by Lee Goldberg, Scott Nicholson, J A Konrath, J Carson Black,
“You sure Chrissy’s mom’ll bring you home?” her mom said as they pulled up in front of McDonalds.
“Uh-huh.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“She doesn’t mind. She likes driving.”
“You have to be home by nine o’clock. No later.”
“Sure, Mom.”
She got out of the car, holding her new shoulder-strap purse that went with her sandals, leaning in and giving her mom a kiss on the cheek. And then she was free.
Her mom pulled out and nearly got wiped out by a bigger SUV. She never did pay attention to her driving. She was just totally unawares, driving away but looking back, waving. As if she’d never see her again.
She always did that.
Her mom treated her like a kid in so many ways, but she also treated her as if she was already an adult. She really liked to “talk things out." Communication was a big thing in their house. Her mom—who had just recently asked Summer to call her Beth—always said, “There’s no problem too big to tackle if we just communicate.”
Summer glanced at her watch. Seven o’clock. She was glad about the timing. Butthead Bryan was coming over tonight, and when that happened, her mom, who was usually pretty level-headed, kind of lost it. She would do anything for him. She acted like a servant, waiting on him hand and foot. Bryan would be thrilled that she, Summer, was out of the way, over at a friend’s house. That way they could do the nasty.
She knew that James wouldn’t pat her butt the way Bryan patted her mom’s, right in front of her. James had respect for women. When she and James made love, it would be beautiful. It would be right.
She found a table by the window inside so she could see the parking lot. It wasn’t dark yet, but it was getting harder to see, especially because headlights were just coming on and they glared in the plate glass windows. Still, she’d know a Z4 anywhere.
She waited, and she waited.
It was getting darker by the minute. Every time a car pulled into the parking lot, she felt this incredible thrill. But none of them was a Z4. She glanced at her watch again. Had it really been ten minutes?
That was when the first doubt crept in. Maybe he was going to stand her up. She pictured having to walk to Chrissy’s in the dark and facing her friends, telling them he didn’t show up.
No. He wouldn’t do that. She and Jamie had some very open and honest conversations in the two and a half months since they’d met on WiNX, had talked for hours online and on the phone. She had fallen in love with him even before she knew what a hunk he was.
She knew he loved her. He sent her the MP3. He wouldn’t have done that if he wasn’t planning to meet her.
Of course her dad found out and took the MP3 player. He even read their e-mails!
Her face flamed as she thought of that.
“Summer?”
She looked in the direction of the voice. A middle-aged guy was making his way through the restaurant toward her.
“Are you Summer?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.” She waited for him to come up to her. He was breathing through his mouth and sweating from the heat. He wasn’t much taller than she was and looked a little like Mr. Murray, who taught fifth-period math.
“I’m a friend of James. He got tied up and couldn’t make it, so he asked me to pick you up." The man added, “I bet you’re thinking you shouldn’t go with me, but really, it’s all right. James is staying with me while he’s here.”
“You’re Dale?”
He looked surprised. “He mentioned me? Well, that’s cool. All he’s been talking about is Summer Summer Summer. I didn’t think he’d even mention me.” He smiled. His smile was so homely, it made her feel good. “Let’s go rustle up old Jamie.”
She followed him through the parking lot to a white GEO Prizm—not exactly what she’d been dreaming of.
He held the car door open for her, and for a moment she almost balked. Technically, he was a stranger. But if she didn’t go with him, it would all be for nothing. She wouldn’t get to go on her date.
Plus, James had mentioned Dale.
Dale was looking at her, frowning a little. As if he thought she didn’t trust him, and this disappointed him.
She got in.
They pulled out of the parking lot and drove south on Swan. She was aware that he kept sneaking peeks at her. She knew she looked good in her denim skirt and her pink peasant top; getting looked at was nothing unusual. “Why couldn’t James come?” she asked him.
“He’s working on his folks’ motor home. The air conditioner is on the fritz.”
“His parents are here too?”
“Yeah. They’re good friends of mine. That’s how I got to know Jamie. He was the one who got me into dirt bikes."
James had told her that he raced dirt bikes. He also loved to hike and camp. They had that in common; when her parents were still together, they had a camper and would go all over the place.
But now she had another worry. James’s parents. What if they thought she was too young? What if they called her mom? Worse, her dad? She thought about this as they drove. Pretty soon she noticed they were driving through an ugly area, past a big electric plant. Dale glanced at her. “Almost there.”
He turned onto the Old Benson Highway. This was a scrubby part of town—desert, old motels, and mobile home sales. She wondered why James would stay way out here.
They drove past motels with western names, crummy old places with peeling walls and rusty signs. Past a vacant lot that seemed to go on forever. The headlights picked out the desert broom that grew alongside the road. Her mom had a constant battle with the stuff in their little yard of the new townhouse.
“Here we are,” Dale said.
A weathered sign under a light on a tall pole said, EL RANCHO TRAILER COURT. Dale turned onto a narrow lane between two rows of trailers jam-packed together.
