chase her. Just drop the shrimp and call for me.”

Willow’s head was on a swivel as she hurried down the porch stairs and around the side of the house, which sloped steeply downward. Holding the camera against her chest, she ducked to peer under the scraggly bushes. When she reached the basement door, she turned around.

As Willow came back, Dare was returning from the other side. His twisted mouth and slumped shoulders made it clear he hadn’t had any better luck. An unexpected sympathy tempered her anger.

“I’ll head down the street, and you head up.” She pointed. “Just go a couple of blocks, and look anyplace a cat might hide. Shadows, corners, under or behind things. Bella’s sneaky. Come back if you don’t find her.”

Normally, Willow avoided where she was about to go. But this wasn’t about her. It was about Bella.

She walked down the hill, past houses with peeling paint and roofs thick with moss. One had a Confederate flag for a curtain. Another’s front porch held a torn-up couch. In front of a third, an old toilet squatted in the weeds.

“Bella? Bella?”

Behind her, Dare echoed her call.

Half a block from the busy intersection, the sound of squealing tires made her head jerk up. Was Bella now a flattened lump of fur? But all she saw was a driver making a rude gesture at the car ahead of him.

At the bottom of the hill, a homeless camp sprawled over a vacant lot. Today there were two old RVs, a car shrouded by a brown tarp, and a collection of tents. Discarded clothing and food wrappers littered the ground, as well as black garbage bags stuffed either with garbage or people’s possessions. Willow kept tight hold of her camera.

At the intersection, she turned right and went one block, checking the doorways and windowsills of the small businesses: a dry cleaner, a Thai restaurant, and a locksmith.

“Bella? Bella?”

No answering meow.

Willow retraced her steps, checking out the homeless camp. The tents were surrounded by trash or treasure, depending on your point of view: a white plastic bucket, a half-dismantled stroller, a blue plastic cooler, a kid’s bike, a wooden pallet. But no small black cat. One man watched her from inside his tent, and the gaze of a woman sitting in a folding camp chair followed her.

At the convenience store on the corner, two girls sat next to the entrance. In front of their crossed legs, a torn cardboard box read GIVE FOR GOOD KARMA. All it held was a few coins, most of them pennies.

“Have you seen a small black cat?” Willow asked them.

The girl with a messy blond bun just looked at Willow, her angular face expressionless. The girl in a faded Oregon Ducks hoodie nudged the box meaningfully with her torn sneaker.

“I don’t have any money with me.”

She was turning away when the blond girl spoke. “Sorry. We haven’t seen a cat.”

On the way back, she spotted a small black square on the sidewalk. It had a distinctive red-and-white logo. A camera card, the same brand she used. Automatically, she checked her own camera, but her card was still in its slot.

Willow picked it up and slid it in her pocket. Later maybe she could figure out who it belonged to and return it. She started trudging back.

“Willow!” Dare called from up the street. “I found her!”

WHAT EXACTLY AM I DOING? DARE ASKED HIMSELF. WALKING down some blighted street, calling for an animal that had registered only as a black blur? How was he supposed to find a cat that didn’t like strangers?

It was ridiculous he was even here. An animal shelter of all places. What did he know about animals? Dare hadn’t grown up with pets, not even a gerbil or a lizard. His mom had always claimed to be allergic, but the older he got, the more he had his doubts.

As a result, he had no idea how to act around pets. If he and a friend ever encountered a dog, Dare imitated the other person’s moves. But it was never believable. Not to him and not to the animal. A dog that had just melted under his friend’s touch would stiffen when Dare tried the exact same move. And that was back before everything happened.

For the millionth time, Dare wished he could rewind that terrible day. The events that had plopped him down at an animal shelter, with no choice in the matter.

Plus it wasn’t his fault the cat had gotten out just now. This Willow person had acted like Dare had just let a toddler run into traffic. But even she had admitted the cat was sneaky.

It was probably too much to hope they volunteered on different days.

“Bella! Come here, Bella.” Dare clicked his tongue. He felt unconvincing, a bad actor who wouldn’t fool anyone, let alone a skittish cat. “Bella!” he called again.

A scuffling sound. Eyes peered out from underneath a parked car. Dare squatted.

“Hey, kitty,” he cooed. “Come here.” Then his gaze adjusted to the dimness. It was a brown tabby, not an all-black cat. With a frustrated groan, he stood up and resumed his search, looking for a flitting shadow or a sudden stillness.

Dare hadn’t even known this part of town existed, with its narrow streets edged by cracked sidewalks. The small houses had faded paint and sagging porches. A few had boarded-up windows. The area would be perfect for one thing—filming a zombie apocalypse movie.

