Beneath Devil's Bridge(32)

I go up to her dresser. Tentatively I touch the lacquered box with the gold clasp on top. I waver as a bolt of guilt washes through me. I shouldn’t even be in here. Not like this. But a deeper, more powerful need forces me to open the box. Once it’s open I am moving fast. Quickly I rummage through the trinkets and jewelry inside, opening and closing little boxes. I can’t find it. I hear a car outside, and I freeze. Lights flare past the window. The car goes on.

I tip out the box, spreading all the necklaces and bracelets and rings over the top of the dresser. My skin goes hot. Maybe I missed it. It has to be here. But I cannot find it. I open her drawers, her closet, going through everything as fast as I can. Inside the small drawer beside her bed, I see a glossy photo. I pick it up, stare. A group of girls. Maddy among them. I recognize the others: Natalia Petrov, Seema Patel, Cheyenne Tillerson, Dusty Peters, Beth Galloway. It’s been shot in the dark. A professional-looking image. Beautifully in focus, all of their faces. Pink cheeks. Behind them a massive bonfire roars, shooting orange sparks into the dark sky. I can see skis and snowboards burning among logs.

My pulse quickens. I swallow. This was shot at the bonfire.

“Mom!”

I spin around, gasp. “Maddy?”

“What in the hell? What are you doing?” She storms up to her dresser, stares at the scattered contents. Her mouth opens in shock. She glares at me, her backpack still on her shoulder. “What are you looking for? These are my things.” She drops her backpack to the floor and starts scrabbling to gather her trinkets and jewels back together, tangling them in a pile, stuffing them back into the lacquered box. Her hands are shaking.

I touch her arm, trying to calm her. “Maddy, stop. Please. I can explain.”

She shoves me away. Her long, dark hair—an echo of my own—smells of cigarette smoke. I also smell alcohol, and something sweet like strawberry.

“What the hell? What do you think you’re doing? Why’re you going through my things? How dare you?”

I stare at my girl. All I can think of is Leena. Snuffed out. Raped. Beaten to a pulp. Drowned. Tiny pebbles deep in her lungs. Her cut-out heart on a scale in the morgue.

Maddy’s face changes as she reads something in mine. It dials her back a little. A look of wariness steals into her features.

“Mom? What’s going on?”

“The locket that your grandmother gave you, the gift from her trip to Ireland, where is it?”

“What?”

“Just answer me, Maddy,” I snap.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“You always used to wear it. Where is it now?”

“I haven’t worn it for ages.”

“Maddy, just tell me! Where in the hell is it?” My voice comes out shrill. I’m coming unstrung. My heart races.

Fear widens Maddy’s eyes. She glances at the door, as if she needs to ensure an escape avenue. “I . . . I don’t know.”

I struggle to tamp myself down. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I just told you, I haven’t worn it for ages. Why are you even asking?”

“It was special—you used to think it was special. Because it was from your gran. And after she died you used to wear it all the time.”

“I don’t know where it is. I haven’t worn it, and it’s probably in my room somewhere. I just haven’t seen it for a while, okay?”

I bite my lip.

“Besides, you have no right to come in here and do this. Why did you? Why didn’t you just ask me?” Maddy returns to putting her trinkets back into the lacquered box. Then, as it seems to strike her, her hands go still. “Why are you asking about that locket anyway?”

“I was just thinking about your gran, and I needed to see it, that’s all.” I drag my hands over my hair. “Look, I’m sorry, Mads. I’m sorry—it’s just been a rough few days.”

“Whatever. Just don’t do it again,” she says quietly without meeting my gaze. “Now get out of my room.”

“Where were you this evening?”

“I was with Beth.”

“You weren’t. I just spoke with Eileen.”

She turns slowly to face me. I feel a chill at the look in her eyes. “You called her? To find out if I was lying?”

“Maddy—”

“You know what, it’s none of your business. You didn’t come home for supper, either.”

“I have a job. Someone died—was murdered. A classmate of yours. There’s still a killer out there, Maddy. Every parent in this town is worried about their girls being out alone in the dark right now, including me. Someone has to find out who did it, and lock him away. That’s why I was late. And will be again. Until he’s behind bars. And you lied to me about where you were. You’re grounded. For one week. You go to school and come straight home. You understand?”

“Get out, Mom.” She flings her arm toward the door. “Get the hell out of my room.”

I exit. The door slams shut behind me. My heart pounds in my chest. I realize that I slid the photo of the girls into my pocket.





RACHEL


NOW


Thursday, November 18. Present day.

About ten minutes after I left Maddy and Darren’s place, I pull into the gravel parking lot at the top of a logging road high above the valley and town below. The lot is empty. I’m surrounded by towering cedars, hemlocks, spruce, and mountain peaks draped with tattered clouds. It’s cold. Wet. But the sky has clear spots, and when the sun pokes through, it offers some warmth.