Tom shook his head in response and kept talking. “Tell me when you saw her last.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know her well.” Abigail looked to her hands, as if she was assessing her nails. Tom noticed they were painted black, matching the dark liner circling her eyes. Her dark hair had a slice of deep purple falling over the left side of her face.
“That’s news to me, because her parents seem to think you were her best friend.” Tom watched for a reaction, and he got it.
“Look, I don’t know why they’d say that. I barely know her. Sure, she started trying to follow me around lately. She was getting to be a stalker. She’s not like me.”
“How do you mean?” Tom asked quietly.
“She’s… you know. Bland. The boys don’t like her. She reads books about fantasy worlds. I mean, come on. And her family is…”
“Poor?” Tom offered the word, and she caught it.
“Yes. They’re poor. I keep trying to get my parents to move closer toward Gilden. Then I could be at a normal school with normal kids. Here I’m surrounded by Red Creek kids, and they’re not in my league.” Abigail said it but appeared to realize what a snob she must sound like, because she tried to backpedal. “I just mean, we don’t have a lot in common. My parents own a car dealership in Gilden.”
Tom raised an eyebrow. He’d bought a car from them last year. The owner seemed like an asshole, but his choices had been limited. It was probably her father.
“Okay. So you’re saying you weren’t friends with Brittany, but you didn’t answer my question. When did you last see her?” Tom firmed up his voice and leaned forward. Playtime was over, and he needed answers.
Abigail’s eyes met his but quickly averted. Tom noticed tears forming. “What is it? Tell me what happened.”
“Fine. It was only a joke. She kept following me around, trying to eat with me, thinking we could get her dad to drive us to the movies in Gilden next Friday. I had to get rid of her.”
Get rid of her. Tom tensed.
“No. God, no.” Abigail was crying now. “I told her to meet me in the forest behind the farmer’s field where she lives.”
“When?”
“Wednesday night,” she said.
“You told her this Wednesday night?”
“We talked at school before I caught the bus. I live in between the towns on an acreage.”
“And you told her to meet you in the forest, is that correct?” Tom was starting to get somewhere.
“She thinks I’m into witchcraft, I think. Because I hang out with Clarice and Netta.”
“And who are they?” Tom asked.
“A couple of older girls. Eleventh grade. They dress like Wiccans, but they’re really just posers. I like them, though, and they get me invited to parties.” Abigail wiped her eyes with a sleeve, spreading the black make-up across her face.
“You told Brittany to meet you here at school. What time did you say you’d be here?” Tom was taking notes now.
“Nine.”
“And what were you going to do afterwards?”
“I don’t know. I said I’d bring some beer, and she could try it. She was too easy to get on board about anything,” Abigail said.
Tom felt bad for Brittany. He knew the type only too well. Never feeling like they fit in, always wanting attention from someone, anyone. He was starting to get the picture.
Brittany had left from her house around eight thirty. It was overcast but not raining yet. The whole town was still under thaw, as the winter had lasted too long, and spring refused to show up. The girl wore prissy white sneakers, probably her only pair. She went to the forest where Abigail, her idol, told her they’d meet. It started to rain, then pour, and sad Brittany, knowing she’d been stood up, would start the trek home.
It was muddy, the path a mess, and she was caught in the storm that Tom saw hit the radar. He’d experienced the same storm at home in Gilden, around the same time. He remembered watching TV, the lightning flashing through his living room window.
Brittany’s shoe got stuck in the mud, the one he found. She lost it and kept going with one, barefoot. Why? Why didn’t she bend over and pick it up from the mud? Something didn’t add up. Was she being followed? Did the storm spook her?
From what Tom could guess, she’d made it home. The trash can had a muddy pair of jeans stuffed inside it, along with the other shoe and her socks. She was trying to hide the fact that she’d been out from her parents. She’d made it home safely and was going to sneak inside and go to bed.
But something prevented that from happening. She was taken there and then, as she stood in the rain, pants-less and shoeless. Tom closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples firmly.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Abigail asked him, and he looked at his notepad. He’d drawn a stick figure walking down a path. A black figure stood behind her ominously. He shivered and flipped the page.
“Beer? And she took the bait?” Tom asked.
“I guess so. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean for anything bad to happen. Where is she?” Abigail asked, and for the first time, Tom thought he saw real concern for Brittany.
“I don’t know. I’m going to need the full names of your friends Netta and Clarice, please.” He slid a piece of paper over to her and sat back. He doubted they would have any information. Someone saw the young girl out in the storm, followed her home, and took her. It was clear. But who?
_______________
“This book sounds like a winner. I’m glad you’re jumping on the saddle.” Paul’s agent, Bradley Goldman, sat in his leather chair, hands steepled in front of him. He raised an eyebrow. “Did you hear about Red Creek?”
Paul had been waiting for this. “I did, and no, I don’t want to write a