His neighborhood was across the river, but it might as well have been on another planet. It was filled with colorful old Victorians that went for millions, as well as some of the city’s best restaurants. Including his dad’s.

And here Dare was, wandering the barren streets searching for a cat that didn’t even have an owner to miss it. When back at home he had a perfectly good and spacious room filled with everything a seventeen-year-old boy could want.

Three blocks and no Bella. As instructed, he turned around and started back. Willow had disappeared, presumably around the corner.

Then he caught a flick of movement, high up in a tree.

WILLOW HURRIED TO WHERE DARE WAS STARING UP INTO THE branches of a maple tree. Bella was about fifteen feet up, peering down at both of them, looking perfectly at home. Willow ignored the urge to pick up her camera.

“Don’t stare at her,” she said. “It might make her feel threatened.”

Obediently, Dare turned his head away.

She put out her hand. “Give me your shrimp.”

She rubbed it against her own, crushing them to release their scent: salt, fish, a touch of ammonia. The whole time, Bella watched her curiously. Willow set the two shrimp at the base of the tree and then backed away, motioning Dare to follow.

“Bella needs to feel like coming down is her own idea. Once she does, I’ll be the one to pick her up.” She kept her body relaxed, trying to project calm.

“Okay,” Dare said softly. They waited, but Bella didn’t move. Finally he said, “So you take the photographs for Finding Home’s website?”

“Yeah.” She was suddenly aware of how close they were standing. Even though the day was warm, a shiver coursed through her.

He quirked one eyebrow. “Those photos are good. They really capture their personalities.”

“They have to be good. We get a lot of hard-to-adopt animals. Older, patchy fur, missing teeth. Sometimes even a missing leg.”

“Bella’s beautiful,” he observed.

“A lot of people don’t like black cats because of that stupid superstition about bad luck. Of course you also have to be careful if someone really wants a black cat around Halloween. We don’t need some weirdo who thinks they’re black magic. Plus Bella can be kind of standoffish, but she’s friendly and playful once she lets down her guard. We just need to find the right human for her.”

Dare tilted his head, causing a wave of dark hair to fall over one brown eye. “Isn’t Bella one of the most common names for a cat?”

Willow bridled. It wasn’t like she had chosen the name. “Dogs, too. We’ve probably had a dozen Bellas. Mostly golden retrievers, or mixes that look like goldens.” She risked a quick glance at this particular Bella, seemingly content where she was. Willow clucked her tongue. “Bella,” she wheedled in a singsong voice.

Dare cut his eyes in Bella’s direction for a second. “She looks pretty settled.”

“I guess the shrimp aren’t working.” Willow thought of another possibility. From her pocket, she pulled out a silver wand smaller than a pencil.

“What’s that?”

“Laser pointer.” She aimed at a spot on the trunk next to Bella. In the shadow cast by the thick leaves, the glowing red dot was clearly visible. Bella tapped it with one paw. Willow moved the dot down a few inches lower, out of the cat’s reach.

Bella studied it for a moment. Then she hugged the trunk with her front paws and let her rear legs swing down, scrabbling until they found purchase.

Willow moved the red dot a few inches lower. Using a hopping motion, Bella followed, but the red dot was always just out of reach.

When she was level with their heads, Bella suddenly jumped down. She sniffed at the shrimp. Her tail was low and twitching back and forth, signaling nervousness.

But Willow couldn’t risk her running away. If Bella did make it to the intersection, she could be smashed flat. In one quick motion, she leaned over and snatched up the cat.

Bella let out a low growl. Willow clamped her left arm around her while her right hand tried to settle Bella’s paws on top of the camera body.

“You got her!” Dare leaned in close. Too close. Bella hissed and swiped with one paw. He winced as her claws dug through his shirt and into his forearm.

April 26 (Ten weeks earlier)

THE SMELL OF BAKING COOKIES FILLED THE HOUSE. PILLSBURY chocolate-chip refrigerated dough was Ryan’s secret weapon for turning open-house lookie-loos into buyers. He had brought the dough, cookie sheets, and Ove Gloves with him. The owners had already moved into a new house, so this one had been staged, but the staging hadn’t gone as far as putting pans into the cupboards.

Smell was the most primitive sense, deeply entwined with emotion. The scents of sugar, chocolate, and butter made people think of comfort, childhood, safety. They made a house feel like a home.

At least they did for most people. Ryan’s mother had not cooked much. He associated other smells with her. The floral smell of White Shoulders perfume when she hugged him. Or the prick. . .