The mayor’s office was the third glass door on the right and indicated with no fanfare. White block letters read MAYOR RICHARD TOUHY, and behind the glass was an empty desk where a secretary ought to be. Riley knew this because there was a large official-looking appointment ledger on one side of the desk and a typewriter on the other.
Out to lunch, Riley thought. Convenient.
Beyond the secretary’s domain was an open door. Through that door Riley saw a spindly-looking man with thinning brown hair talking on the telephone. Whatever he was hearing wasn’t making him happy, because his thin face twisted with annoyance.
Good, Riley thought. He’d catch the man off-balance and without a guard dog to prevent him from entering the mayor’s inner sanctum.
He pushed the door open and pressed the record button on the tape recorder. Riley didn’t want to miss a thing.
5
The mayor wasn’t completely certain how the man had weaseled his way into the office. Wasn’t Harry supposed to check who was coming into the building and who they were going to see? What was the point of security if they weren’t going to try at all? He made a mental note to speak to Louie Reynolds, the head of security for the building, about it later. The mayor of Smiths Hollow was supposed to be accessible to the residents of the town, but not that accessible.
Rebecca had just stepped out to get a sandwich for both of them, and in the intervening fifteen minutes this stranger had knocked on his door, interrupting an unproductive conversation with Van Christie regarding the still-unidentified girls.
Touhy noticed the cassette recorder immediately, its bright red button engaged in the “on” position, before he really took a good look at Riley’s face. Anyone carrying a tape recorder was trouble, in Touhy’s opinion. His clothes seemed to indicate that he might be a banker or a developer, but the tape recorder said otherwise.
The man was dressed in shiny Italian leather shoes, a pair of good-quality gray flannel trousers, and a crisp blue button-down shirt that, despite its clearly elevated price tag, showed that the stranger was sweating. Touhy didn’t attribute this to any kind of tension, however. It was hot enough outside to fry the proverbial egg on the sidewalk.
When the stranger entered the room, a waft of cologne preceded him. Touhy disliked men who wore cologne, though he knew it wasn’t that unusual these days. In his opinion men shouldn’t wear anything that smelled stronger than their Old Spice aftershave.
“Mm-hmm,” he said into the phone, not wanting to indicate to the stranger who was at the other end of the line. “Listen, can I give you a call back? Someone’s just arrived in my office.”
Christie, accustomed to sudden interruptions at the mayor’s end, had given a noncommittal grunt and hung up. Touhy carefully placed the phone on the receiver and stood, buttoning his jacket.
“May I help you?” he asked, his tone striking just the right balance between friendliness and certainty that the stranger was in the wrong place.
“George Riley,” the man said, holding the recorder in his left hand and sticking out his right hand for Touhy to shake, which he did automatically. “I’m a reporter from Chicago and I was wondering if I could get a quote from you regarding the murdered girls.”
Touhy blinked, although the expression on his face didn’t move a fraction of an inch—the result of long practice at taking questions meant to catch him off-guard.
Cracks, he thought. Nobody outside Smiths Hollow was supposed to know about the girls. And no girls born outside Smiths Hollow were supposed to be sacrificed. First there had been the two mystery girls—girls not from here, and not taken at the time they were supposed to be taken—and now there was this nosy newspaperman with his flashy clothes and too-white smile asking about them.
There were cracks in the molding that surrounded the town. Something had gone wrong when Joe diMucci died instead of Lauren.
What next? Touhy thought, and felt a momentary surge of panic that the chili factory would close down. If the monster was running free, if the outside world found out what was happening in his town, then the terms of the curse might fall apart. Yes, that would mean fewer murdered girls (though it might mean more). But it would also mean the community might face the same economic ruin as all the other towns around his, and that was unacceptable.
All these thoughts came and went in an instant, never visible to the intruder who’d disrupted his day. He made a show of checking his watch. “Why don’t you sit down, Mr. Riley? I have about ten minutes before another meeting, but I’m happy to answer a few of your questions in the meantime.”
A faint expression of surprise passed over Riley’s face, and Touhy thought he’d expected hostility. That wasn’t Touhy’s way. The best course of action was always to seem like you were giving a person what they wanted even if you really weren’t.
They settled into their respective chairs. Riley placed the recorder on the edge of Touhy’s desk.
“You don’t mind if I record this, do you? Your quotes will be more accurate than if I try to interpret my shorthand.”
Of course I mind, you son of a bitch, Touhy thought. But all he said was, “Not a problem.”
“Now, regarding these girls . . . who are they?”
“We haven’t yet been able to identify them,” Touhy said smoothly. “We believe they came from out of town, and we are contacting other police departments in the area to see if there have been any reports of missing persons.”
“And can you give any details on what exactly happened to them? I heard a rumor that they had been beheaded.”
