“I don’t believe you. Your hair… you’ve got black hair, too. And you’re beautiful just like Gail said.”
I had to smile at that. “When I was your age-this is true, I swear-I thought I was the ugliest, clumsiest person on earth. Maybe you can relate.” I left the bag where it was and stood. “How about we go outside? I’ve got a cooler in the car with drinks. Just you and me, we’ll talk about how awful high school can be.”
Krissie jerked away when I offered her my hand. “You’re lying. Stop pretending you’re nice.”
“It’s true I have to pretend sometimes. But, Kris-I’m not the one who ran off and left you.” Once again, I extended my hand.
The girl couldn’t let herself believe the truth. She shook her head, threw her scrawny shoulders back. “Go to hell!” she hollered, “I’m going to the party and find Gail,” then ran down the stairs and out the door.
I followed, but first had to retrieve the camera bag. By the time I got outside, she was almost to the trees, where there were car lights and the rumble of motorcycles, too. To me, though, it looked like Krissie was angling toward the old railroad bridge when she disappeared.
That’s the second thing I told the 911 dispatcher after I had explained the bare basics.
“She might be headed to the RV park,” I said, “looking for her so-called friends.”
15
The third thing I said to the 911 dispatcher was, “I told you there was a girl in trouble. You didn’t believe me. So I expect you to believe this: we need to find that girl before she hurts herself. And send extra deputies because drugs are being sold from this house. A dangerous drug. And I know who’s doing it.”
That wasn’t exactly true-Theo, Lucia, and/or Carmelo could be responsible-but I wanted all the uniformed cops I could summon before I went after Krissie. And that’s what I intended to do instead of standing on the porch, talking on a phone, in the wind and beneath stars and a rising full moon. Which was the fourth thing I told the dispatcher.
“Have you been drinking?” she asked when I was done. From the tone of her voice, I could tell I had pushed too hard or was rambling. And she was right. My anger had caused me to say too much and with too little respect.
“Sorry, I got carried away. But you can’t go inside that house without inhaling smoke.”
“Then you are under the influence,” the dispatcher said. “Smoking what? And how do you know it’s dangerous?”
“I’m not sure of the name. It’s from a type of mimosa tree. The dealer burns the seeds in the fireplace but grinds them into a powder first. Maybe to get kids started, but probably because he has a sick sense of humor. Or could be…” A more devious reason had popped into my mind and I had to sort it out.
“Could be what?”
“I hope I’m wrong but it might be his way of taking advantage of women. Young girls would be easy targets.”
“The man you buy drugs from,” she said, “can you spell his name for me? I should warn you, everything you say is being recorded.”
I was already impatient but that made me mad. “Buy it? Lady, I don’t even smoke,” then caught myself before saying anything stronger. Instead, I kept it simple. “I’m going to look for Krissie. Have the deputies call when they get here.”
I hung up, fuming, furious because the dispatcher had ordered me to stay put and wait for an officer to arrive, which had given the girl a long head start. Now the question was, should I drive to the campground or save ten minutes by walking?
Because I was anxious and angry, the answer seemed obvious, but I couldn’t decide. Either way, the camera gear needed to be locked in the trunk, so I hurried to my SUV while I argued back and forth. I hid the bag under a towel but removed the pistol first. It was too big for my purse-a clutch wallet, actually, by Kate Spade-so I zipped the gun into the little backpack I had carried on Carmelo’s boat. The few supplies it contained weren’t heavy. The gun added only a pound.
When I shouldered the bag, I remembered that I was supposed to meet Belton between eight and eight-thirty. It was nearly eight now, which was another reason to take the shortcut across the railroad bridge. With the flashlight, if I jogged most of the way I could be at the campground entrance in a few minutes. Belton, I felt sure, would be willing to help search for Krissie. Then he could drive me back to my car when I was ready.
I wasn’t a coward and I was armed-taking the bridge made perfect sense.
Don’t do it. Deep, deep in my mind, the persistent voice of reason demanded to be heard. You’re not thinking straight. You’ve been drugged.
But I had already wasted a lot of time. Krissie was in no shape to be roaming alone. I had to find her before her friends-or an even crueler man-hurt her more. Take the shortcut, urged the reckless woman inside me.
That’s what I decided to do.
My SUV is equipped with a keypad on the driver’s-side door and only I know the five-digit code. It’s a nice feature that eliminates the possibility of locking the keys inside and reduces the risk of theft. So I touched the keypad to engage the locks.
Don’t do it. That voice again. This time, it added a mental image: me standing alone at the entrance to the serpentarium where Theo lived. I would have to pass that driveway to get to the campground.
Suddenly, I was convinced.
Using the keypad, I got into my SUV and did a fast U-turn on the gravel road.
THE REASON it was faster to walk to the RV park was because I had to drive four miles north to a bridge that crossed the Telegraph River, then east for a mile to a macadam road, where I turned right. That road doubled back southwest, four miles again, and wasn’t wide enough to dodge all the potholes. Until then, I hadn’t realized how remote the spot was.
Four miles? The repetition sparked a detail that didn’t surface immediately. Gradually, it came back: Birdy had said the weather girl’s car, and the car of another missing person, had been found in a woods four miles from the Cadence property. Not the same place but similar.
Four miles on either road, if driving north, would intersect with a spot near the highway bridge. No doubt police had considered the significance, yet that didn’t relieve my anxiety. This was lonely country. Occasionally, an eighteen-wheeler roared past, slapped me with a wall of wind, then left me alone. The moon was up, orange and smoky, its size distorted by an October horizon. It showed cypress trees on both sides of the road and vacant land that had to be swamp or open range for cattle. Mist pooled in my headlights, the tang of brushfires bespoke a land that might yield to hard work but would never be subdued.
Men like Brit and Joey Egret-and Capt. Ben Summerlin, too-would do fine out here, sleeping rough and traveling by foot or on horseback. The same was true of my distant aunts, Sarah and Hannah Smith. But this was no place for a modern girl. Especially one like Krissie who was lost and alone, her brain hallucinating.
My thoughts shifted to the three missing people, then to the Florida State cheerleader who’d become a TV weather girl. Why had she stopped her car in a place like this? Whatever indignities she had suffered, however feverish her fear, the truth had not vanished with her. Someone knew. Someone who had traveled this same narrow road. A man, most likely. A man who was a beast-or whose inner beast lived just beneath the skin and had a taste for the unspeakable.
Both hands on the wheel, I kept the speedometer at seventy-five, hoping a sheriff’s deputy would stop me for speeding. That’s what I was thinking about, what I would say to the officer, when my phone rang. The noise so startled me, I jumped and crossed the center line, then overcorrected and swerved toward a ditch. I got the car under control, slowed to sixty, then engaged cruise control, before I finally answered.