And Then She Was GONE: A riveting new suspense novel that keeps you guessing until the end

by Christopher Greyson

  “Sure. Anytime.” Jack waved him off.

  Archer grinned slyly. “We play most Saturdays. Tell you what, why don’t you get a team together? Bring some friends.”

  Jack tried not to make a face. “Sounds like fun.”

  “But if football’s too hard for you,” Warner said, strutting forward, “I’ll let you ref. I’m sure Kelly will let you borrow her cheerleader whistle.” He laughed, and the others joined him.

  Jack was about to get back out of the car—he was already reaching for the door handle—but Kelly leaned in the window, pulled him close, and kissed him. This was a much longer kiss—a much better kiss. Her hand slid to the base of Jack’s head, and he slowly moved his own hand so it rested on her hip.

  When she pulled away, Jack just gazed at her. He was only barely aware that Archer and Preston were now struggling to hold Warner back.

  “Thanks,” Jack said with a smile.

  Kelly’s breathing was ragged. “Call me?”

  “I will.” Jack started up the car. He knew all eyes were on them. He smirked at the gawkers and then drove past the boys, who could only glare as he drove away.

  Twenty minutes later, Jack parked in front of Aunt Haddie’s. He pulled a gym bag from his trunk, then headed around to the back door. At the sound of the old pickup truck pulling up in the driveway behind him, Jack stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

  Chandler jumped out of the cab of the truck and shut the door. With all the grease and oil on his clothes, hands, and face, he looked like a mechanic who’d operated on a car that didn’t survive the procedure. “See ya, Mr. Emerson,” Chandler said to the driver.

  Mr. Emerson, an old man with white hair and even whiter teeth, flashed an enormous grin. “Couldn’t have done it without you, son. Thank you.”

  As Mr. Emerson drove off, Chandler turned to Jack. “Don’t tell me you’re here to work out, because I just spent three hours breaking my back.”

  “I thought you were delivering a refrigerator.”

  “I was.” Chandler held up four fingers covered in grease. “Fourth floor. I had to lug the thing up strapped to a dolly. But the used refrigerator Mr. Emerson got wouldn’t fit. So I had to swap out the motor and install it, then take the one we brought up back down all those stairs.” He again stuck up four fingers for emphasis.

  “I’d rather have done that. I drove Aunt Haddie and Mrs. Martin to the prison.”

  Chandler laughed. “Was there a riot? You look like you got jumped.”

  Jack looked down at his dirty, grass-stained clothes. “Oh, this is from Kelly’s picnic.”

  “What kind of picnic do rich folks have?”

  “Shut up. It was supposed to be a pick-up football game,” Jack said. “Except no one told me that I was the ball.”

  Chandler laughed again.

  “You want to give me a hand finding Two Point?” Jack asked.

  “Not really. Why do you want to find him?”

  “I promised Mrs. Martin. And Aunt Haddie.” Jack didn’t need to add the last part. He knew Chandler would go with him. He held up the gym bag. “But do you mind if I take a quick shower first?”

  “Sure. After me.” Chandler looked Jack over. “You need it. You look like hell.”

  “You’re not winning any beauty contests right now either, Mr. Greasy.”

  The back door opened and Aunt Haddie came out onto the porch. She took one look at the state of Chandler and Jack and put her hands on her hips.

  “They’re work clothes!” Chandler called up to her.

  Aunt Haddie’s shoulders bounced up and down, then she burst out laughing. Her laugh was deep, big, and bright.

  Chandler’s hands went out to his sides. “I helped a widower out by lugging a refrigerator up and down—”

  “Jewels in your crown in Heaven.” Aunt Haddie waved them over. “For now, you boys will have to settle for meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”

  Chandler’s face lit up.

  “I’ll fix you both a big plate, but you’ll need to wash-up first.”

  As they headed up the steps, Jack asked Chandler, “Can I get on your computer?”

  “You gave it to me. It’s your old computer.”

  “I just need to look something up on Facebook. I thought of something at Kelly’s and want to check it out. Also, can you ask Makayla to call Nina and see if she’s heard from Two Point?”

