The Bakersville Dozen

by Kristina McBride

  “It’s Roger Turley, isn’t it?” Hannah said. “They’re busy because he’s been arrested?”

  “I’m not supposed to discuss the details of—”

  “Any charges filed are a public record.”

  Tiny shrugged. That smile surfaced on his lips again. But there was nothing friendly about it. “He hasn’t been arrested. He’s been taken into custody.”

  “Whatever. It’s all over the news,” Hannah said. “I was wondering if—”

  “Usually, I ask the questions.” His irritation was evident as he looked from Hannah to me. “I have a quick one, if you’ll indulge me before we move on to whatever it is that you called about.”

  “Okay,” I said. His eyes trailed from my face all the way down to my feet and back up again, leaving me with the distinct feeling that I had just been visually violated.

  “Your label,” he said. “The label given to you in the video—”

  “Like a virgin,” Hannah interjected, stepping closer to my side. “What about it?”

  “We’ve been wondering what it means.” Tiny cleared his throat. “The other labels are fairly clear. But yours is a bit ambiguous.”

  “Are you asking my sister if she’s a virgin?” Tripp’s words felt like a challenge.

  Tiny held his hands in the air, like he was surrendering, but the look in his eyes made it clear he was enjoying himself. “We need to understand every aspect of this case. The label attached to Bailey doesn’t offer enough information for us to determine—”

  “I don’t see how Bailey’s private life is any of your business.” Tripp stood tall, chest out, and took a step toward Tiny.

  “Yo. Dude,” Tiny said, meeting him, upping the ante with a challenge of his own. “Chill, okay. Just doing my job.”

  I stole a quick glance at Wes, my cheeks blazing, wanting to hide away because no one knew the truth about my virginity. No one but the two of us.

  Tiny shifted his weight, looking from Tripp to me, his expression impossible to read. Something felt way off.

  “Bailey called about Mr. Turley,” Wes said, placing himself at an angle, so that he was partially between Tiny and me. I was startled at first, with Wes so close.

  “What about Mr. Turley?” Tiny asked, his eyes narrowing.

  I looked to Tripp, hoping he would take over. I wasn’t prepared for the change in plans and I had no idea how we were going to get out of this without spilling the whole truth. Or even if we should. Suddenly, every way this could play out felt dangerous.

  “I saw Mr. Turley,” Hannah said with a shrug. “At school. By the locker room. Bailey wanted to make sure the police were aware. That was before we turned on the TV and saw that he’d been arres—Sorry. Taken into custody.”

  “That’s all?” Tiny asked, rolling his head from side to side like he needed to crack his neck.

  “It kinda felt like a big deal,” Hannah said.

  “I had a few questions, too,” I said, jumping in. “I wanted to know if you think it’s safe for me to go out this weekend. Roger Turley is otherwise occupied. It’s graduation. I’ve just felt so trapped these last few months.”

  “I’m sure it’s been difficult,” Tiny said. The smile was back. Fake and placating.

  “This whole thing has me so off balance. I want information one minute, and I’m afraid of getting it the next. But what I need, more than anything, is to feel normal again. Even if it’s just for one night.”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard about Jonesy’s party tomorrow,” Tripp said, backing away from Tiny. He ran a hand through his hair in a casual way that didn’t match the tension in his muscles. My brother was just as sketched out as I felt. So was Hannah. I could practically hear her Creeper Radar signaling a red alert. “Bailey and Hannah want to go. I’m trying to convince them to stay home.”

  “Turley being in custody does not mean you’re home free,” Tiny said. “Best idea is to lie low and let us do our job.”

  “Are you?” Hannah asked. She smiled then, a mirror of Tiny’s expression, tipping her head to the side. “Wait, I didn’t mean for that to sound so bitchy.”

  “Hannah meant to ask if you have any other leads,” Wes said. “We all know Turley’s your main suspect. But you haven’t been able to nail him. I know you’re not supposed to share information, but, for the sake of the girls, maybe you can tell us something.”

