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  “Get in the front seat,” he said to Carlyn. Then he stood behind Trisha and slipped his hands underneath her armpits, pulled her up. He put her in the back seat of the cruiser, his hand on her head so she wouldn’t bump it when she crawled in.

  She stuck to the vinyl seat, pulled at her wet jeans, tried to get them to stop clinging to the back of her legs, but her hands were thick and clumsy.

  Scott talked to Carlyn, clearly avoiding having to talk with Trisha in the back seat. He kept his eyes on the road ahead. “There’s a kid I’m concerned about,” he said to Carlyn. “He’s five. I wonder if you could check in on him for me.” For the first time since they got in the car, he glanced in the rearview mirror at Trisha. She rolled her eyes.

  He continued. “His mother is worried about him. He’s been getting into some trouble. He brought a plastic gun to school. I thought maybe you could give her a call. Maybe you could help sort him out.”

  “Sure, send me the information. I’ll contact the school and see if anyone has been assigned to him. If not, I’ll gladly see him.”

  “Thanks, Carlyn. I appreciate it.” He shot another glance at Trisha. She refused to look at him and stared out the passenger-side window, seeing her own reflection, the dark circles under her eyes, her tangled hair.

  “You’re a good copper, Scott,” Carlyn said. Trisha got the impression they’d worked together in the past. She didn’t know how she felt about it. Angry. Yeah, definitely angry.

  “I try,” he said. Was he smiling? He was acting all cozy with Carlyn. Was he trying to get Trisha jealous? Well, fuck him. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. Nothing could. You had to have feelings to get hurt, and other than anger, Trisha hadn’t had those in a long time.

  Scott double-parked in front of Trisha’s mother’s house. Trisha tried to open the door, but it was locked. She sat with her arms tightly folded like a sulking teenager. Carlyn got out of the car with Scott. They exchanged a few more words before Carlyn headed in the direction of Linda’s house. She didn’t go inside but got into her car. She wasn’t going to stick around, obviously. Well, fuck her too.

  Scott helped Trisha out of the cruiser and walked her to the front door. “You’re lucky he didn’t press charges,” he said. “Or you could be sleeping it off in a cell.”

  Carlyn’s gloves. Trisha had left them on the bar. She had to go back for them. She wouldn’t be in debt to Carlyn for anything, especially stupid gloves. She turned around, but Scott grabbed her arm before she could take one step off the porch. God, she could feel his heat through her thin leather jacket. It sent a shock wave through her. How was that possible? Was the alcohol already wearing off?

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

  “Back to the bar.”

  “Not tonight you’re not. In you go.” He opened the door, which her mother hadn’t locked. He gently pushed her inside. “Good to see you, Trisha,” he called as he made his way back to his cruiser.

  She looked at her hands to find she had been wearing the gloves the whole time.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  NOVEMBER 1986

  Trisha found her mother unconscious at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Mom.” She shook her mother’s shoulder. “Come on, Mom, wake up.” She bent over her, smelled the cigarette smoke in her hair, the alcohol on her skin. She put her ear close to her mother’s mouth, listened, heard breathing. She slipped her hand behind her mother’s back, tried to hoist her up. Her head rolled to the side. There was a welt on her cheek, a black-and-blue mark on her neck.

  Trisha heard a noise, what sounded like a floorboard creaking. She scrambled to her feet. She listened hard for something to alert her that Lester was still in the house. She didn’t hear it again. Maybe it was just the house settling or the wind blowing outside.

  In the weeks that followed Dannie’s brush with Lester, he’d become agitated, his mood sour, as though even he knew he’d gone too far. It had been clear to Trisha that it had been a ruse from the start. He’d had no intention of repairing the damaged downspout or roof.

  And now he’d put his hands on her mother’s throat.

  “Hang on, Mom,” Trisha said, stepping over her to check that Lester wasn’t in any of the rooms downstairs.

  He wasn’t.

  She stepped over her mother again, then raced up the steps, down the hallway to the master bedroom. She didn’t know what she was going to do if she found him. The bed was empty. She checked the other rooms upstairs. Empty. She ran back down the steps.

