Down the Darkest Road

“No way!”

“Way.”

“Oh my God! That’s crazy!”

And in a totally sick way, fantastic. Not fantastic that the person had been murdered, or that Wendy’s friend’s dad was a serial killer, but that something equally bizarre had happened in Wendy’s life as had happened in Leah’s. She didn’t have to feel like such a freak. Wendy had gone through something insane too.

“What happened?” she asked.

“It’s a long story,” Wendy said, “but Tommy’s dad went to prison.”

“That has to be tough on your friend.”

“I suppose so. But his mother took him and left town, and no one ever heard from them again. Nobody knows where they went,” she said. “I always thought I would hear from him, you know, like a postcard or a phone call or something, but I never have.”

She looked over at Leah. Her eyes were bright blue like cornflowers. “You must wonder about your sister all the time.”

“Yeah,” Leah said, though that wasn’t exactly true.

Most of the time she tried hard not to think about Leslie. It was too painful. It was too upsetting to imagine what might have happened to her sister or what was happening to her even now. Those thoughts came to her often enough in dreams and nightmares.

Sometimes she imagined the worst, that the man who had taken Leslie had done terrible things to her, then killed her and dumped her body someplace to rot. Sometimes she imagined her sister was living an exciting life in some exciting place, and that she had amnesia, and that was why they hadn’t heard from her in all these years.

People got amnesia all the time on the soap operas.

It probably didn’t happen in real life, though. In fact, her mother had told her in no uncertain terms that it didn’t happen, and that it hadn’t happened to Leslie.

A horse whinnied in the distance and the horses the girls were riding picked their heads up higher and pricked their ears. The ranch was just below them, a quarter of a mile or so by the trail. Their ride was almost done.

“Do you think a lot about finding the dead woman?” Leah asked. “Like, do you have nightmares and stuff?”

“Sometimes. Do you?”

“Sometimes.”

“You should meet Anne,” Wendy said.

“Who’s Anne?”

“Anne Leone. She was my fifth-grade teacher, but now she does counseling and stuff. Anne’s cool. Tommy’s dad tried to kill her, but she got away. She knows what it’s like to go through sick stuff like that. And she really listens.

“She’s picking me up today,” Wendy said. “I’ll introduce you.”

“Why is she picking you up?”

“I babysit for her. It’s date night for Anne and Vince. They’re the coolest couple.”

They rode into the stable yard, greeted by half a dozen dogs of different sizes, shapes, and colors, a mixed family of Jack Russell terriers, Welsh corgis, and Australian cattle dogs, all happily wagging their tails and announcing the arrival of the riders.

The Gracida ranch wasn’t fancy by any means. The stables were simple, clean, and open, two different U- shaped stucco buildings set around a courtyard with a fountain in the center. The horses’ stalls looked out on the courtyard. One of the barns housed Maria’s horses and the clients’ horses. The other housed Felix’s polo ponies.

Wendy hopped down off Professor and handed his reins to one of the grooms, flashing him a sunny smile. Leah dismounted and led Jump Up to a grooming stall to see to the mare’s care herself.

Leslie would have been the Lawton sister tossing the reins with a smile. She had always been in the spotlight. She was a dancer. She was a singer. She was an actress. Leslie had been the star of everything. She couldn’t just sing in the choir; she had to be the soloist. She couldn’t just try out for the school play; she had to be the leading lady. It wasn’t enough for Leslie to ride; she had to play polo like Daddy.

Leah was happier caring for the horses and quietly studying dressage for the satisfaction of doing it well, not to ride in the show ring. She was content to sing in the chorus, to have a nonspeaking role in the class play. Life was calmer that way.

She removed the mare’s tack and arranged it on the saddle rack to clean, then removed the protective boots from the horse’s legs and put them in the laundry basket to be washed. She took the mare back to her stall to have a pee and get a drink before going to the wash rack for a rinse off.

The barn was getting busy as clients arrived, having just gotten off work. Maria had a lesson going in the dressage ring. Another client was warming up her horse on the wide track that bordered the polo field. Felix and a couple other players rode casually up and down the field, working their ponies with a little stick-and-ball practice.

Leah loved this time of day at the ranch, the late afternoon, when the sun was beginning to slip over the purple hills and take its baking heat with it. In another hour or two the cooler ocean air would find its way to the valleys. Then the clients would be gone and the horses would settle in for their dinner and a quiet evening munching hay.

That was really Leah’s most favorite time of day in the barn, when the horses far outnumbered the people, though her mother rarely let her stay that late. One of the reasons she was allowed to work at the Gracidas’ at all was the fact that there were people around all day to keep an eye on her.

Not that her mother worried about her getting into trouble. She worried about trouble finding Leah. As trouble had found Leslie.

That was one of the many things that sucked about what had happened to Leslie. Leah had become a prisoner because of it. She could go nowhere alone. She wasn’t allowed to ride her bike by herself into town—or even up and down Old Mission Road, where they lived. In fact, she especially couldn’t do that because the road was kind of isolated and the houses were hidden. If someone tried to grab her off her bike, there might be no witnesses to see it happen.

Nor was she allowed to stay home alone, which, at fifteen—almost sixteen—was nothing short of embarrassing. Most girls her age were babysitting to earn spending money, not being looked after by their own babysitters. But most girls her age didn’t have a sister who had been kidnapped.

“Hey, Leah!” Wendy called.

While Leah had seen to Jump Up, Wendy had gone into the lounge and changed out of her riding clothes to a pair of khaki shorts and a purple polo shirt with the collar turned up. She walked hand in hand with a dark-haired little girl maybe eight years old, and side by side with a pretty, dark-haired woman carrying a toddler.

Leah latched the stall door and dusted her hands off on her britches.

“This is my friend Anne,” Wendy said. “And Haley and Antony.”

At the mention of his name, the toddler grinned and waved. His hair was a thick, tousled mass of black ringlets.

Leah managed a shy hello.

“It’s nice to meet you, Leah,” Anne said. “Wendy tells me you’re new to the area.”

“My mom and I just moved here about a month ago.”

“From where?”

“Santa Barbara.”

“Have you had a chance to meet many people?”

“Not really.”

“Not at all,” Wendy said. “All you do is work here and go home.”

“Would you like to join us for pizza tonight?” Anne asked. “My date is standing me up. He got called to a case. He’s on his way to Phoenix.”

“Vince used to work for the FBI,” Wendy explained. “Now he’s like this rock star profiler. He goes all over the world.”