House of the Lost Girls (Flocksdale Files Book 2)

by Carissa Ann Lynch

  I stood up, pushing the uneaten toast aside. “I’m going to take a ride. Clear my head,” I told George. He was still talking as I went through the door. I jumped on my bike, a destination in mind. I wanted to see the scene of her death, so I made my way toward the weeping willow tree, the one next to Mac’s Super Skateland, where I’d first met Christa, Lexi, and Lou.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The smells of summer—freshly cut grass, chlorinated water, and barbecue smoke—were a strange combination with the scene at the skating rink. I stood next to a row of yellow caution tape. The grass was matted down near the willow tree—the place where her body was found.

  The body was gone, but the scene was crawling with police officers. Surprised there were so many in Flocksdale, I stared at the scene. You’d almost think it was a holiday, I thought bitterly, staring at the herds of onlookers gathering around. But then I reminded myself that I was one of them.

  The strange thing about death is that it seems to horrify and captivate people simultaneously. It’s like we don’t want to look, but we can’t look away either. At least the body’s not here. I hadn’t known Christa long, but seeing her like that would be too much to bear. She really was a sweet girl…

  I perched at the edge of the tape line and I couldn’t stop thinking about Wendi’s book. According to the author info page, her husband was a sergeant for the Flocksdale police department.

  “Is Officer Jonathan Milby working the case?” I asked a young officer who was urging the gawkers to stay back. He looked at me strangely, scrunching up his nose at my question.

  “Jon’s been dead for nearly two years now. Heart attack. Town’s gone to shit ever since…” he muttered, walking away.

  “That’s Officer Milby’s widow over there,” said the sweet old woman who lived on my street. I looked to where her crooked finger pointed, an amazed expression on my face. Wendi Wise stood on the other side of the tape line. I recognized her from the author photo on the back page.

  She looked older than she had in the picture, her eyes and mouth etched with stress lines and age. A wild streak of gray shown in her velvety black hair.

  Unlike everyone else, Wendi wasn’t looking at the spot where the young girl died. Rather, she was staring at the sign to the skating rink, ‘Mac’s Super Skateland’. She stared at it, her arms crossed over her chest protectively. She looked frightened.

  I was seriously thinking about approaching her when someone slipped their hand in mine. Expecting Sam, I was surprised to find Lou standing by my side, holding my hand. Without thinking, I yanked my hand away. He looked hurt, his eyebrows furrowing confusedly.

  “I’m sorry, Lou. I just…I’m upset about Christa…”

  “Me too,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me. I suddenly spotted Sam, making his way through the crowd. I stood on my tip-toes, looking over people’s heads to catch his eye. “Sam!” I shouted, leaving Lou behind.

  I could practically feel Lou’s pissed off stare burning a hole in my backside. But right now, I didn’t give a shit. I wanted to be with Sam. I wanted him to hug me, keep me safe. I needed to talk to him and make some sort of sense of what happened to Christa.

  I practically dove into his arms, sinking my face in his chest. I willed myself not to cry. Sure, I didn’t know Christa well. But it was still shocking nonetheless. I tried to wrap my brain around the fact that I was just with her two days ago. How could she be dead?

  Only one thing was certain—I was more freaked out than ever by this town.

  Chapter Sixteen

  That night, I sat on my bed thinking about Christa’s death. Cause of death was still unknown, according to Sam’s updates. He’d been texting me every hour, keeping me occupied.

  Sam: There’s a stack of brand new paperbacks on the counter at work. Want to come by in the morning, get first dibs?

  I couldn’t help loving him for trying to cheer me up. He was doing a pretty good job of it too.

  I wondered what new titles were at the bookstore…but then my thoughts shifted back to Christa’s death. I had no doubt it was murder. A girl that young doesn’t die of natural causes. I also couldn’t stop thinking about my mom—not so much that I was worried about her, but more like lonesome for her company. Moments like this, I needed my mother. I needed her to lean on and talk to.