  “We’re considering all leads and piecing together the details. So, yes,” Tiny looked pointedly at Hannah, “rest assured that we are doing our job.”

  “Do you think he’s going to be there?” I asked. “Whoever’s behind all this?”

  Tiny’s expression remained flat, giving away nothing. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Yeah, but you kind of implied it by telling us to steer clear,” Hannah said. “So you must think it’s someone close.”

  “That’s not—” Tiny ground his teeth as he looked out across the yard, toward the woods. “The bottom line is that you can’t trust anyone right now—not the people you think you know, or the people you definitely don’t—because we haven’t ruled anything out. But whoever this is, however this person is taking the girls, he’s figured out a way to make them disappear.”

  “If you look at it that way,” I said. “I’m at risk no matter where I am.”

  “If you have to get out,” Tiny said, “head over to the event at Sylvie Warner’s house. Her parents have requested police surveillance, which the chief approved, so it’s your next best option. Don’t go near the Jones’s farm, you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear,” I said, feeling strange, like he had just thrown down a dare.

  “Well,” Hannah said with a sigh, “it’s too bad you had to drive all the way out here for nothing.”

  “Just carrying out my duty. We’re keeping a close eye on all of the girls,” Tiny said with a nod and a quick glance at Hannah’s cleavage. “Especially this week, given the pattern of the abductions.”

  “We appreciate,” Tripp said.

  “I do have one more question,” Tiny said, jerking his chin toward the woods behind us. “What were all of you doing out there, anyway?”

  We turned as one—Hannah, Tripp, Wes, and me. I could feel the tension, could almost hear our thoughts pinging through the air. Was this some kind of test?

  “Just taking a walk,” Hannah said, turning back to Tiny.

  Tiny’s eyes wrinkled in confusion. “After calling and asking for someone to stop over to file a report on evidence found?”

  “Bailey said you’d be at least an hour.” Wes shrugged. “It’s a nice day.”

  Tiny narrowed his eyes again, looking us over before he held out his fist. “You guys take it easy.”

  My brother paused, looking Tiny in the eye before he bumped Tiny’s fist with his own. “Thanks for stopping to check in.”

  “We’ll see you around, man,” Wes said with a nod.

  “You bet.” Tiny leaned in, pointing from me to Hannah and back again. “Be safe, girls. Make smart decisions.”

  “On it,” I said, my skin crawling under his condescending tone.

  Tiny hitched his pants up as he walked away, grabbing the radio from his waistband and saying something to the dispatcher on the other end as he moved toward his cruiser.

  “Holy shit,” Hannah said. “Was that creepy with a capital C or am I just too freaked out by what we saw at the pond to judge fairly?”

  “Creepy?” Wes said, watching as Tiny reached his car and pulled the driver’s side door open. “That was totally fucked up.”

  “I couldn’t do it,” I said. “I could not tell him about Leena. Something felt so—”

  “Wrong?” Tripp asked.

  “Yeah,” Hannah said. “Like, he-could-be-the-one-behind-this-whole-thing wrong.”

  “Or I’m-trying-to-catch-you-breaking-my-rules wrong,” I added.

  “What was with him asking about your label?” Wes said.

  Tripp looked over his shoulder as the cruiser’s en
gine let out a low rumble.

  “Tripp, you know the guy,” Wes said. “What’s his story?”

  “He was always a little off. Never quite fit in. People teased him some, but not much more than anyone else. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine. Other than a quick ‘’Sup’ at the gas station or Flying Pizza, I haven’t talked to him since graduation.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Hannah said. “You never know anyone all the way. And if you think about it, a cop would have the easiest time of all pulling off this whole sick thing.”

  “Jesus, guys.” Tripp scraped his hands through his hair. “You really think he could be the killer?”

  “It’s a definite possibility,” Wes replied. “Enough that it wasn’t worth sharing what we know about Leena. Telling the wrong person would put Bailey in serious danger.”

  “He was different than I remember.” Tripp drew his shoulders back. “He seemed cocky. Bold. Aggressive.”