  They were alone.

  “Don’t move,” she said, having no idea if her mother could hear her or not. “I’m going to get help.”

  Trisha burst out the front door. The car Lester and her mother shared was gone. She sprinted down the sidewalk to Carlyn’s house. She banged on the door.

  Carlyn pulled it open. She was dressed in her winter coat. Her backpack hung off her left shoulder. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Where’s your mom?” Trisha pushed past her. “Mrs. Walsh?”

  “She’s upstairs sleeping,” Carlyn said, chasing after Trisha as she darted for the stairs.

  Trisha ran into the bedroom. “Mrs. Walsh,” she said and stood next to the bed, shook Mrs. Walsh’s shoulder like she’d done moments ago with her own mother. “Mrs. Walsh, wake up. Please.”

  Mrs. Walsh rolled over, looked up at Trisha’s face. “What is it?”

  Carlyn stood in the doorway, not making a sound.

  “It’s my mom,” Trisha said. “She needs help.”

  Mrs. Walsh threw off the covers. “What happened?” She pulled on a pair of jeans and tugged on a sweatshirt over her pajama top.

  “I’m not sure. I was in the bathroom. I heard yelling, a thump. And now she’s on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. She’s not getting up.”

  They rushed out of the room and down the steps. Mrs. Walsh called over her shoulder, “Carlyn, get to the bus. You’re going to be late for school.”

  “I want to help.”

  Mrs. Walsh stopped in the living room, faced her daughter. “There’s nothing you can do, and the last thing I need is for the school to get on my case for you skipping. Now go.” She nudged Carlyn out the door.

  Dannie was standing on the sidewalk in front of the house. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Get to school. Both of you,” Mrs. Walsh said. “Trisha, come with me.”

  “Come on.” Carlyn took Dannie by the arm, and they headed down the block toward the buses.

  Trisha chased after Mrs. Walsh, pausing long enough to look back at her friends one more time before rushing through the door of her house.

  Mrs. Walsh knelt next to Trisha’s mother in the small space between the last step and the wall. “Sharon, can you hear me?” she asked.

  Trisha’s mother opened her eyes. She looked at Mrs. Walsh, then Trisha. She touched her neck where it was bruised.

  “Don’t move,” Mrs. Walsh said. “Did you fall down the stairs?” she asked.

  “No,” she said and tried to pull herself up.

  “You shouldn’t move,” Mrs. Walsh said.

  “I didn’t fall,” she said. “I must’ve blacked out.” She continued to pull herself up.

  Mrs. Walsh helped her, leaned her against the wall for support. “Trisha, could you get your mom a glass of water, please?”

  Trisha did as she was told.

  “Maybe you should go to the hospital,” Mrs. Walsh said. “Just to get checked out.”

  “I can’t afford it.”

  Trisha returned with the glass of water.

  Mrs. Walsh inspected the welt on Trisha’s mother’s cheek. “It doesn’t look too bad. Some ice should take care of the swelling,” she said. She moved Trisha’s mother’s head to the side, drew in a shaky breath when she saw the finger mark on her neck. Then she touched the bruised skin on her shoulder. She lifted up her arm. There were more bruises on her bicep where Lester had no doubt grabbed her. “This has
to stop. This can’t continue. You can’t stay here any longer.” She took the glass of water from Trisha, handed it to Trisha’s mother.

  Her mother didn’t respond right away, took a sip of water. Then she said, “Where am I supposed to go? I don’t have the money to go nowhere. And the cops . . .” She paused. “What good’s it going to do if he sits in jail for a couple nights? Where’s he going to go when he gets out? Right back here, that’s where.”

  “What about a restraining order?” Mrs. Walsh asked.

  “You think the cops are going to come around and check he isn’t here? A piece of paper isn’t going to protect me.”

  And there was the truth of it. Her mother was stuck here in this house with him. And that meant Trisha was stuck here with him too.

  “What about Chicago?” Trisha asked. “We can go back. We can find Dad.” The last she’d heard from him, over a year ago, he’d been released from prison.