  I tried calling her phone again. Still no answer. I decided to try texting her.

  Me: Mom, it’s Marianna. You haven’t answered any of my calls. Why not? I’m a little worried. Will you please call or text me back? I’d like to hear from you.

  I read back over the text, then hit send. I paced around my room, then finally sat back down.

  Opening Wendi’s book again, I read ten more pages. Absorbed more gruesome details about the crimes committed by the Garrett family…my phone chimed, interrupting my thoughts. Assuming it was Sam again, I barely glanced at it. But then I was surprised to see it was from my mom.

  Thank god! She’d finally gotten back with me!

  Mom: Hi, sweetie! I’m sorry. I’ve been in meetings, have had to leave the volume turned down most of the day. I’ll be home in a few weeks. Miss you. Love you.

  Me: Are you having any fun? Staying in a hotel? I’ll be glad when you come home. Need to talk to you about stuff.

  Mom: Yes, hotel is gorgeous! Staying at the Dauphine Orleans hotel. It’s close to Bourbon Street. Lots of people and lights. It really is lovely here. Unfortunately, I haven’t had much time for fun. Trying to get things situated for the new store. I’m so happy about it! I’ll talk to you soon, honey. Please be kind to George. He loves you too.

  Ugh. George. He’d come home nearly an hour ago. He offered to order a pizza, but I turned him down. After standing outside my door the other night, I didn’t trust him. And any sort of solace I’d felt about living in Flocksdale had been temporary. Flocksdale was a bad place; I could feel it in my bones, sort of like Christa’s mom had about her daughter’s death.

  I sat up for a few more hours, nearly finishing the book and chatting back and forth with Sam. He sent me funny messages and videos, trying to do anything he could to make me laugh. I appreciated his efforts. In fact, he was turning out to be the only good thing about this town.

  I finally fell asleep around midnight, clutching the phone to my chest.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I talked to Mom last night,” I said, sitting down for breakfast with George. He was eating a bowl of peach-smelling oatmeal, reading the paper again.

  “Oh, that’s great, honey,” he murmured, flipping to the next page.

  “Anything new on Christa’s death?” I inquired. George wasn’t a police officer, but being the judge had its perks. I knew he’d be one of the first people in Flocksdale to learn the details of her death when they came out.

  George set the paper down, forming a steeple with his fingers. “Nothing new, Marianna. But I may know more today when I get to work. I feel awful for her parents. Things like this shouldn’t happen in small towns,” he said, shaking his head sadly.

  “But it does happen,” I said. I stared at him with such intensity I could feel it in the air. “In fact, it’s happened a lot in Flocksdale,” I added.

  His spoon froze in midair. “So, you’ve heard,” he said, sighing. He set the oatmeal aside.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Didn’t you think I’d find out? I knew this town had a history before we even moved here, George. I’m not stupid. But I found out even more when I got here. I know this house was used to hurt people. An evil family lived here,” I said breathlessly.

  I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. He squeezed his eyes shut, as though he knew what I’d say next. “You inherited this house from your aunt. Who is she? Was she related to the Garrett family?” I asked bluntly.

  “Aunt Samantha was related to the Garretts, yes.”

  I was stunned. I’d never expected him to really be related to them, and definitely not to admit it if he was. “She spent her whole life
feeling guilty about her family’s involvement in those crimes. But Marianna…the house was rebuilt and—”

  “And what sort of sick, twisted fuck rebuilds a house like this—with all of its fucked up history—and decides to add back in the same creepy bars over the windows?” I demanded angrily.

  “Look…Samantha probably wanted to maintain the integrity of the house and how it originally looked. So what if there’s bars on the windows? Anyone associated with that family is dead or in prison. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to scare you. The people around here loved Samantha. They’ve gotten over it, and you should too.”

  I sat there, dumbfounded. His words stung. That family he suggested I forget about was in fact, his family. “I’m sure the victims’ families haven’t forgotten. And now there’s another dead girl,” I retorted angrily.