Where did you hear that? Touhy wondered just who had been blabbing to this man. It couldn’t have been Christie or anyone on his staff. Although . . . maybe Lopez. He was from Chicago, just like Riley. And he was a recent addition to Smiths Hollow, so maybe the curse hadn’t fully taken effect yet. Yes, perhaps he should have a personal word with Lopez. Quietly. No need to get Christie involved.
Riley watched him expectantly, and Touhy realized he hadn’t responded.
“The investigation is ongoing. I’m sure you understand that we can’t release any details at this time that might compromise finding justice for these poor girls.”
“I understand,” Riley said, a little smile playing across his face.
Touhy rather thought that he did.
“How about a description? My paper has a much longer reach than the Smiths Hollow local—no offense, Mayor—and anyone looking for these two would be more likely to read about it if I wrote about them.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have a list of their physical characteristics on hand,” Touhy said. “Perhaps you would like to phone Chief Christie? I can give you his telephone number. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do have other commitments today.”
Touhy would call Christie to warn him as soon as Riley left, but he wasn’t worried about the chief giving away any information. Christie wasn’t the talkative type. Besides, the curse was working on him—Touhy could tell. Christie had trouble focusing on the conversation whenever the girls came up. If Touhy could just stop Riley from nosing around, then the whole thing would quietly fade away from public consciousness. As it was supposed to.
“Of course. Thank you for your time,” Riley said, standing up. Touhy also stood and shook the other man’s hand again.
He wasn’t just shuffling Riley out before the reporter could ferret out some real information. The fair was supposed to set up today and he wanted to be there when they arrived.
The fair was his baby and he didn’t want it to look like some sordid traveling camp. It should be a glorious paradise of clean, wholesome fun for all of the families of Smiths Hollow—and the neighboring communities. The Silver Lake mall would have nothing on Smiths Hollow’s fair. Touhy would see to it.
Once folks came into town for the fair they would stop and have dinner at one of the local restaurants, or shop at the
boutiques on Main Street. And when they saw how charming Smiths Hollow was they would return again and again with their dollars and Touhy would have fulfilled his mission as mayor—to keep the town financially secure.
If he didn’t, then all the blood spilled meant nothing.
Rebecca returned carrying a paper sack with Touhy’s deli sandwich. She paused in the open doorway, staring at Riley uncertainly.
“Mayor Touhy?” she asked.
“Mr. Riley was just leaving,” Touhy said, taking the paper sack from her. “Thank you, Rebecca. Do you think you could give him the phone number for the police station? I promised it but don’t have it handy.”
She nodded and stepped out of the way for Riley, who followed her as she went around to her desk.
Touhy closed the door behind him, but very softly. He wouldn’t want Riley to think he’d been unwelcome.
6
Miranda opened the back door carefully, not wanting to slam the screen door and let her mother know she was home. Janice was probably out cold on the sofa in any case. If her mother was still awake she’d be on her fourth or fifth drink by now and wrapped up in Days of Our Lives or Ryan’s Hope or whatever it was she watched in the afternoon. So Janice probably wouldn’t notice the state of Miranda, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Her mother could occasionally be very observant.
Miranda wanted to go upstairs and wash her face and change her clothes before her mother got a good look at her. The seat of her shorts and the back of her shirt were stained with dirt and she was sure her face was flushed. She toed out of her sneakers, left them in a heap on the mat, and ran lightly on bare feet down the carpeted hallway.
There was a double-sized doorway into the living room that opened out to the foot of the stairs and the front foyer, but the back of the sofa also faced that direction. When Miranda risked a look around the doorjamb, she saw the back of Janice’s permed head. Her mother was lolling forward slightly, a sure sign that she was dozing.
Janice had been coming home earlier and earlier from work for the past couple of years, so that lately it seemed like she returned home at lunch (liquid, of course) and never went back in for the rest of the day. Her mother and father were both managers at the chili factory, so Miranda assumed her dad covered for her mom.
Either that or Janice’s work was so inconsequential she was able to finish it by midday. Miranda didn’t really care except that it meant that in the summer Janice was hanging around the house trying to act like a parent. If her mother had been at work as she was supposed to be, then Miranda would have been free to come and go without someone trying to find out where she was going and what she was doing and who she was going with.
Thank God for Lauren, Miranda thought as she climbed the stairs on tiptoe, avoiding all the places where the stairs creaked. She’d been sneaking into the house past her curfew since she was ten and had never been caught. Miranda could always tell her parents she was going out with Lauren and they would never question it.
Thinking of Lauren reminded her that Lauren had never shown up that afternoon.
Or maybe she did, Miranda thought, but you were gone by then. Off into the forest with Him, and serves Lauren right for ditching you yesterday.
She hugged her arms around herself, unable to stop grinning. He’d taken her into the woods and while she hadn’t lost her virginity it was only a matter of time. He couldn’t keep His hands off her. She had never felt so powerful as she had when He put His arms around her. There’d been a look in His eyes, a wild neediness, that was only for her.
“No one can know,” He whispered into her mouth. “It’s our secret.”