  “Sure. What’s all this about, Jack?”

  “J-Dog wasn’t lying,” Jack said. “He didn’t steal Stacy Shaw’s wallet. But I think I know who did.”

  9

  The Hunt for Two

  Jack scrubbed the dirt out of his hair and tried to crack his shoulder. His lip stung, but the burning from the scrape up his side hurt worse.

  He leaned his head down and let the water wash over him. It felt like only a second later when he heard familiar thumping: Aunt Haddie banging out her warning to take a quick shower. He clicked the water off. Aunt Haddie didn’t have much money, and it was expensive to heat that old hot water tank.

  “When I get my own place, I’m taking showers until the water runs cold,” Jack muttered as he watched the water spiral down the drain.

  Jack toweled off and changed into clean pants, then stepped out into the hallway while he was still pulling on his t-shirt.

  Michelle was coming out of her room and rolled her eyes. “Normal people get dressed in the bathroom.”

  “Be quiet, Half-Pint.”

  Michelle giggled. “Are you sleeping over?”

  “I think so. Where’s Chandler?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  Jack headed downstairs. Chandler sat at the kitchen table.

  “Let’s go.” Jack didn’t break stride as he headed out the door.

  “Hold on a minute, Sherlock.” Chandler thundered down the back steps after Jack. “Who do you think stole Stacy Shaw’s wallet if it wasn’t J-Dog?”

  “I don’t think it.” Jack grinned. “I know it. More importantly, I can prove it. We just have to find Two Point.”

  “So where are we heading?” Chandler asked.

  “Did Makayla call Nina?”

  “Yeah, but Nina’s not answering.”

  “Okay. Well, let’s head over there anyways.” Jack opened the trunk of the Impala and tossed in his gym bag. Before closing the trunk, he took out a Boston Red Sox baseball cap and pulled it on.

  “I’m surprised you’re willing to cover up your precious hair with a hat,” Chandler said with a chuckle.

  “Yeah, right. You’re the one who’s always messing with his hair, primping and preening.”

  “You know it. You would too if you looked this good.” Chandler threw his big arms out and posed.

  Jack laughed.

  “You know you’re going to cry when the Army shaves your curly locks, Rapunzel,” Chandler said.

  “I don’t mind short hair.”

  “We’re not talking short—we’re talking none.”

  Jack shrugged. “It’ll grow back.”

  Chandler stood by the Impala’s passenger door, but Jack walked right past it. “We’re not driving?” Chandler asked.

  “Nah, let’s walk. It’s not far. And you need the exercise.”

  “Don’t start with that again.”

  The screen door banged open and Replacement appeared in the doorway. She waved to Chandler. He waved back. She gave him a thumbs-up, and Chandler nodded. Then she vanished back inside.

  “What was that all about?” Jack asked as they started walking.

  “She’s just letting me know that everything’s cool.”

  “What’s she, your watchdog?”

  “Be nice. Some people had it different than you coming here,” Chandler said. “You had it bad before, so coming here was a good thing for you. Michelle and I had it real good until my folks died. So did Replacement. Her whole family died in a car accident. She lost everything. Then she went into the system.”

  “That blows.”

  “
She and I are a lot alike.”

  Jack pictured the petite white girl standing next to his huge black friend. “I guess you don’t have to look like someone to be like them.”

  “She’s a good kid. She just—well, at her foster home before this one, she had it real bad.”

  Jack’s jaw clenched. He’d grown up with foster kids, and he knew that their lives generally started at rough and went downhill from there. He didn’t want to think about what “real bad” could mean.

  As they walked, Jack tried not to think of his own past. The numerous therapists he’d seen over the years always told him he should talk about his past, get everything out in the open and deal with it—but Jack insisted on doing the opposite. Whenever old wounds opened back up, he would just shut down. If he couldn’t kill the past, he’d bury it. He was determined to cage the demons that raged inside him and lock them away so they could never get out.

  Chandler punched his arm—hard.