  “That girl’s murder has nothing to do with this house, or its history! If you’re smart, you’ll just drop this shit!” George roared. He was standing up now, his fists bearing down on the kitchen table. I sunk down in my chair, suddenly frightened.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  I wasn’t sorry—not even a bit—and I certainly didn’t agree with him. But I wanted to get the hell away from this man. “Now what did your mother have to say?” he asked, the level of his voice returning to normal. He took a seat and resumed eating. I don’t even know what I said. I think I briefly described my text conversation with my mom, and then made an excuse to leave.

  “Going to the bookstore. They have some new books in…”

  “Have a wonderful day, dear,” he said, an icy chill in his tone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was a beautiful, cloudless day. A perfect day for cycling. But my mood was ugly and angry, and I needed to talk to Sam. I stroked the pedals with my feet, pushing past my normal threshold for speed. I pumped and pumped, reaching dizzying speeds.

  I swerved around a woman pushing a baby carriage, skidding to a halt in front of the bookstore. I laid the bike on its side, running in to see Sam.

  He was leaning against the counter, and a hardback book lay open in front of him. I could barely catch my breath.

  He looked up at me. Smiled. But then he must have sensed something was wrong, because his face changed from happy to concerned. “What is it, Marianna?” he asked.

  “My stepdad…he’s…he’s…” I was too out of breath to get the words out. Suddenly, a bell jingled, and the woman with the stroller came in. She shot me a nasty look. Probably should have been a little bit more courteous on my bike.

  I waited patiently for her to leave. I browsed the aisles, running my fingers along the book spines, not even seeing the titles. My head was spinning, still running through my conversation with George again and again.

  A string of murders twenty years ago, then the policemen who caught the bad guys died and one of the Garrett family members’ distant relatives returned—my stepdad, no less—and then a girl wound up murdered…something was definitely suspicious here. The more I thought about it, the more I suspected George was hiding something.

  Yeah, like maybe the fact that he’s a murderer…

  I shivered. The woman made her selections and checked out, leaving Sam and I alone again.

  I quickly told him about my stepdad and his connection to the murderous family from twenty years ago. Sam listened, his eyes growing wider as I regurgitated my conversation with George.

  “I have something to tell you too,” Sam said. “Christa’s parents found out this morning…Christa was strangled. Something wrapped around her neck until she stopped breathing…” He choked up a little as he said it. “Her parents are beyond shattered. My mom’s been over there all morning, trying to provide some sort of comfort. But how do you comfort someone who’s lost a child? I can’t even fathom it…”

  We sat there in silence, considering Christa’s life and death. I wasn’t that close to her, but she sure as shit didn’t deserve to have the life strangled out of her. “Well, the crime scene was definitely staged. We went by the skating rink area when we were looking for her. We would have seen her lying there…anyone who walked by would have seen her…Someone must have dumped her body there later that night,” I concluded.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Sam said.

  “I’m leaving,” I spoke abruptly.

  “What? Why?” he asked, looking baffled and worried at the same time.

  “I can’t stay in that house alone with him. He could be a murderer, Sam! Plus, I need to go to New Orleans. I have to talk to my mom. She’s there setting up shop for her new store, and won’t be back for weeks. I need to talk to her away from George, try and talk some sense into her! I want to show her Wendi’s book, tell her the truth about Flocksdale and her darling Georgie.”

  “But…how are you even going to get there? This is crazy, Marianna!” he protested.

  “I have six hundred dollars in my savings account. I’m going to buy a plane ticket online, try to leave tomorrow if I can. I’m sorry, Sam. I really like you…a lot, in fact…but I have to go to my mom. I’ll be back, I promise. And I’ll call and text you the whole time I’m there…”

  “I’m coming with you,” Sam said unexpectedly. I paused.