“He’s staying here?”
“It’s close to the airport.”
Gravel popped off the GEO’s tires as they drove slowly up the lane. The trailers looked dented and ancient—one of them had painted-over windows and was the color of dried blood.
That carnival ride thrill again, only this time it didn’t feel so good.
She glanced at Dale. He was humming a tune under his breath, like he was the happiest man in the world.
The window shades of the trailers they passed were all pulled down, dim light seeping out from underneath, flickering blue. She pictured hillbillies in their underwear watching TV and drinking beer in front of an electric fan. They drove by a dead palm that looked like a witch’s broomstick, and stopped behind a motor home parked at the end of the lane.
“Here we are,” Dale said.
Suddenly she felt queasy. James was going to college in the fall. He owned an expensive sports car. His father was a surgeon. What were James’s parents doing in a place like this, when they could have stayed at one of the inns by the airport?
“Come on,” Dale said, getting out. He came around to her side and opened the door.
At least the motor home looked good. Clean-looking. New tires. That dispelled some of her worries. The other thing that made her feel better was, for some reason, THE ROPERS wheel cover under the back window. It had to be James’s last name. She tried it on for size. James Roper. Mrs. James Roper.
And she liked the curtains in the window. Not blinds, but lace curtains. Something a mom might make. James’s mom?
Still, she balked. “Where’s James?” she asked.
“He’s inside.”
“I thought he was working on the air conditioner.”
“He’s probably finished by now. Come on, let me introduce you to his parents.”
That made her hang back even more. She didn’t doubt they would call her mom the minute they saw her.
Dale gave her a little nudge. “Come on, don’t be shy.” He unlocked the door to the motor home and stood there, waiting for her to step up inside.
The confined
space was stuffy like it had been shut up. It didn’t seem to her that the air conditioning had been on recently. And wouldn’t you have it on in order to make sure it worked?
“Jamie!” Dale called into the interior. “Come on out here! Milady awaits!”
That convinced her. She stepped up into the tiny living room.
“Oh,” Dale said, as he closed the door behind them. “You know something? I just remembered, Jamie went to the store.”
“What about his parents?”
Dale was looking at her, his face sad.
Alarm bells were ringing in her head now. Her stomach tightened, and her heart started pounding in her chest, her throat, her ears. She suddenly felt an overwhelming premonition that she had just stepped off the face of the earth.
42
Beth Holland had been watching TV, one eye on the window. Any moment she expected to see the sweep of headlights announcing Marie Lansing’s car.
She had gotten Bryan out of the house by quarter of nine. It was for Summer’s sake, because the two didn’t get along, and things were tough enough on children of divorce. Even though Summer knew they were involved, she didn’t want her to have to face the evidence first-hand. And so she had hustled to make her own bed and even wash the wine glasses and throw the wine bottle into the recycle bin.
Everything had been straightened up by nine o’clock. But nine became nine fifteen, then nine thirty. And now she was starting to worry.
She’d put off calling because she didn’t want Summer to think she didn’t trust her. But this was ridiculous. Steeling herself, she went to her address book and found the number.
Marie Lansing answered the phone.
“This is Summer’s mother. May I speak to her?" She didn’t want to embarrass Summer by telling Chrissy’s mother what it was about. They would have their talk and that would be it.
Confusion in Mrs. Lansing’s voice. “Summer? She’s not here.”
The girls couldn’t still be at McDonalds at this time of night. “She told me she was going to meet Chrissy and Jenny at McDonalds, and then go to your house.”
Marie Lansing said, “Chrissy’s here. Let me put her on the phone.”
As she waited, Beth started to feel more than worry. She told herself not to be silly. It was probably a misunderstanding.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Chrissy? Do you know where Summer is?”
“Huh-uh.”
Fear sharpened to a point. Take a deep breath. “I thought she was meeting you and Jenny at McDonalds.”
“No,” Chrissy said carefully. “I think she said she was busy tonight.”
“Busy?" She could hear her own voice, up an octave.
“I don’t know what she—I mean, I don’t think we had any plans,” Chrissy said quickly. “You could call Jenny. Maybe she knows.”
She gave Beth the number.
Dreading what she would hear, Beth called Jenny Conley’s house and started praying as she waited for Mrs. Conley to go get her daughter. Went through the same questions, the same elusive replies.
Whatever Summer had going, it didn’t include Jenny or Chrissy. Summer had lied to her.
Shaken, Beth put the phone down.
She stared at it for a moment. Then she picked it up again and called Buddy.
Buddy Holland was in the process of opening the door to his house in Bisbee when the phone rang. He locked the door behind him and carried the pizza from the Greek place and the beer from the Safeway over to the kitchen counter.
Then he stood over the phone, waiting for the message. He never answered the phone because of telemarketers. He hated them with a passion, but there was nothing he could do to them, so he didn’t waste his energy. Two things you had to just let slide in this world—spam and canned phone calls.