  “And what, beg him to take us back? To take care of us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your dad’s in jail, Trisha. He can’t help us.”

  Trisha stepped back, confused. “But he got out.”

  “Well, he’s back in again,” her mother said and touched her neck where Lester had left his mark. “What am I going to do?”

  Mrs. Walsh put her arm around her. “I don’t know,” she said. “But we’re going to think of something.”

  Trisha found Carlyn sitting on the bench in the girls’ locker room. It was the end of last period.

  “What are you doing here?” Carlyn asked. “I thought you were home with your mom. Is she okay?”

  “Yeah, she’s okay,” Trisha said, eyeing Carlyn’s gym bag on the floor at her feet. It was big, long. Carlyn carried her cross-country gear in it. It always smelled a little funky, like sweaty socks and sneakers. They were the only two left in the locker room after the rest of the girls from gym class had fled to the buses that were parked in front of the school. “I need a favor.” She pulled an aluminum bat from behind her back. She’d stolen it from the cage next to Miss Kline’s office, where she kept the sports equipment. “Put this in your bag for me.”

  “What? No,” Carlyn said. “That’s stealing.”

  The door to the locker room banged open. Dannie appeared wearing her big puffy coat. “I thought I’d find you here,” she said to Carlyn. “I thought you cut?” she asked Trisha.

  “I did. I snuck in a few minutes ago. I’m trying to get Carlyn to hide this in her bag for me.” She held up the aluminum bat.

  “Why?” Dannie asked.

  “I need it,” she said.

  Carlyn glared at her. “If I get caught stealing gym equipment, they’ll kick me off the cross-country team. And they won’t let me go out for track in the spring.”

  “I’d do it myself, but look at me,” Trisha said. “Where would I hide it?” She was wearing jeans, a cropped winter coat. She had no place to hide a bat on her body, and it was too big for a backpack.

  “Why do you need it anyway?” Carlyn asked.

  “You know why,” she said. “You both know why.” She didn’t have to explain any further. It was clear what she needed it for, who she needed protection from.

  “Give it to me,” Dannie said. “I’ll put it in my coat.”

  “No,” Carlyn said. “I’ll put it in my bag.” She held out her hand. “It’ll be fine.”

  “No. I’ll do it. You can get into trouble, kicked off the team,” Dannie said. “What could happen to me? Besides, it should be me.”

  Dannie had become withdrawn, quiet, since that day on the side of her house with Lester. She’d spent more and more time alone in her house, in her room, distancing herself from both Trisha and Carlyn. And lately, Carlyn had manipulated situations so she and Trisha would end up alone together, further isolating Dannie. Dannie had been feeling left out, put out by the other two. Trisha had known it, allowed it to happen. An invisible crack had found its way into their friendship, a fissure created by their silence over everything that had happened: not only to Dannie but to Trisha too.

  Her friends continued arguing over who would hide the bat. Trisha didn’t interfere. It was a curious thing to watch them fight over who would get to help her.

  Carlyn gripped one end of the bat. Dannie held the other end. They pushed and pulled, tugged it back and forth. Carlyn kept glancing at Trisha.

  There was a certain way that boys, men, looked at Trisha. She knew what they wanted, what was on their minds. Sometimes she’d want to shower, scrub their gaze from her skin. Sometimes Carlyn looked at her in that same way, but rather than wanting to wash it away, Trisha tucked it deep inside a place in her heart. She’d hide it there for safekeeping, let it linger in the back of her mind.

  Dannie pulled the bat from Carlyn’s hands. “I’m the fat girl. No one will notice if my coat is bulky.”

  “You’re not fat,” Carlyn said and yanked the bat from Dannie. She shoved it into her bag. “I want to do this,” she said. “So let me.”

  Miss Kline appeared from around the corner of the lockers. “What are you three doing here? Shouldn’t you be heading to the bus?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Carlyn said and picked up her gym bag and backpack.

  They rushed past Miss Kline and ran to the bus, jumped on board seconds before the doors closed. They didn’t talk on the ride home. Carlyn stared out the window, gripped her gym bag in her lap. Dannie bowed her head. Trisha’s heart thrashed inside her rib cage the closer she got to home.