And of course she knew it had to be a secret, because she was underage. Not that He was so very old, but it was technically illegal for Him to be with her. Which was a really stupid concept, Miranda thought as she undressed down to her underwear.
If she knew what she was doing, then why would they get in trouble? Who cared what age she was? It wasn’t like He was tricking her into having sex—or something close to sex. She wasn’t some naïve little dummy from the country.
She examined her breasts in the mirror, pushing them up a little by pressing her upper arms against the outside of her chest. Yeah, her breasts were pretty grown-up-looking. And they weren’t all saggy yet like her mother’s. If she dressed right she could pass for eighteen, she bet.
Then He could take her out to dinner—not in Smiths Hollow, of course, because a nosy someone would be sure to see and report back to Janice and Bob—but somewhere a few towns over, where they wouldn’t bump into anyone. Maybe all the way to Chicago. It was only forty-five minutes on the train.
He’d pressed her into the ground with His body and He’d felt like a man, sort of strong and gentle at the same time—not a flailing octopus like Tad. He’d shown her what to do and how to make Him feel good and when He gasped she knew He wouldn’t think of anybody but her. Nobody else could make Him respond like that, Miranda was sure.
She turned sideways in front of the mirror to look at her chest from the side and noticed a purpling bruise at her hip, just beneath the line of her underpants. In her excitement over her conquest she’d forgotten about that thing that happened. It had only been for a second, and she must have imagined that look.
He’d grabbed onto her and squeezed hard enough to make her cry out. She’d opened her eyes and He’d been watching her with a . . . well, she didn’t really know how to define it but He’d looked hungry. Except it wasn’t in a hungry-for-your-body kind of way, but more like He actually wanted to eat her up.
Like He wanted to hurt her.
Don’t be silly, Miranda thought. He apologized. It was an accident. He just got overexcited. And you imagined that look.
She put on a fresh T-shirt and shorts—Janice would never notice that she’d changed, and even if she did Miranda would just say she’d gotten dirty playing in the woods. Which was true, in a sense. She giggled to herself and then covered her mouth.
Miranda went into the bathroom and washed her face and brushed her teeth. She brushed her hair and then put it up in a fresh ponytail. Then she went into her room, pushed the lock on the door, and pulled out her stash of Cosmopolitan magazines from under her bed.
There were always good sex tips in Cosmo and even though He would obviously be able to tell that she was a virgin because her virginity would be in the way, she didn’t want to seem totally inexperienced. She also had some Jackie Collins novels hidden beneath the mattress and she thought it would be a good idea to go back and review the steamier bits.
Her father, Bob, disapproved of “that garbage,” which was why the books were hidden. Miranda thought he was probably just jealous that other people—even if they were fictional characters—were getting laid when he wasn’t. She figured that Bob and Janice hadn’t had sex since Janice got pregnant.
Two hours later she heard her mother’s slow tread at the bottom of the stairs. Miranda knew it would take Janice a few minutes to get to the top, so she had plenty of time to stow her magazines under the bed, tuck Hollywood Wives back in between the mattress and box spring, unlock her door, and lie back down on her bed with a harmless copy of Seventeen.
She’d just flipped to a fashion layout in the center of the magazine when Janice knocked once and pushed open the door. Her mother gave her a bleary look.
“Have you been home long?”
Miranda glanced at the clock. “A few hours.”
That seemed safe. She didn’t know when Janice had fallen asleep on the couch.
“Lauren called to say she couldn’t make it and that she would call you later. She was sorry you’d left already. Did you wait long?”
Stupid bitch, why did she call the house? What if Janice wants to know what I was doing all that time?
“For a while,” Miranda said noncommittally.
“I’m making meat loaf and pota
toes for dinner,” Janice said.
Oh, boy. Dried-out ground beef and lumpy potatoes and gravy from an envelope. Maybe she should call Tad and tell him to take her out to make up for abandoning her the night before.
“Okay.”
Her mother shut the door and Miranda let out the breath she’d been holding. Good thing Janice had no curiosity whatsoever. Or maybe she just had a headache. She’d had that slightly squinty look that meant her head was pounding.
Well, Miranda had gotten out of that without the third degree. But she was going to call Lauren later and tell her to keep her dumb mouth shut in the future.
7
Karen didn’t know what had happened between her mother and Lauren that afternoon. She didn’t know because neither of them would tell her, despite the fact that Karen had called her mother and demanded to know what had caused her daughter to leave her bike in the backyard instead of putting it away properly and then run upstairs and lock the door of her bedroom.
Karen called her mother and Mom had only said, “It’s between me and Lauren,” which left Karen with the same wrenched-stomach feeling that she always had when the two of them put their heads together and left her out.
It was ridiculous that she should feel this way, feel like a high school girl who wasn’t allowed to join the cool-girls club, but she always had. Karen had never been close to her mother. She’d always felt that Mom held herself away, kept secrets she didn’t want to share with her daughter.
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