The Quarry Girls(79)



Mom had called me a worrier at the hospital the other day. It was one of the criticisms she leveled most often at me. But if I didn’t worry about Junie, who would?

Back in my bedroom, I dumped my purse upside down to make space, leaving only the mood ring that Brenda gave me at the county fair show in a zippered pocket. Even though I’d only ever gotten it to turn yellow, it would still give me courage to have a piece of her with. I shoved my penlight and the Anacin bottle in the main pocket.

My plan was simple.

I’d hand the Anacin bottle to Ed, and he’d chomp down all the tablets. They’d knock him out, just like Sheriff Nillson said the pills had done to Maureen. Once Ed was unconscious, I’d decide what to do next.

I was purposely leaving that choice blank.

I only wished I had a can of RC Cola. That made me think of the kitchen, which made me think of a knife for backup protection. I padded down the stairs. Agent Ryan had moved to the couch to watch television, his back to me. I tiptoed past him into the dark kitchen. I slicked the carving knife out of its case and grabbed some napkins to wrap it in, able to sneak back up the stairs without Agent Ryan noticing. He was there to watch the front door, not me and Junie.

I intended to start by looking for Ed at the cabin. Dad had said the police had searched it and found nothing, that it didn’t even belong to Ed, but if Ed was back in town coming after Junie, he’d need a place to crash. Might as well be the one location the police had written off.

The sun had set, but outside my bedroom window, the sky still held a dusky tangerine glow. I’d rest for a few minutes, long enough for it to reach full dark. I was so tired. It’d been days since I’d had a good night’s sleep. I laid my head on my pillow. I fought to stay awake, but the promise of rest pulled me down like tentacles in the quarry.



I shot up in bed, all my hairs standing on end. Something was wrong. I glanced around my bedroom. It was as I’d left it, except for the sky gone black.

I raced to Junie’s room, heart thudding.

Her bed was empty.

The television was playing on the main floor. Maybe Junie couldn’t sleep. Maybe she’s up watching late-night. I rushed down the stairs, trying to stay one step ahead of the quicksand of panic.

No Junie.

Agent Ryan glanced up from the couch, surprised. His face was pleasant, his suit rumpled. Who had chosen him to guard us? Sheriff Nillson?

“I thought you girls had gone to sleep,” he said.

He didn’t know Junie had left, which meant at best, he was terrible at keeping track of girls.

At worst, it meant he wasn’t here to protect us. He was here to help Sheriff Nillson cover something up, something that required keeping Junie quiet.

I swiped at the thoughts buzzing around my head. I was being paranoid. Dad would never in a million trillion years let Nillson hurt Junie, no matter what other terrible things he’d done.

But what if Dad didn’t know?

“Yeah, just came down for a glass of milk,” I said, marching toward the kitchen, trying to remember how to walk, hoping desperately that I looked normal. I caught his suspicious expression, but he was facing the TV again when I returned, my hand shaking so much that milk spilled down the sides of the glass I was holding.

“G’night,” I said.

Agent Ryan lifted a finger without turning.

I walked up the stairs, going for a measured pace despite the icy pinpricks across my skin. I set the milk on the landing. I checked Junie’s room one more time before I grabbed my knife purse and sneaked back down the stairs. Johnny Carson was on the television wearing a turban and holding an envelope to his forehead. Agent Ryan laughed at something Carson said. I froze when he stretched and looked like he was about to stand, but he just cracked his neck.

I crept to the kitchen, wearing the hospital slippers I kept stowed in my room. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, I removed the skeleton key from the hook, made my way into the basement, and disappeared into the tunnels.

Ed had kidnapped Elizabeth McCain.

Then he’d killed Maureen, and then Brenda.

I was sure of it.

Almost sure of it.

But I still had to check one more thing.





BETH


Beth gripped the spike. It was solid. Heavy. Cool. The best mother-loving thing she’d ever held in her hand. If it got her out of here, she was going to name her car after it. Her first pet. Hell, she’d name her kids after it.

Spike. Spike Jr. Spike the Third.

She had given up on waiting to ambush him. She was instead getting out of here.

Her dad had taught her basic carpentry—building a set of shelves, mounting a fireplace mantel, hanging a door. That’s how she knew that while she couldn’t pick the lock on her prison door, she could remove the hinges, using the spike to leverage their pins up and out.

And then pop, off would come the door.

When she’d finally settled on this plan, the top hinge had slid out like butter.

It wasn’t unexpected. The top hinge carried the least amount of weight.

The middle one shaped up to be much more difficult. It had taken hours, but she’d finally been able to remove it, too. She’d rested both pins back in the hinges and was now going at the third and final one, the hinge nearest the ground. She’d been so relieved none of them had been overly rusted in this wet environment. The work was small and exhausting, though, which was why she was flexing her ankles and then shaking them, squatting and then standing, squatting and then standing. Forcing blood to her extremities. Preparing to fight.

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