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She spit twice to help rid her mouth of the rotten tomato taste, then quickly finished the page she’d been working on.
A few minutes later, she snapped the notebook shut and gri
Chris hadn’t shown up to open Luke’s that morning. No calls, no messages to anyone, he simply hadn’t shown up. It was a first for him in the three years she had worked for him. And the first time the diner had been closed for a full day.
Could he have been involved in the disappearances? Been the one to have hacked Sarah Greene up, then bury her body in the woods somewhere? Tiffany’s too? Beat the unidentified man’s head to a bloody pulp?
No, it was impossible to imagine he could hurt anyone. He wasn’t the type. But there wasn’t a specific “type” for killing was there? She was pretty sure that with the right reasons, most everyone was capable of it.
She spit again, hoping to get rid of the nasty remnants of the rotten tomato. And that’s when it happened. Fifty feet from the clearing, just a hundred yards from Whiskey Road, she heard movement. She fell into a crouch and sca
She saw someone. A man wearing a black ski-mask. He was stumbling toward her. As he approached, he let out a blood-curdling scream that made her want to cry out herself.
Startled, she withdrew into the shadows, her back against a mature oak, the rotten taste in her mouth quickly forgotten. As he grew closer, she curled into herself, trying to make herself as small as possible.
Her heart beat so furiously she was afraid he could hear it.
There seemed to be something very wrong with him. Muttering to himself, he pulled off his mask and took in several labored breaths.
Although she could only see the side of his face, she knew exactly who he was. Haley’s words echoed in her mind:
These days it just doesn’t seem like people even really know each other. . . or what they’re capable of.
He stumbled forward again in her direction. He was closing in on her.
She sucked in a breath and prepared to run.
Suddenly, their eyes met. She could see the realization of who she was slowly creep into his beet-red face. His eyes widened and he froze.
She tried to run, but was horrified to find that she couldn’t move.
She was frozen, too.
Chapter 66
HALEY FINISHED WIPING down the kitchen counter. The house was quiet. Almost too quiet. She dropped the dish rag in the sink and walked to her sister’s room. She knocked and immediately heard whispers. “What?” an irritated voice cried from the other side.
“I’m putting di
“I’m not hungry,” Becky called out.
There were more whispers. Then Haley heard hushed giggles.
Careful not to turn on any lights, Haley went to her own bedroom. Becky had pi
Seacrest was in the room with Becky, and so were two boys Haley hadn’t seen before. A half-emptied bottle of Southern Comfort and an empty two-liter of Coca Cola were on Becky’s dresser. Each kid had a juice glass.
Seacrest was sitting topless.
“Truth or dare,” one of the boys said.
Becky’s voice was wobbly. “Uh, dare.”
“I dare you to take your shirt off, too.”
Seacrest laughed. “Are you serious? And see what? Fat rolls?”
“That’s a pretty shitty thing to say,” the boy said.
“It’s the truth,” she said, defiantly. “Why are you so interested in seeing Becky’s tits anyway? It’s not like she really has any yet.”
Seacrest turned toward the makeshift wall and it looked to Haley as if the girl were staring right into her eyes. “It still creeps me out that your sister could be in there, watching us,” she said. She’s the type of freak who would.”
Haley gasped and brought her hands to her mouth, staring at something on the girl’s chest.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
She jumped out of the bed and went to her sister’s door. She didn’t bother knocking before trying to twist Becky’s doorknob. But it was locked.
“Becky!” she shouted, her heart pounding in her throat. “Becky, let me in!”
“Haley, wait!” Becky cried.
When Becky finally opened the door, the window was open and the boys were gone. The room reeked of spilled liquor. Seacrest was standing at the end of Becky’s bed, adjusting her tank top.
“Show me what’s on your neck.” Haley demanded.
Her dark hair wild, Seacrest threw Haley a piercing glare. “Excuse me?”
“Show me. Show me what’s on your neck!” Haley shouted.
Becky gaped at her. “Haley? You okay?”
Seacrest brought her hand to her neck, then seeming almost surprised that it was there, she fingered the necklace. She pulled the heart-shaped pendant from beneath her tank top. “This?”
Haley ripped the necklace from the girl’s neck.
“Careful!” Seacrest protested. “What the fuck’s wrong with—”
Haley turned it over and saw the monogrammed TP. She held the necklace in front of the girl’s face. When she spoke, her voice came out as a hiss. “Where’d you get this?”
Seacrest took a step backward and fear crept into her emerald eyes. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Where’d you get it?!” Haley screamed, stepping toward the younger girl.
“I. . . I found it. So what?”
“Where?”
A loud, throaty moan rose from another part of the house. Wrigley was howling.
Seacrest’s lower lip trembled. “I. . . I just found it, okay?”
“That necklace is Tiffany’s! She was wearing it when—”
Feet padded on the hardwood. “What’s going on?” Mrs. Landry asked, walking in. Her eyes took in a bewildered Seacrest.
“Mama, Seacrest was wearing Tiffany’s necklace!” Haley exclaimed.
Mrs. Landry looked confused.
“She was wearing Tiffany’s necklace! The one you bought for her. Don’t you see? Tiffany was wearing it when she disappeared!”
Her mother seemed to be putting the pieces together slowly, too slowly, in her head.
Haley turned back to Seacrest just in time to see her climbing out the window. Losing her balance, her chin smacked against the pane and she let out a sharp cry.
Haley darted across the room to stop her.
But the girl was gone.
Chapter 67
THUNDER RIPPLED THROUGH the sky as he replayed the scene in his head. His angel had looked at his note for a split second before wilting in front of his eyes. Seeing her pain made the terror swell inside of him, but what hurt even more. . . and was almost too much to handle. . . was the realization that he’d never see her again.
On the way back to the house, he’d been seized by a panic attack, one so intense he thought he’d suffocate. In the midst of it, he’d seen Erica Duvall crouched down in the woods. She’d seen him, too, but that didn’t concern him much. There was nothing she could do to him now.
At the house, he went to his bedroom and grabbed a second note from between his mattresses. Then, in the kitchen he focused on steadying his hand. Five minutes later the more important note, the one he had worried over for a month but hoped he wouldn’t have to send, was completed. He slid it into an envelope and walked out to the mailbox that read ‘The Seacrests’ in bold, white letters. Sliding the letter into the box, he pulled up the red metal flag to let the postman know that there was outgoing mail.