A quick sigh, and then the message continued, “I know you’ve been looking for me, and I’m telling you now to stop. Not asking, telling. I’m on a big story, kiddo, but it’s really dangerous. More dangerous than—” His voice broke up a bit, as if he pulled the phone away from his mouth. Then he went on, “So I mean it when I say I want you to stay out of this. Just . . . listen to me for once, Pen. Stay safe.”
I listened to the voice mail again. And again. His last lines rang in my ear.
Stay safe.
Just listen to me for once, Pen.
But already, I knew I wasn’t going to.
Somehow, my bike had been left in my front yard. It was set upright, the kickstand resting gently on the grass near the front porch. I walked over to Dex and Cindy’s first, but no one was home. Then I pedaled like mad for Main Street, trying to ignore the lead ball that was sitting at the base of my stomach. Questions swirled through my head.
What had Dad gotten himself into? I had no idea.
Was he in danger? Probably.
And, the million-dollar question—What the hell happened last night? But in answer, there was just a blank space in my mind, like a file deleted.
Sweet Street’s door was unlocked, but only half the lights in front were turned on. Through the window, I saw Dex standing behind the counter. He glanced up as I pulled open the door, and I could literally see the relief flooding through his facial muscles, erasing the strain in his eyes and mouth.
He didn’t even go around the counter, but jumped over it, rushing over to pull me into a hug. My face was crushed up against his shoulder, and his arms were pushing mine against the sides of my body, but it felt good to be hugged so tightly like that. We stayed like that for a few seconds, Dex squeezing me tight and both of us breathing hard, until self-consciousness kicked in and he released me suddenly, stepping back.
“Penny, where have you been? I’ve been texting and calling—”
“I know—”
“I got the text that you were at the plant, but when I went I couldn’t find you—”
“You went to the pla—”
“And then I had to tell Mom, and she had to call the sheriff—”
“Whoa, whoa, Dex, stop. Let me explain.”
Dex’s mouth snapped shut. But his eyes stayed fixed to my face, as if he was afraid I’d disappear if he so much as blinked. I filled him in on what I remembered—going to the plant, finding the strange underground area, and then the door labeled X10 and the room beyond.
“And then . . .” Dex prompted.
“And then that’s it. I don’t remember anything else. I woke up on my back porch just now and saw all your texts.”
“Your porch? We checked your whole house last night, and you weren’t there. I looked again this morning but didn’t think to check the back porch—”
“I woke up there like a half hour ago. That’s all I know.”
“Whoa,” Dex said, running a hand through his unruly hair, “so you remember . . . nothing? Just like—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Tommy Cray.”
“Dex . . .”
“Come on, Penny. This isn’t normal!”
“I know,” I said, letting out a ragged sigh. I walked over to a white wrought-iron chair by the window, and Dex took the one next to me. He still had his phone in his hand, and he sent a quick text to Cindy before looking back up at me. His mouth moved slightly, like it was threatening to spill over with questions, but instead he watched me, waiting.
“And there’s more,” I said. I got out my own phone and played Dad’s voice mail on speaker.
“Whoa,” Dex said, eyes wide. “Whoa, whoa.”
“You said that already.”
“I mean, that was definitely him. That was Ike.”
“I know. And I think this proves that the email I got before was Dad trying to throw me off the trail. I have no idea why he didn’t sound like himself in that email, but . . . this voice mail was definitely him. And there’s no way he’s in Canada. I think he’s here. He’s close.”
Dex smiled. “And he’s alive.”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling, too. “He’s alive.”
“But wait, how does your dad know you were looking into any of this? Do you think he knew you were at the plant last night?”
“I have no idea.”
“And Penny . . . what were you doing at the plant last night? Weren’t we going to go together? It would have been safer that way. . . .”
“I know,” I murmured. Dex was right, of course. And maybe if I’d waited for him, I wouldn’t be missing the last sixteen hours of my life. But aside from the irritation of me screwing up, there was something else in Dex’s expression. He was hurt that I’d left him behind.
