I went to bed with the disturbed and uncomfortable feeling that always followed a PBleeker message. Sometimes they kept me awake for hours. But not tonight. At least the evening with Tyler had ended on a positive note. And that, plus my overwhelming fatigue, helped me drift off.
chapter 3
Sunday 10:34 A.M.
Oh, poor, poor Lucy, look at you cowering in the corner with your face and hands streaked with dirt and your pretty blonde hair bedraggled and your makeup all smeared. It doesn’t smell very nice in there, does it? We’ve gotten used to it. But then, we’ve never been accustomed to the finer things in life the way you have.
Please don’t grovel and beg. We know your father is a doctor and has lots of money, but don’t you understand? It’s not about money. That’s not the point. Your medications? No, I’m so sorry, but that’s not something we have here. Really, Lucy, it’s so unbecoming for a young woman of your stature to cry and plead. Look at it this way. You’ve had it so good for so many years. Surely at some point everyone pays the price, don’t you think? Isn’t it only fair? You caused so many so much pain. Now you’ll get to see how the other half lives.
Oh, did we say “lives”?
Sorry.
* * *
My cell phone was ringing. I opened my eyes and looked at the clock on the night table. 10:34. All at once I was both relieved and disappointed. Thank God it was a dream, darn it! Tyler wasn’t kissing me, but he wasn’t driving and not watching where he was going, either.
The phone rang again. I picked it up and stared blearily at the number. It was Courtney. “What happened to our ‘No Calls Before Noon’ rule?” I answered with a yawn.
“This can’t wait,” she said. “Like, Lucy Cunningham’s parents are calling her friends, looking for her? Turns out she didn’t come home last night. Did you hear anything?”
“Hear what? When?” I asked.
“Like, last night? Didn’t you and Tyler drive her home?”
“Yes, but—”
“But she didn’t get there, okay? Jen Waits just called me.”
My thoughts drifted back to the previous night and my last glimpse of Lucy, standing stubbornly on her front walk with her arms crossed. My heart staggered and skipped.
“Did Lucy say anything?” Courtney asked.
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Just anything.”
Outside my room, footsteps came up the stairs, rapidly.
“Later,” I said into my cell phone and snapped it shut.
“Did you drive Lucy home last night?” Mom asked, worry lines joining the reddened bathing-cap line in her forehead.
I nodded. It wasn’t hard to guess who was on the phone. My parents and the Cunninghams had been close friends for years. The frown on Mom’s face deepened and she held the phone to her ear. “Paul? Yes, she drove Lucy home last night. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yes, I understand.” Mom handed the phone to me. “He wants to speak to you.”
I took the phone. Everything was happening too fast, and it left me feeling shaky and uncertain. “Hello?”
“Madison?” Lucy’s father sounded grave and urgent as he explained what I already knew—Lucy hadn’t come home the night before. “Can you tell me where and what time you dropped her off?”
“Right at your front walk around three.”
“Did she say she was going anywhere else? Or meeting anyone?”
“No.”
“Did she start up the walk toward the house?”
“Not really,” I said. “She just stood there smoking a cigarette.”
This information was met with silence. I suddenly felt guilty and added, “She only does it at parties sometimes.”
“Had she been drinking?” Dr. Cunningham asked.
“Yes, I’m pretty sure.”
Lucy’s father muttered to himself. “Did she say
“No. She just seemed really upset. I mean, have you talked to Adam?”
“Yes,” Dr. Cunningham replied tersely. “Did you happen to see anyone else around when you dropped her off?” A hint of desperation tinted the edges of his voice.
“No. It was really late. I don’t remember seeing anyone. I’m really sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Madison. Just promise me that if you do remember anything else, anything at all, you’ll call me immediately.”
“I will,” I said. “I promise.” I hung up and handed the phone to Mom.
“You’re sure there isn’t something you’re not—” she began.
“Mom, give me some credit, okay?”
She sighed. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. Those poor people. I feel so terrible for them. They must be worried sick.”
Once again, I replayed the memory of Lucy standing in the dark, hugging herself against the chill, her cigarette glowing. Where could she have gone?
“Well, hopefully she’s safe.” Mom checked her watch. “You remember that your father’s expecting you to crew for him this afternoon?”
I’d forgotten. “Who’re we racing against?”
“American, I think.”
The American Yacht Club was on the other side of the Sound. “We won’t be back until after dark. I have homework.”
“Take it with you,” Mom said, heading for the door.
I slid back down into the covers and squeezed Rumpy, my ratty old Gund dog. My thoughts drifted back again to the night before. What could have happened? Where could Lucy have possibly gone? Nothing I could think of made sense. And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was my fault.
It was dark when
“Get your homework done?” Dad asked as we tied the mainsail to the boom. It had gone from a cool but breezy and sunny afternoon to a chilly, damp, dark evening. My hands were cold and a little stiff. I wished I was