  “It felt like he was playing a game,” Hannah said. “Like he was saying one thing by telling Bailey to skip the party when he really meant the opposite. You think he’ll be there?”

  “Tiny would blend in at Jonesy’s in a heartbeat,” Tripp said. “He graduated with Jonesy’s oldest brother, Brennan. Enough people from that class will be in town by now. They’ll all show.”

  Hannah snapped her fingers. “During that press conference the other day, the hot detective from the FBI—Kegler or Kegan or something—said they’re not sure if the kidnapper is from town and holding some grudge against the girls or if the video lured him here.”

  “But?” I asked, because I knew that was coming next.

  “But if you think about it, the killer has to be someone from town. He knows so much about each girl. Emily disappeared somewhere between volleyball practice and home. That’s, like, a seven minute drive. Then Leena vanished after work, right after two of her co-workers at the ice cream shop saw her get in her car and drive away. JJ went missing after a late-night jam session with her band, which was a typical weekly meet-up. And Becca was taken right after play practice. The person taking them knows an awful lot of details to be from out of town. Whoever this is didn’t just know where they’d be; he knew their routes home.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “All the evidence points to this being someone those girls trusted.”

  “Like a police officer,” Wes added.

  “Abductors are known for being master manipulators,” Hannah said. “Some fake injuries to seem harmless, and then attack only after their victim is trapped. Others act like victims themselves. There are cases where a few dressed like cops to fake their way into a home. But actually being a member of the police force would be the best front of all.”

  “If we’re right and it’s him,” I said, “this whole thing just got more extreme.”

  “Either way,” Wes said, “we’re on our own. We can’t start talking when we don’t know who we can trust. Protecting Bailey is the most important thing, and I’m not sure we can do that with Tiny in the mix. Even if we ask to speak to the lead detectives to try to warn them that their suspect might be a local cop, word would get back to him. If it came down to it, no cop is going to believe us over him.”

  “Agreed,” Hannah said. “After that run-in, we have to keep the police out of the loop.”

  “For now.” Tripp looked down at the grass, letting out a grunt of frustration. “But we have to tell them eventually.”

  “Obviously,” Hannah said. “But not until we figure out how to keep Bailey safe. In the meantime, let’s get to the school and see what we can find out about that tiara. Information will be our best defense, so let’s be sure to arm ourselves with whatever we can.”

  CHAPTER 11

  5:22 PM

  “Shit!” Hannah tugged at the front doors at Bakersville High’s main entrance. The teacher/visitor parking lot yawned behind us, empty except for Hannah’s silver Escape, which was parked at an odd angle in the first row of spaces. “They’re locked!”

  “The cafeteria,” I said. “We could try the delivery ramp.”

  “Nah.” Tripp shrugged. “If the front is locked, all the other doors will be, too.”

  “They might have forgotten one,” Hannah said hopefully.

  Wes shook his head. “With Roger Turley on school grounds today, they didn’t forget to lock anything.”

  “Wes is right,” Tripp sighed. “Our only chance is the door by the custodian’s office. The night shift won’t remember if I’m a current or past student. If I pound long enough and give some sob story about forgetting my wallet, someone might let me in. I’ll run around back and see if I have any luck.”

  “Go,” Hannah said. “Do whatever you have to. Just get one of these freaking doors open.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Tripp dashed past two or three classrooms, disappearing around the corner.

  I stepped to the middle door and pressed my forehead and nose against the sun-warmed glass, squinting my eyes to see inside. The atrium was bathed in a gold-tinted glow from the skylights above. I had a clear view of the main office—doors closed, lights off—and two of the four hallways leading away from the center of the building—the locker-lined paths a blur of deep shadow. The only thing that stood out was the display case, still illuminated from recessed lights in its ceiling.

  My phone vibrated. I pulled it from the pocket of my capris, smiling at the message from Jude. He’d sent a single heart emoji. I sent one back, and swiped to my text queue, realizing I’d missed a whole string of messages from the girls.

  AMY L—4:33PM:

  WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH FOOD TOMORROW NIGHT?

  SYLVIE W—4:33PM:

  MUNCHIES. EVERYONE BRING A FAVE.