The shameful energy that had coursed through my whole body as I pedaled to the plant the day before was all gone, but the lingering feeling remained. In trying to find answers and prove I wasn’t like my dad—hurting whoever I wanted to get what I wanted—I had, again, hurt someone. Dex.
I searched for the words to explain what had compelled me to do something so stupid, but I couldn’t think of anything that would excuse my actions. All I had were excuses, and what good were they now?
A memory flashed, suddenly and unwelcome, into my mind. Dad and Julie in the back room of Vinny’s Bar, arms wrapped around each other, faces flushed. Dad had turned to me, caught red-handed, and instead of offering an explanation—or an excuse—he’d asked me what I was doing there.
Maybe his response hadn’t been callousness, I thought now. Maybe the reason Dad never gave me an explanation about that night was because he didn’t have one, or at least not a good one. Maybe he knew explanations and excuses weren’t enough, no matter how badly I thought I wanted them. . . .
Dex was still looking at me expectantly, waiting for my own explanation. But I was saved by the jangling bell above the door of Sweet Street. Cindy ran into the store, followed by an irritated-looking Sheriff Harper.
“Oh, Penny!” Cindy exclaimed. She wrapped me up in a hug, just as fierce as Dex’s. “Where have you been? We looked everywhere, we were so worried—”
“I know. I’m so sorry,” I said. I looked up at the sheriff’s stern face and knew there was no point in delaying the truth. “I went to see if my dad might be hiding out in the old plant.”
“What made you think he might be there?” the sheriff asked. His pale eyes peered into mine, not blinking. I thought about the pictures Dex and I had found of the sheriff at the crater site, and all the questions they raised. I had no idea how wrapped up he was in all of this; all I knew was he wanted to pin Bryan’s and Cassidy’s murders on my dad.
“I had a hunch,” I replied, avoiding looking over at Dex. It occurred to me that Dex might have told the sheriff everything in the hours I’d been gone—though he might not have, so it was probably best to keep my answers vague.
The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “We searched the plant for you and found nothing. Where did you go after that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.” I lowered my eyes, hoping the sheriff would think I was traumatized, not being evasive. “I don’t remember anything.” I put my hands over my eyes and shook my shoulders a little bit for emphasis. Acting was definitely not in my skill set, but it helped that, technically, I was telling the truth.
As I rocked back and forth a little, Cindy quickly pulled me into another hug.
The sheriff wasn’t so sympathetic. “Nothing at all?”
I shook my head, thankful that Cindy’s hair now hid the better part of my face. “No.”
“Well, that’s convenient,” the sheriff said.
Cindy flew back from me then, rounding on the sheriff with fire in her eyes. “Bud, the poor girl is clearly shook up. We’re lucky that she’s back, that she’s safe.”
Sheriff Harper wasn’t at all fazed by Cindy’s anger. He crossed his arms. “You’re right, Cindy, we’re all lucky she’s safe. And that�
�s what she is, too—lucky.” He turned to look at me. “We have a killer out there—a killer of teenagers, you’ll recall—and you’re running around all night on your own? You’re lucky you’re not dead. You’re also lucky I don’t arrest you right now for impeding an investigation. It’s not your job to follow hunches. Your only job is to stay out of our way and let us know immediately if you hear from Ike.”
Again, I carefully avoided looking in Dex’s direction. There was no way I was turning Dad’s voice mail over to the sheriff.
“Do. You. Understand. Me?” the sheriff asked, eyes boring into mine.
“Yes,” I replied, my voice clear as a bell. “I understand.”
The sheriff stared at me a few moments longer before turning to Cindy. “Cindy, if you’ll come back to the station with me, I have a few more things to go over with you.”
Cindy nodded, and I could tell that after the sheriff’s stern talking-to, her concern for me was also cooling into something like anger.