  Jack stumbled sideways. He spun around to face Chandler, his chest thrust forward. “What the heck?”

  Chandler made a goofy face.

  “What did you do that for?” Jack snapped.

  “You were looking like you wanted to kill someone.”

  “So you hit me? That’s brilliant.”

  “I wanted to get you thinking about something else.” Chandler grinned. “It worked.”

  As Jack stared at Chandler’s smiling face, his temper cooled. “Idiot.”

  “But you just called me brilliant,” Chandler shot back. His smile widened.

  Jack shook his head, and they started to walk again. He didn’t want to admit it, but Chandler was probably the biggest reason he stayed sane. The pull of hate and anger inside Jack was strong, and he found himself frequently drawn to the darkness. But Chandler always had a way of coaxing Jack back from the edge. The thought of what Jack would have become without all those years of his friend’s help made Jack’s stomach churn. He shoved Chandler’s shoulder, and his big friend laughed.

  Jack had never understood how Chandler and Michelle had turned out so normal. They’d lost their parents when they were both little, yet they didn’t seem to bear the scars Jack did. He felt like a jigsaw puzzle with a bunch of pieces missing. But them? They seemed happy all the time.

  As they neared the end of the street, Chandler asked, “Are we cutting through the park?”

  “Yeah. I want to check the basketball courts. Two Point hangs there, so maybe somebody saw something.”

  “It’s too bad we can’t ask Victor.” Chandler looked around. “I bet he knows where Two Point is.”

  Jack stopped. “Victor Perez?”

  “Yeah.” Chandler stopped too. “Two Point’s part of the D Street Crew—Victor’s gang. You knew that, right?”

  “No, I didn’t. But you’re right, his gang leader would know. If Nina’s not around yet, we should definitely go talk to Victor.”

  Chandler looked at Jack as if he had three heads. “Are you out of your mind? Talking to Victor’s no joke. You risk getting a bullet in your head just by being near him.”

  Jack shrugged. “I just want to talk to him, not fight with him. Besides, I know Victor.”

  “Maybe a long time ago you did,” Chandler said. “Trust me, Victor is bad news. Everyone in his crew is packing. It’s bad all the way around.”

  Jack kicked a rock across the road. As he traced the path of the rock, he noticed a ponytail poking out from behind a large elm tree. Replacement’s ponytail. “Your watchdog followed us,” Jack whispered.

  Chandler smiled but didn’t let on that they’d seen her. “She does that.”

  Jack angled his head back toward the tree. “Where we’re going, she shouldn’t be near,” he warned.

  “You should listen to your own advice. We shouldn’t be going there either,” Chandler grumbled. But he turned around and whistled.

  Replacement immediately popped out from her hiding spot, and without a word Chandler pointed back to the house. Replacement’s shoulders slumped, but she obediently turned and started jogging back toward Aunt Haddie’s.

  Chandler turned back to Jack. “Are we really gonna do this?” he asked. “I don’t feel like getting shot.”

  “You don’t have to come,” Jack said.

  “Yes, I do. I don’t want to. I don’t think you should go. But if you go, I go.” Chandler held up a large hand. “But let me be clear. I’m just going to watch your back.”

  “Then I guess you’re going.”

  10

  A Favor

  Jack and Chandler entered Hamilton Park through the west gate. This was the side that bordered the projects, right where the main power lines entered town. The three-story-tall electric towers cut a wide green swath away from the park like a river of grass, stretching into the distance until it eventually wound its way north.

  They walked past the old baseball diamond and the playground. The diamond had been abandoned by park maintenance years ago, and the playground was in no better shape. The V-shaped metal supports for the swings were still standing, but only a few rusted chains dangled down now. Overlooking it all, on a little hill, sat a single picnic table. The table afforded a three hundred and sixty degree view, making it the spot of choice for people who wanted to see who was coming.

  Four men sat at the picnic table. Shirtless, with more tattoos than bare skin, the three who faced Jack and Chandler’s direction all had the same you’d-better-have-a-good-reason-for-being-here sneer on their faces. And as Jack and Chandler approached, they rose and swaggered forward. The fourth man, Victor, remained sitting with his back to them.