After the beep, Beth’s voice— strained and anxious—came on. “I don’t know where Summer is—“
He grabbed up the phone.
“Ohmygod, Buddy, she lied to me! I can’t believe it …”
The moment he heard her voice, he knew what had happened.
She was babbling. “I dropped her off at McDonalds and that was the last—“
“Beth, stop it. You need to calm down. Tell me exactly what happened. Don’t leave anything out.”
She told him. About the friends at McDonalds. About Summer’s promise that Mrs. Lansing would drive her home at nine. He glanced at the clock. It was a little after ten now.
Summer had been gone three hours.
When she was through talking, he said, “Listen carefully. I want you to call TPD right now. Have them send someone out to the house. Ask for either White or Cheek. I’m on my way.”
“She could just be meeting a boy. Don’t you think we should look—“
“Call them. Do it now. I’ll see you in an hour and a half.”
“You don’t think—“
“We don’t have time to think. Call them.”
When he hung up the phone, he sat down and closed his eyes.
This would be the end of his career. He had to face that. But his career was, at this moment, as unmourned as the uneaten pizza in the cardboard box. It meant nothing.
One thing for sure: He wouldn’t want to live if he never saw his little girl again.
He swallowed his pride and made the two calls: one to the Tucson Police Department, the other to the Department of Public Safety. He managed to convince the people who mattered that they needed to recall Laura Cardinal from Florida—now.
By the time she arrived, he would have psyched himself up sufficiently to tell her the truth.
43
She was a wily one—a cop’s daughter—but just like the others, she’d ended up doing what he wanted. That was the secret about girls. They aimed to please. Girls could be easily pressured, talked into things—they didn’t trust their own instincts. They shut that part of themselves down because they didn’t want to appear to be uncool, or rejecting, or out of the loop. So they were malleable.
Even now, he could tell she didn’t believe it. She was still trying to apply the ways of the world she knew to this new circumstance. She’d been raised to be polite. She’d been raised to be a good girl. His heart ached for her. Politeness could be a dangerous thing in this day and age.
And yet it was what had attracted him to her. That aura of innocence. Oh, she pretended to be wise in the ways of the world, but she wasn’t. She was like a kitten with its hair standing up, making itself seem bigger than it was.
That quality—that politeness, that kindness—that was what he had loved in Misty. Sadly, Misty had grown out of it. She’d had disappointments, she’d fallen into bad ways, she did drugs, but he preferred to remember her the way she was when they were in love.
He watched Summer’s face. She was staring around, her bewilderment turning to panic.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
He kept his voice steady and low. As you would talking to a frightened animal—and really, that was what she had been reduced to. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I think I’d better go home.”
“In a minute. Just let me explain to you—“
“Where’s James?”
This was always the part he didn’t like. He hated that moment when he had to tell them the truth. Still, he had learned that it was better to get it over with rather than to scare the girl even more. “James is not coming.”
“Where is he?" She had that look in her eye now, a dawning. He reached behind him, made sure the plastic handcuffs were there, stuck down the back of his jeans. He didn’t want to use them, but he would if she didn’t see reason.
“I want to explain this to you so you understand that I have only your best interests at heart. I’m James. I’m the person you wrote to, I’m the person you fell in love with.”
Her mouth dropped open. She started for the door. “Let me out of here!”
He moved quickly and barred the doorway. She couldn’t stop herself and
stumbled into him, her face almost even with his, her tiny breasts in that peasant top brushing against his chest.
That did it. He wanted her now. Right now. Wanted her badly.
He closed his eyes, sidling away from the proximity of her breasts. He couldn’t let her touch him again. If she did, that would be it. That would be it because he had such a tenuous grip now on himself now—
He slid away further. Aware that he was hard as a rock.
No, he told himself. He knew it wouldn’t work that way. It just wouldn’t. He’d learned from experience. Girls needed to be wooed. His mother had told him that.
He closed his eyes and started to pray. As he prayed, he pictured what it would be like, the two of them, driving all over the country, going wherever they pleased…
“You don’t know how great it will be,” he said to her. “We can go all over—the Grand Canyon, Disneyland. Have you ever been to Six Flags Over Texas?”
“I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to go home. You take me home right now.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t.” He held his hands up, open. “It’s for your own good.”
But he was looking at those small breasts. Like tiny buds, just barely stretching the peasant top. And her skin. Golden, like honey. There were white stripes, tan lines where she’d worn a swimsuit or sundress that had tied at a knot at the back of her neck. He could see it because of the blouse’s scoop neck. And the skirt. So short, so tiny, the narrow little girl hips. The smooth long legs. Like satin.
Misty had dressed like that. His mother used to talk about how slutty she looked. How if Misty were her child she’d dress her in nice dresses. He agreed with that. They hid a girl’s wares. Even pure girls had wares. It was just the way God made them.
“Take me home or I’ll scream.”
“Go ahead. I’ve heard two screaming fights since I’ve been here.” He tweaked open the shade, the lace curtains. “See—nobody around now. They’re all at work or inside their trailers.”