  “Really?” I loved the idea, but I’d never considered asking him. “Who will run the bookstore?” I asked hesitantly, not wanting to get my hopes up.

  “My parents can figure it out. Where are you going to tell George you’re going?”

  “I’m not telling him anything at all,” I said firmly. I expected him to try to talk me out of it, but surprisingly, he just nodded. “What about you? Going to tell your folks?” I asked. He nodded again.

  “I think…I’ll tell them I’m going with a friend to look at some colleges. Anything that has to do with college really gives them a boner these days,” he said, smiling.

  That awful feeling in the pit of my stomach was starting to subside. “I love you,” I said, leaning over the counter to kiss him. As soon as I said it, I froze. “I mean…as a figure of speech. For going with me…I love you for offering to go…” I tried to backtrack, sputtering out the words awkwardly.

  “Yeah, yeah…” he said, playfully kissing me back.

  Chapter Nineteen

  We booked our plane tickets to New Orleans over brunch. Sam had his own bank account, and since it was cheaper to book them together, he paid for us both. “I’ll pay you back. I just need to get the cash out of an ATM…” I said guiltily.

  “It’s okay, Marianna. We’ll worry about that later. Right now we need to figure out how you’re going to sneak out of the house unnoticed.”

  He had a point. But considering the fact that our flight was at six in the morning, it’d be pretty easy to sneak out around four a.m. to go to the airport. George would be fast asleep at that time. Unless he’s creeping around your room again late at night.

  All I could do was hope that he wasn’t. “We also need to figure out a cab service that can come pick us up super early. We’ll have to pack, set our alarms…”

  “I have a car,” Sam said, puffing his chest out a little.

  “You do?” I asked gleefully. He nodded.

  So, we made a plan: we were both going home to pack. Sam was going to tell his parents the whole college visit story. According to him, with Christa’s recent murder, they’d be happy to have him leave town. I was going to go home, play it cool with George, and pack while he wasn’t looking. Sam would call me around 3:30 to make sure I was up, then pick me up in the back alley around 4:00 a.m.

  My reasons for taking the trip were shitty, but I couldn’t help feeling a small glimmer of excitement about sneaking out and taking off with Sam. Maybe it’d even be fun…once we got there, we could hang out in New Orleans, visit with my mom…

  Convince Mom she’d married a possible murderer…

  Chapter Twenty

  George wasn’t home when I got back, thank God. I went to my room and starte
d shoving clothes and panties haphazardly in a small bag I planned to use as a carry-on. I gathered up makeup, flip-flops, and toothpaste. Tossed it all in the bag.

  By the time George came home, I’d already stuffed the bag under my bed and prepared dinner for the both of us. George stared at the food I’d made—tacos and crunchy, overcooked rice. “You made me dinner?” he asked, as though his eyes were deceiving him.

  “Yeah. I was hungry. Figured you’d be hungry too,” I said nonchalantly. We ate quietly, the sounds of the TV set on the counter providing a little relief from the awkwardness.

  “How was your day?” he finally asked.

  “It was fine. I rode my bike, bought some more books…”

  “Marianna, I don’t want to be controlling, but I do want you to be careful when you’re out by yourself. And I don’t want you out past dark anymore,” he said stiffly.

  “Because of Christa’s murder?” I asked, spitting out a disgusting clump of rice.

  “Yes. Until we catch this sicko, I’m going to be worried sick about you. I need you to be safe, watchful,” he remarked.

  “Okay. I will. Don’t worry,” I assured him. I smiled at him across the table, all the while thinking about my plan. Oh, I’d definitely be out after dark tonight. And I was less worried about who was outside and more about the person sitting across from me right now.

  He watched me while I ate, probably wondering why I was being so nice and pleasant. Maybe acting like this would cause more suspicion than if I acted like my usual self, I considered anxiously.

  “I wish we’d never moved here,” I muttered, playing it up. “This place sucks.” I excused myself, bouncing up the steps to my room, taking two at a time.