“Both of you go back home and wait for me there,” she said.
“But, Mom, the store’s still open—”
“Now, Dex.” And without turning back, Cindy followed the sheriff from the store.
“Man,” Dex said as soon as they were gone, “that was tense.”
“Yeah.”
“Nice bit of acting, by the way. I almost thought you were going to cry. But Mom totally bought it, at least.” He drew in a big breath, running his hands over his eyes as if he’d been up all night. It occurred to me that maybe he had been. “So,” he said, “I take it we’re ignoring Harper—and your dad? We’re going to keep looking into this?”
I looked down at my phone, still warm in my hands. How could I do nothing? It was my dad out there. And it was the last sixteen hours of my life that were missing. It was possible, I thought, that the “right” and the “wrong” thing to do from here weren’t superclear, and that I wouldn’t know until after the fact whether I was saving the day—or screwing everything up.
I looked up at Dex. “Oh, we’re definitely going to keep looking into this.”
As the words came out of my mouth, I’d never felt more like my father’s daughter.
Twenty-Five
OF COURSE, DECIDING to get to the bottom of a mystery no matter the risks was entirely different from figuring out how to do it. A half hour later, Dex and I sat on opposite chairs in Dex’s living room, running through possibilities and getting ourselves nowhere. Going back to the plant seemed too risky, but we’d already run through the list of exactly two clues Dad had left behind in his safe notes.
We hadn’t gotten any closer to figuring out our next move when Cindy came bursting through the front door.
“All right, you two,” she said, standing before us and crossing her arms. “I’ve just had a good long talk with the sheriff—which was not pleasant, by the way—and I think you both owe me a lot of answers.”
Dex and I exchanged a quick look.
“No, no, no,” Cindy said, holding out one finger. “Don’t look at each other. Look at me.”
We did look at her, but it soon became clear that wasn’t going to be enough. Cindy’s glare bounced between us, as if not sure where to start, but then settled on Dex.
“Dexter, I want you to tell me, honestly, what’s been going on here.”
Dex held strong under his mom’s gaze for about three seconds before caving. “We’ve been looking for Ike.”
Cindy’s shoulders dropped an inch. “Yes, I’ve put that together. You two aren’t as clever as you think you are, you know. But it’s one thing to tell the sheriff when you get an email from Ike—it’s another to go out on your own to an old factory that’s been abandoned for years.”
Neither of us said a word, and Cindy finally took a seat on the ottoman between us, running her hand through her dark hair in a way that reminded me so much of Dex’s signature move that I almost smiled.
“Anything could have happened to you there, Penny. A beam could have fallen, you could have stepped on a rusty nail—”
“I could have lost entire hours of my memory?”
I gave a hopeful smile, but Cindy was not amused.
“Is that a joke? I have half a mind to take you to the hospital—”
“No, I’m okay, really,” I said. “I feel fine.”
Cindy studied me, lines of tension pulling her mouth straight. She closed her eyes as if drawing patience down from some hidden source.
“I just don’t understand why,” she said. “Why would you put yourself in danger? Why not leave it to the police?”
“The police think my dad is the killer. But you know my dad,” I said. “At least better than most people in town. Do you really think he could have killed two kids? Or that hiker?”
“Of course not.”
“The police want to blame Ike,” Dex added. “But we’re the only ones trying to help him. Something weird is going on here, Mom.”
“It’s not weird, Dex, it’s dangerous.”
“It is weird!” Dex yelled back, surprising me and Cindy both.
“There’s no need to raise your voice.”
“There’s every reason to raise my voice,” Dex continued. I widened my eyes at him, trying to get him to be cool, but he wasn’t paying attention to me. His whole focus was on his mom.
“Weird things have been happening in this town for years, and no one’s done anything about it, except for Ike. Now he goes missing, and we’re just supposed to let it go? Hope that idiot Harper and a couple of FBI agents will know what the hell they’re doing?”