  “This is an extremely stupid idea,” Chandler muttered to Jack. “When was the last time you talked to Victor, anyway?”

  “When we played baseball.”

  Chandler mashed his lips together. “That was in middle school.”

  “And that was the last time I talked to him.”

  Chandler’s nostrils flared.

  As Jack scanned the men up ahead, he was grateful to have Chandler with him. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Just ask him about Two Point and let’s get the heck out of here.”

  The tallest of the three men walked forward and stopped in front of Jack. He looked like half the guys Jack just had seen in the prison’s exercise yard. The muscles in his chest flexed as he clenched and unclenched his hands.

  “Whatcha want?” he asked, seemingly eager for a flippant answer as an excuse to fight. His mouth stayed open after he spoke, revealing a line of gold teeth.

  “I’m Jack Stratton. I’m just here to talk to Victor.”

  “Jack Stratton?” Victor got up and turned around.

  It had been years since Jack had seen Victor up close. The thin, gangly kid Jack remembered bore little resemblance to this hardened man with lean muscles covered in tattoos.

  “Hey, Victor. Long time. You got a minute?”

  Victor strutted forward. From the bulge under his shirt, it was clear he was packing. Jack’s adrenaline surged and his pulse quickened as he realized how dangerous this was.

  Victor stopped a couple of feet in front of Jack, crossed his arms, and tilted his head back. “What you want from me, little white Boy Scout?”

  The other guys laughed.

  Jack let the rip go. “A favor. You got a second?” Jack pointed with his thumb over to the old swing set. He didn’t want to talk to Victor in front of his crew.

  Victor smoothed down the ends of his thin mustache, debating for a second. Jack hoped it was all an act to show who was in charge.

  “I just need a favor,” Jack said.

  Victor nodded to his posse and started walking. But he stopped when Chandler followed.

  Chandler’s eyes went back and forth between Jack and Victor. Jack gave Chandler a quick nod, letting him know he wasn’t happy about the situation, but given the tenuous circumstances it was best to do whatever Victor wanted.

  “I’ll wait here,” Chandler grumbled.
r />   When they were out of earshot, Victor spoke. “Ask.” He eyed Jack suspiciously.

  “You hear about J-Dog?”

  “Hear about him? They pulled me in too when that lady went missing. Is that why he got arrested?”

  “The cops talked to you?”

  “Of course they talked to me,” Victor spat. “They know I’m in charge of Hamilton, and she worked near here. A fly farts in the park and they think I got something to do with it.” He crossed his arms, and the muscles in his forearms rippled the dragon tattoos that covered them. “I don’t talk to you since middle school and now you show up asking questions? I heard you wanna be a cop. You workin’ for ’em?”

  Jack’s mind raced. This wasn’t how he hoped the conversation would go. It was breaking bad, and it looked as if it was about to get worse. “Aunt Haddie is friends with J-Dog’s mom,” he said. “I’m just helping out.”

  Victor’s eyes narrowed. “You wearin’ a wire?”

  Without hesitation, Jack pulled his shirt off over his head.

  “You really are a Boy Scout, huh?” Victor took out a cigarette. “Helpin’ your foster mom and savin’ little old ladies’ handbags?”

  “You know about that?”

  Victor gave Jack a look. “I know everything that goes on in my side of town.” He lit the smoke. “I believe you. Put your shirt back on. So, what’s this favor?”

  Jack pulled his shirt back over his head. “I’m looking for Two Point. Have you seen him?”

  “No, but that squid better not be around here. I kicked him to the curb for the stuff he was pulling. Him boosting got me dragged into the pigpen.”

  “He was mugging people?”

  Victor scoffed. “Two Point’s spineless. He’s no dog—he’s a weasel. He doesn’t have the nuts to jack a nun. I caught him boosting from cars in the parking lot, so I bounced his sorry ass.” Victor looked back up the hill. “Stealing’s bad for business. It brings the cops down on the area. I don’t want the heat around. So nobody steals.”