  CARRIE H—4:37PM:

  I CALL BROWNIES!

  KELSEY H—4:38PM:

  THE MAGIC KIND THAT WILL MAKE ME FORGET MY TROUBLES?

  The next text was a GIF from Beth, featuring a turtle wearing a rainbow party hat while eating a brownie. I laughed. Hannah looked over my shoulder. Behind her, Wes paced back and forth, scrolling through something on his phone.

  “I love the turtle,” Hannah said. “Is that the girls?”

  “Yeah.” I scrolled farther down, reading the final three messages. “They’re making plans for tomorrow night.”

  “They know you’re not going?”

  “Sylvie does. But the rest?” I scrunched my nose up. “Don’t think so.”

  BRITTANY S—4:42PM:

  I’LL GRAB PRETZELS AND BEER CHEESE. SOMEONE ELSE HAS TO BE IN CHARGE OF THE REAL ALCOHOL.

  BETH K—4:43PM:

  ON IT. I CAN’T BELIEVE WE’RE ABOUT TO MISS THE BIGGEST PARTY OF OUR LIVES. SUCKS. MAJOR. SUCKAGE.

  AMY L—4:43PM:

  DON’T REMIND ME.

  KELSEY H—4:4PM:

  HENCE THE POT BROWNIES, PPL.

  I replied, keeping my message short and sweet. GONNA HANG WITH HANNAH TOMORROW NIGHT. SORRY TO MISS, BUT I PROMISE TO BE THERE NEXT TIME.

  “So, this hunt totally sucks,” Hannah said, grabbing my hair and twisting it into a loose braid. “But I’m glad we’re a team again.”

  Wes backed away, stepping out from the shadow of the overhang that covered the front entrance to the high school. I looked back through the main doors to the display case. The teardrop shaped pictures of each girl swayed slightly on thin strands of fishing line, and the items representing each stood out against the stark-white background.

  “Wes,” Hannah said, “what the hell are you doing?”

  I looked over my shoulder and found him leaning against one of the brick pillars that framed the overhang, his cell phone pressed against his ear. He lifted a finger to his mouth, shushing Hannah.

  “O’Brien!” Wes said, a smile spreading across his face. “How you been, man?”

  “Oh my God,” Hannah said, spinning toward me. “He’s making a social call when your life is on the line? Totally not cool.”

  “Agreed,” I said with a shrug. “B
ut that’s Wes’s style: Focus for a minute. Get bored. Move on.” I turned back to the window, pressing my nose against it, concentrating on Leena’s picture.

  “What are you doing?” Hannah asked, sliding up to my side.

  Wes laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m back in town. And I’ve got a question for you.”

  “I’m looking at the memorial,” I said, ignoring Wes as best I could, my eyes trained on the two red-and-black pom-poms spread just under Leena’s picture, hearing her voice leading the ever-popular ‘Go, Fight, Win!’ cheer. “I want to see with my own two eyes that the tiara—Leena’s tiara—is missing from the display. I know you said the one she was wearing at the pond looks identical, but there’s only one way to be sure.”

  “I hate to say it, but this could easily be a trap,” Hannah said. “Some wild goose chase to distract us while the killer makes his next move.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Right, man.” Wes’s voice was softer now. I could tell he’d turned away from us. “You’re so right.”

  “I see the pom-poms,” Hannah said.

  My breath clouded the glass in front of me. I leaned back, swiping my hand across the door to clear my view.

  “So, I was just checking in to make sure you still remembered that incident,” Wes said. He paused. Then laughed again, way too loud. “Yes. The incident that occurred during the spring of my junior year.”

  Leaning forward, I narrowed my focus to those two pom-poms, to their very center, where the tiara should be perfectly perched. My vision swam under the effort to focus on something so far away.

  “Do you see it?” Hannah asked.

  I squinted, trying to force the tiara to be right where it belonged. But there was nothing. Not even the slightest glimmer of light splashing off rhinestones.

  “Then you remember that you owe me, right?” Wes asked.