Cindy shook her head, confused. I was tempted to do the same.
“No matter how competent our sheriff might be, it’s his job to solve murders, Dex,” Cindy said. “And I’m not sure what you mean about ‘weird stuff.’ But I do think you need to take a breath, calm down—”
“I don’t need to calm down! You can’t always just tell me to calm down, to forget about it. Maybe you’re the one who needs to wake up.”
“Dex, you can’t just talk to me like that. . . .” Cindy started, her voice almost a whisper.
“Someone has to! Look at what’s happening in this town, Mom. After the plant closed, it’s been dying. People have been leaving, disappearing. . . . We have to find them.”
Dex’s final word—them—hung in the air.
Cindy seemed to realize a second before me who Dex was really talking about. Her lips pursed together, and she looked like she was trying not to cry.
“Them?” she asked. “Dex, you don’t mean . . . you don’t think. . . .”
Dex breathed out heavily, and for a moment he looked angry at himself for his outburst. As if he’d been keeping something inside for a long time, and he hadn’t been quite ready to let it out yet. But it was out, and there was no putting it back in. He looked up at Cindy with plaintive eyes.
“We haven’t heard from him in over a year, Mom. A year. I’ve thought about it over and over again, and it just doesn’t add up. Dad wouldn’t just leave us in the lurch like that.”
“Dex . . .” Cindy said, her voice heavy with surprise, and also sadness.
“He wouldn’t leave me like that. Something must have happened.”
Dex’s face was open and raw, the secret belief he’d been hiding finally out in the open. I realized that I should have known, should have figured it out for myself. The clues were all there—Dex’s weird comment about dads going missing in Bone Lake, his insistence that something supernatural was at work. It wasn’t just my dad he was looking for. He really believed that somehow, through all of this, he was going to find his own.
Cindy shook her head. “No, Dex—”
“Just listen to me,” Dex said, his voice rising again. “No one ever listens. No one except Ike. I was reading online about all these people who went missing for, like, years. All over the country, this was happening. People who left without taking their things or saying goodbye, just completely out-of-character stuff. And the
re were all these weird circumstances around their disappearances. Weather anomalies, strange lights in the sky—”
“Dex,” Cindy repeated, her voice gentle, her eyes full of pain.
“It could have happened to Dad. It could have happened, Mom, it could have . . .”
But one look at Cindy’s expression, and I knew Dex was wrong. I knew she was going to say something to shatter the illusion he’d built for himself. I suddenly wanted to be somewhere else, somewhere I wouldn’t have to see the hope wiped off Dex’s face.
Finally, Cindy took a deep breath. She leaned forward, covering Dex’s hand with her own. He flinched but didn’t move.
“It couldn’t have happened to him because your dad isn’t missing, Dex.”
“Then where is he? Why wouldn’t we have heard from him in a whole year?”
“I have heard from him,” Cindy said gently. She gripped his hand tighter, but this time he pulled it away.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your dad’s still in Tampa, honey.”
Dex shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But . . . they have phones in Tampa.”
Cindy paused a moment. When she spoke, she seemed to be picking each word carefully. “Your dad went through some . . . rough times about a year ago. We decided together to keep you out of it—”
“You decided? You can’t just decide like that! He’s my dad! I have a right to know.”
“I only wanted to do what was best for you,” Cindy said, looking pained. “After he lost his job, your dad got into a little bit of debt trouble. He tried and tried, but he just couldn’t get out of it. . . . He was arrested for writing bad checks. They sentenced him to two years. He didn’t want you to know . . . didn’t want you to think of him any differently. He was always going to come see you when he got out . . . when things started looking up again.”
“Always?” Dex said, anger flashing over his features. “So you’ve talked to him recently, then. You’ve been talking to him this whole time?”
Cindy didn’t flinch away from the sharpness in his voice. “Yes,” she said.
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