The urine pooled on the tile beneath her.
Greta snarled and knocked Crystal into the wall. Hands bound behind her, Crystal nearly slipped in her urine, but maintained her balance, hitting the wall with a shoulder and steadying herself.
Greta stared at the pee and back at Crystal.
“You think you’re clever,” she laughed.
Greta left the room and returned a moment later with a plastic folder. She pressed it on the floor next to the dark yellow urine which revealed that Crystal was dehydrated. The urine gradually flowed onto the folder. She bent the edges of the folder to keep it from spilling out and poured it into a plastic Dixie cup.
“Let’s see if you do that again, shall we?” Greta smirked.
Greta stood, pulled the bathroom door closed and shut off the light.
Crystal didn’t move.
The warmth of the urine had turned cold and sticky on her inner thighs. It had smeared her skirt too, mostly the hem.
Slowly her eyes adjusted. The room was nearly black, but Crystal slowed her breath and took small shuffling steps until she reached the corner. She pressed her back into the corner and slid down the wall, pulling her legs in and resting her chin on her knees.
Hours later, Greta returned.
When she opened the door, Crystal grimaced and tucked her head down, clenching her eyes shut. The light stabbed her aching head.
“Funny thing in the paper today when I went to buy a pregnancy test,” Greta told her. “Mistress Pregnant with Married Man’s Baby! Oh, the scandal. I almost wasted twenty dollars on a pregnancy test. Things are not looking good for Mr. Meeks. The police have officially named him a suspect in your disappearance.”
Crystal shivered.
A chill had come over her sometime in the previous hours. She had a fever. Heat radiated beneath her skin even as her teeth chattered.
“Ugh, you stink,” Greta muttered.
She pushed Crystal aside with her foot and turned on the shower.
“There’s water, but it’s not hot,” Greta said. “I’m sure you won’t mind. It’s summer after all.”
Greta dragged Crystal into the bathtub.
Crystal gasped in shock when the icy water struck her. Her shivers turned into convulsions.
Greta stripped off Crystal’s skirt, making a gagging face, and flung it to the floor.
She scrubbed Crystal’s flesh with a coarse sponge that made her skin feel raw.
When the icy shower finally ended, Crystal panted on her knees, her head swimming. It took all her effort to keep from slumping over in the tub.
Greta toweled her dry and pushed her toward the room.
Crystal collapsed onto the bed pulling her knees into her chest.
Greta left the room.
Crystal stared at the open door, but her entire body shook. She couldn’t stand, let alone run.
When Greta returned, she carried a lethal-looking knife. The long blade glinted in the light through the window.
Crystal closed her eyes, but the woman did not stab her. She reached behind Crystal’s back and cut the zip ties. Crystal’s arms were numb. She didn’t have the strength to draw them from their position.
Greta wrenched Crystal’s hands toward the front of her body. She lifted a wrist and let it drop. It flopped on the mattress, but Crystal barely registered it.
“Poor Crystal and Weston," Greta smirked. “Karma is cruel.”
44
Now
After another fitful night of sleep, this one plagued by nightmares of a young Greta Claude stalking Bette through a dark forest, Bette woke to gray light seeping between the curtains.
She brewed coffee in her room, threw on the previous day’s clothes, and called her dad.
He answered on the first ring.
“Any news?” they asked simultaneously.
Homer chuckled.
“Kind of," Bette admitted. “Not good news, though. Weston Meeks’ wife is a total pyscho. Her name used to be Greta Claude, and they suspected her of murdering her boyfriend in Marquette over a decade ago. The murder is still unsolved.”
“Dear Lord,” Homer huffed. “That makes me feel half sick. Is it true?”
Bette rubbed her eyes and yawned. She drained the last of her coffee and refilled the cup.
“I don’t want to believe it, but I do. Everyone in town seems to think so, and she left mysteriously right after he died. I’m going to track down one more person this morning and then I’m driving home. Any developments on Crystal?”
Homer sighed. “I spoke with the Lansing State Journal. They’re running Crystal’s story on the front page today. Officer Hart called to tell me that Weston Meeks is scheduled to take a lie detector test at the end of the week. Apparently, he’s gone back to Traverse City but promised to return by Friday.”
Bette flared slightly at the news, but her heart wasn’t in it. She was no longer sure that Weston had a hand in her sister’s disappearance.
Bette said goodbye to her dad, gathered up her few things, and rode the elevator down to the lobby.
She stopped at the front desk where a young, heavily made-up woman stood bobbing her head to the song on a little portable radio. When she saw Bette, she blushed and turned the volume all the way down.
“Don’t mind me,” Bette told her. “I like Bon Jovi. I do have a quick question, though, and this may be a long shot. Do you know Nate Montgomery?”
The girl nodded enthusiastically. “He owns The Rebel Music Store right downtown.”
“The Rebel Music Store?” Bette asked, wondering at the name. The man’s father was the sheriff, and he owned a business called the Rebel Music Store?
“Yeah, it’s great. You should check it out while you’re in town. It’s not just music. He has books and concert tickets and instruments. It’s the coolest place in town. You can walk there from here," the girl went on. “It’s like two blocks that way.” She pointed at the road that sloped up the hill into downtown.
“Great, thanks.”
The Rebel Music Store occupied a large corner space in an old redbrick building. It was butted on one side by a resale store and across the street from an ice cream and candy shop.
When Bette pushed open the door, a bell didn’t tinkle. Instead, a plastic cartoon cat meowed loudly and flicked its tail.
The store was dimly lit. Twinkle lights ran along the tops of bookshelves. Waist-high racks stood in rows down the center, filled with CDs and records. Books and musical instruments lined the tall shelves against the walls.
Between shelves, squat, timeworn chairs offered patrons a spot to relax.
Bette eyed a young guy wearing earphones and sitting in a shabby purple velvet chair. His head bounced to the music in his head.
Bette recognized the song playing on the store speakers. “Black Magic Woman” by Fleetwood Mac.
She walked down the center of the store, finding a circular wood counter at the back. No one stood behind it.
Bette noticed a taped sign that said “Buzz for Service” next to a bullfrog with a red button protruding from its plastic back. She pressed the button expecting a croak. Instead, a comical Pee-Wee Herman voice announced, “Be Right Out!”
Almost immediately, a door behind the counter swung open, and a man popped his head out.
He smiled and waved a hand.
“Be with you in two shakes. Trying to cut the damned twine off these newspapers I just got delivered, as if reading the news isn’t punishment enough.” He disappeared back through the door, and Bette wandered to a table stacked with fliers, postcard-sized ads for various CDs, and posters for concerts and other music events.