A Killer's Mind (Zoe Bentley Mystery #1)(12)

“I try not to.”

“Was she . . . I mean, did he . . . rape her?”

Zoe had never heard her mother utter that word, and the sound of it, from her mother’s lips, chilled her. Her father didn’t answer. Was he just thinking? Was he nodding? Shaking his head? She had to know. She crept toward the doorway, catching a glimpse of her parents’ faces. They were both standing close to each other, her mother leaning on the counter. She could only see her mother’s profile but nevertheless could see that she was distraught, her mouth curved in a way that hinted at a hidden sob.

“We’ll need to talk to Zoe,” her father said. “She should know—”

“Absolutely not,” her mother hissed. “She’s only fourteen.”

“She’ll find out, and it’s better if she learns about it from us.”

Her mother was about to answer when Zoe’s sister zinged past her into the kitchen, a blur of flailing limbs, a mass of hair and noise.

“Are we making pancakes?” she shouted. Even at the age of five, Andrea took after their mother, having only two volume settings: shouting and asleep.

Her mother cleared her throat. “Is your sister awake?”

Zoe tensed.

“Yeah, she’s standing in the—”

“Good morning,” Zoe said, quickly walking into the kitchen herself. The kitchen’s tiled floor was cold, and her bare feet nearly froze. Her mother leaned on the counter, and her father stood in the middle of the room beside the table. There was a disconcerting lack of breakfast on it. Zoe’s mother always had breakfast ready when they woke up on weekends, but apparently this wasn’t any regular weekend. Zoe stretched and gave a wide, completely fake yawn. “Want me to help with breakfast?”

“I want you to get dressed,” her mother said, looking at her over her crooked nose. Zoe had her mother’s nose, or as she called it in her darker moments, the beak. At least she had her father’s eyes. Her mother sniffed and added, “You’ll freeze to death.”

Zoe was still wearing the loose T-shirt and thin pants she had worn to bed. “Okay,” she said. She had been on her way to the bathroom when she’d heard her parents talking. Her bladder was a second away from bursting, and the cold floor wasn’t helping. She fidgeted uncomfortably. “Anything going on?”

“No,” her mother said, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Just getting the Saturday breakfast going. Your sister wants pancakes. Do you want some as well?”

“Sure,” Zoe said. “I’m going over to Heather’s later, and—”

“You’re staying home,” her mother interrupted her.

Zoe frowned. “But we need to work on our chemistry assignment. It’s due on Monday.”

“I’ll drive you,” her father said.

“I prefer taking my bike. It’s a nice day, and—”

“I’ll drive you.” His eyes focused on her intently, and there was no arguing with his tone. “And I want you to call when you need to come home. I’ll pick you up.”

“Mommy, I want pancakes,” Andrea whined.

“What’s going on?” Zoe asked.

Her parents were both silent.

Her father finally said, “There was—”

“Nothing is going on,” her mother interrupted him, looking down at Andrea, who still whined for pancakes. “We just don’t want you to walk around by yourself.”

“They found a dead body,” Heather told her once they were in the privacy of her bedroom. “By the White Pond Road Bridge.”

“How do you know that?” Zoe asked.

“I heard my dad and the neighbor talking about it this morning. The neighbor said it was a girl and that she was naked.”

A shiver ran up Zoe’s neck. They were both lying on Heather’s bed, the sheets scrunched around them, Heather’s clothes scattered everywhere. Her room always looked as if a tornado had hit her closet. Heather nibbled on a sliced apple her mother had cut for them. Their chemistry project lay untouched on the desk, as it would probably stay for the rest of the day.

“Did he say who she was? Is she from Maynard?” Zoe asked.

“No,” Heather whispered. She scooted closer to Zoe, her arm touching Zoe’s shoulder. Heather smelled faintly of shampoo and soap, and Zoe regretted not taking a shower herself that morning. She felt uncomfortable lying on the clean sheets, the soles of her feet probably dirty from walking barefoot at home. Heather never seemed to mind, though. They always ate on her bed, and she’d often dump her laundry basket there, fishing for some article of clothing. Well, if Zoe’s mother changed Zoe’s bedsheets every three days, like Heather’s mom did for her, perhaps she wouldn’t mind it when they got dirty either.

Heather tensed slightly. “Oh my God, Zoe, what if it’s someone we know?”

An image instantly popped into Zoe’s mind. The dead, naked body of Carrie from school, lying at the side of the bridge, water lapping at her feet. The picture was so vivid in her mind she nearly burst into tears. Why had she thought of Carrie? Why would she even imagine such a thing? What was wrong with her? She shut her eyes, trying to banish the image from her mind.

“I think everyone is freaking out,” Heather said. “The neighbor told my dad he won’t let his kids out of the house. I bet my mom is going to do the same. She’ll keep me inside all the time. Mom can be so hysterical sometimes.”