  When they were alone on Second Street, standing outside of Carlyn’s house, Carlyn pulled the aluminum bat from her bag, handed it to Trisha, and said, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Parker knocked on Linda Walsh’s door for the third time in two days, only to find she wasn’t home again. He was beginning to wonder if she was avoiding them, hiding somewhere inside the house.

  Geena stood on the top step, looked up and down the street. “People are watching us from their windows,” she said.

  “You get used to it,” Parker said. “It comes with living in a small town.”

  “What does? Nosiness? Paranoia?” Geena asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  They got back in the car, drove the few blocks to the hotel on the corner of First Street and Broadway. Their next stop was to check out the bar where Lester had hung out on occasion, according to Sharon. It was a long shot, but they didn’t have any other leads at the moment, not since Parker had taken a call from the lab earlier that morning. They hadn’t been able to find any hair in the shred of material they’d collected from the scene, although the fabric was made of polyester and spandex, similar to that of the material found in a common baseball hat. The rotted pieces of rubber they’d found in the soil were consistent with that of the sole of a shoe, but no other information could be obtained, other than Lester had been wearing shoes.

  Parker pulled into a parking space in front of the hotel. They got out of the car. Geena fished around in her pockets for quarters, fed the meter. They walked inside the restaurant. The place was busy with the lunch crowd. Most of the tables at the bar were full. The formal dining room was empty. Christmas music played in the background. The TVs were turned to the sports channel. Geena checked for a hostess. Parker headed for the bartender. He flashed his badge. “I need to speak with whoever’s in charge.”

  The bartender set a mug of beer down in front of a man in a thick flannel shirt, trucker’s cap, heavy boots on his feet. He smelled like he’d been working outdoors, possibly shoveling snow, plowing.

  “That would be me,” the bartender said. He had tattoos of dragons, hearts, and arrows covering both arms.

  Geena joined them, introduced herself.

  The bartender motioned for them to follow him to the corner of the bar where they could talk privately.

  “We need to see the hotel’s guest log from 1986,” Parker said. “I’m assuming you kept records.”

 
; “Does this have something to do with those bones they found on the mountain trail?”

  Parker didn’t answer, and Geena jumped in. “Do you think you still have those records?”

  The bartender looked her over. “I’m not sure. We got rid of a lot of stuff when we bought the place a few months ago. Not to mention it changed hands a couple of times through the years. If they’re anywhere, they’re in the basement.” He nodded to Geena. “You’re welcome to check.”

  A local cop walked into the place. Some of the customers looked up, glanced around. He was older, more seasoned than both Parker and Geena combined. Parker didn’t recognize him. It wasn’t unusual, given how many small towns there were in the county and the number of law enforcement officers assigned to each.

  “Excuse me,” the bartender said and walked over to greet him. They exchanged a few words. The customers were more alert, checking out Parker and Geena, no doubt wondering what was going on.

  “They’re staring at us,” Geena said.

  “I told you,” Parker said. “Small towns.”

  The local cop made his exit, and the bartender returned to his place behind the bar.

  “We had a little trouble with one of our customers last night,” he explained. “I’m supposed to call him if she shows up again.”

  Parker nodded. “Where’s that basement?” he asked.

  Parker and Geena stood over dusty boxes in the musty basement of the hotel. It was cold and damp and miserable work. They’d gone through six boxes of ledgers, none of which had been from 1986. There were old linens and centerpieces lying around as well as decorations for all the different holidays. There were a couple of framed pictures that must’ve hung inside the guest rooms some time ago.

  Geena picked up two more boxes, dropped them onto an old table they were using as a desk. “There are three more boxes left,” she said. “Might as well finish going through all of them.”

  Another hour later and in the second-to-last box, Parker pulled out the ledger they were searching for. He checked every page for the six months prior to and including December 1986. If Lester had stayed at the hotel during that time, it had never been recorded. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping to find—something, anything, to track Lester’s movements before he’d disappeared.