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“I’m Charles,” he said, rolling the stone in his palm. He thought about the real Charles.
She smiled at him. “Nice to meet you, Charles.”
“Where am I taking you?”
“Just a quarter of a mile. I live on Piney Branch.”
Yeah. . . he knew.
He glanced at the time on his dashboard. Nine o’clock. “Turning in this early?” he asked, pleasantly.
“I guess. My friend had to be home early tonight. Grounded or some shit. But it sucks because my parents aren’t home. They’re in Biloxi.”
“Yeah, that sucks. Hey, I’m headed to a party. You wouldn’t want to go, would you?”
“A party?!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. Then suddenly she seemed reluctant. She straightened in her seat and appeared to be mulling it over.
“Or not,” he said, careful to gain her trust. He was going to destroy her no matter what, but it would be much easier if she trusted him. . . at least in the begi
“Is the party in town?”
“Yeah, just off Whiskey Road.”
Still looking straight ahead, she gri
He squeezed the rock. She was falling for it. His plan would be easier than he had thought. “Sure, but I need to change my shirt first. Mind stopping at my house?”
“Um, where do you live?” she asked.
“Close.”
She nodded.
They drove in silence for a minute. “You know that it’s dangerous to be walking along the side of the road at night?” he said, pressing his foot against the brake for a stop sign. “To let strangers pick you up, bring you home?”
She snorted. “You’re not dangerous, are you? You don’t look dangerous. Besides, it’s not a long walk to my house from Maria’s. I do it all the time. And I never hitch. It’s just that with the rain comin’ and all.”
Her eyes were on him again and his flesh crawled. “How old are you anyway?” she asked, all hint of nervousness out the window. She was just a stupid animal.
An animal. A girl. An animal. A girl. A beast.
Gravel crunched beneath the tires. “Why? Do you like older guys?”
“Sometimes. If they’re cute.” She cut her eyes at him. “Hey, you have beer at your house?”
***
SHE SAT IN the dimly-lit living room, ru
Earlier, Allie had strolled out of the house with an overnight bag, so he knew he had the house to himself for the night.
He could take as long as he wanted to.
She took a sip of the Miller Lite he’d given her. “And Maria’s parents are such morons,” she said. “Really, if my parents were like hers, I’d be so much more miserable than I already am. And you won’t believe it. . . one time when we were driving home from the movies, her father put his hand on my thigh. I almost puked. . .”
He wished she’d drink more and quit babbling. Her words were carving a hole in his head. He pushed another beer at her, this one laced with his mother’s haloperidol, a sedative the doctor prescribed for her schizophrenia. Then he went to get some vodka from the cabinet. She had been too easy, she herself suggesting they stay at his house and drink beer after he’d changed his shirt.
By ten o’clock they were in his room.
“Eww, how many magazines do you have?” she asked, eyeing the collection he’d left out. He wanted to read her reaction. To see a little of himself through her shiny, blue eyes. To see if there was anything worth redeeming. Or if there wasn’t.
She opened one and flipped through it. “Why did you tear so many pages out?”
“You like magazines like that?” he asked, rubbing his chin. “Dirty pictures of other girls?”
She hesitated before answering. “I don’t know. I think they’re. . . kind of gross, I guess.”
“I do too,” he said, honestly.
She sat on his bed with the magazine on her lap. Her eyes kept flopping closed, and it looked as though she was struggling to keep her head up. But suddenly, she took in a deep breath and straightened. Setting the magazine aside, she looked up at the small bedroom window. “Is that your cat?” she asked.
He looked up at the window and grimaced. After feeding Ian, he had decided to hang out at the window even more, sometimes screaming his mangy head off in the early morning hours. The gifts to both his sister and the cat had been a very bad idea.
She lay back and rested her head on his pillow. Her blonde hair splayed out and her lips parted. “What did you say your name was?”
He told her his name again. But this time he told her the real one. Now there was really no going back. His heart kicked into high gear and his voice turned gravelly. “How long have you been sleeping with Tom Anderson?”
She blinked. “What?”
She started to sit up.
“Oh, you didn’t hear me? I said: How long have you been fucking a married man?”
Her expression quickly turned to disbelief.
Then fear.
She tried to get up from his bed. But she was weak from the alcohol and haloperidol. And he was anything but weak.
Chapter 56
THE SUN WAS a sharp afterglow in the western sky when Haley returned home from her shift at Luke’s. When she turned onto her street, she was shocked to see the sheriff’s cruiser parked in her driveway.
Her heart sped up.
Her mother. Something was wrong.
Jumping out of the station wagon, she hurried to the carport. There, she found the sheriff sitting on one of the rocking chairs facing the bayou. The detective sat next to him.
The sheriff looked up from his coffee, fine beads of sweat coating his hairline. “Why hello, Miss Haley,” he said.
“My mother. Is she. . . okay?”
“Now, now, this isn’t about yore mother. I’m sure she’s fine,” he said, straightening in the chair. “Just need to ask you a few questions.”
Haley nodded.
“You know a little girl named Sarah Greene out of Truro?”
Haley shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”
“Her parents have reported her missing. They returned home from a trip to Biloxi and she wasn’t there. She was with a friend until Sunday evening, but no one’s seen her since.”
Haley’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh my God.”
Another girl had disappeared.
The detective stood. “You said that you don’t know her?”
Haley shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. I know an Olivia Greene. At least there’s an Olivia Greene who comes into Luke’s sometimes. I’ve seen the name on her credit card. Is Sarah her daughter?”
The detective nodded, thumping his notebook against a bent elbow.
“Do you think she could have run away?”
“No,” the detective said.
“Who is she?” Haley asked.
“She’s a sixteen-year-old junior at St. Theresa’s. On summer break like the rest of the kids. Does some babysitting for folks.”
The springs on the back screen door snapped and Haley’s mother stepped out.
“Mrs. Landry,” the sheriff exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were home. We knocked, but. . .”
Haley’s mother glanced at the two on her carport, then at her daughter. One eye was made up nicely with makeup. The other was bare as though she’d forgotten what she’d started. She was also wearing a sundress, but it was Becky’s and was a couple of sizes too small. “Another child went missing?” she asked. “Did I hear that right?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Oh my, what’s the world comin’ to?” she asked of no one in particular. Then her gaze fixed on Hebert and his styrofoam cup. “Come on in for some real coffee. You can ask my daughter questions inside where it’s cooler.”
She held the screen door open.
“Now you’re talkin’” the detective said, splashing his coffee into a barren flowerbed.