She zipped up her fleece jacket and peered over her shoulder at Luke’s grave. Had a serial killer murdered him and Grace too? Who knew what type of horrible criminals a corrupt police officer like Detective Tasca knew.
“We should get going,” Jen said.
They bicycled to a crumbling stone wall marking the far boundary of the cemetery. A dirt road ran parallel to the wall.
Jen lifted her bike over the low wall. “Phone me when you get home,” she called as she turned onto Old Schoolhouse Road and disappeared out of sight.
Zoe glanced up again at the menacing clouds. She knew she should take the paved road back through the cemetery. On the other hand, the dirt road would take her directly to the main road instead of winding back and forth all over the place.
She hoisted her bike over the wall.
The dirt road took her through a wooded area along the border of the cemetery. The tires of her bike kicked up dust leaving an unpleasant gritty taste in her mouth.
After a few minutes, the road surface turned to cracked asphalt and veered away from the cemetery. Up ahead the road made a right bend at a small historic cemetery with a rusty iron gate. Then the road straightened out again as it followed the edge of the property that once housed the now abandoned Ladd School, also known as the Rhode Island Residential School for the Feeble Minded.
“No trespassing” signs, pockmarked with shotgun holes, were posted along the overgrown border of the property. Through the trees and poison ivy vines twisting up the gnarled gray tree trunks Zoe could just make out some of the rundown brick buildings from the old school. Beyond she could see a tall brick chimney, jutting menacingly above the ragged tree line like the pictures of the chimneys at the Nazi extermination camps.
She slowed down and glanced around. The air had become eerily still. The only sound was the harsh cawing of crows.
After taking a deep breath to fortify herself, she pushed on. It could not be much more than half a mile to the main road.
As she passed the entrance to the old school, she heard a scraping sound, like nails dragging across a blackboard, followed by a thud.
Her skin prickled. She recalled how two of the boys on her bus said they had gone to the abandoned school one evening and heard horrible blood-curdling screams coming from the old hospital. And when they tried to escape they had almost run right into the path of a black phantom truck prowling the property looking for trespassers. Fortunately, it did not see the two boys hiding behind the building.
Zoe shuddered. What the driver did to trespassers she could not even begin to imagine. It gave her the creeps even to think about it.
She flinched. There it was again—the sound.
She stopped pedaling and listened. Her hands felt clammy and icy cold.
But all she could hear was the thumping of her heart and the scratching of dead leaves blowing across the broken pavement, punctuated by the harsh cries of the crows.
Then she heard another sound—like a car door slamming.
Her heart skipped a beat. The phantom truck!
Tightening her grip on the handlebars, she jumped back on her bike.
A few seconds later, the roar of an engine shook the air. Zoe screamed in fright, almost falling off her bike. In the mirror on her handlebars she saw a black pickup truck with oversized tires turning out from the entrance to the school. She gasped. It looked like the same black truck that had passed their stopped school bus a few days ago. Her heart pounding a mile a minute, she bent over her handlebars and pedaled as fast as she could.
To her left the road dropped off into a swampy area. On the other side of the road, scrubby woods with an undergrowth of bull brier created a thorny barrier.
She glanced back.
The truck was less than one hundred feet away now and closing in.
If she tried to ditch her bike and make a run for it through the thick underbrush he would surely be able to catch up to her.
Up ahead she could just make out the hum of traffic on South County Trail.
Fighting her panic, she pedaled faster. Her lungs felt like they were going to burst, and the muscles in her calves burned.
She had almost reached the main road when the truck pulled over to the shoulder of the road not more than twenty feet away from her, its engine rumbling. Breathing hard she looked over her shoulder again and caught a glimpse of hellish flames and an image of Satan painted on the fenders.
A deafening roar ripped through the air. Startled, she swerved and hit a pothole and fell off her bike landing hard on her side in a mud puddle.
The truck revved its engine one more time and started creeping toward her, its deep rumbling shaking the ground beneath her.
Fear jolted through her like an electric current. Was he going to run over her and pluck out her eyeballs and feed them to the crows like he did to those other kids?
Grabbing the front wheel of her bike, Zoe scuttled back like a crab under a small grove of trees just as the giant wheels passed over the spot where the bike had been.
A creepy-looking guy with long greasy blond hair rolled down the window and lowered his sunglasses. “Hey, cutie, wanna ride?” he called out, leering at her. He ran his tongue slowly along his thin chapped lips.
Zoe felt like she was going to gag. Leaping up, she ran to the other side of the cedar trees and collapsed onto a wide grassy area in view of the main road.
A tractor passed by on the opposite side of the road, pulling a flatbed stacked with bales of hay.
The creepy guy rolled up his window, then took off, kicking up gravel as he veered right onto the main road.
Zoe rested her head in her hands trying to collect her thoughts. Who was that horrible man and what did he want?
She remembered how Grace had written in her journal that the thug who had pushed her into the wall had blond hair and creepy blue eyes—just like the man in the truck. He had also told Grace he was going to make her pay for it—whatever “it” was. She gulped. Hadn’t her parents said he was out of jail now and the police were looking for him?
She glanced around. Maybe he was hiding out here at the old school. The police would never think of looking for him here. Now that he’d killed Grace, maybe he was coming back to finish off Zoe because she’d heard him in the room and could testify against him.
Her knees shaking, Zoe stood and scanned the traffic going by.
The truck was nowhere in sight. She thought of calling her parents from the phone in the country store up the road, except they would probably just scold her for having gone near the abandoned school in the first place. They had told her before to stay away from there.
She took a deep breath. She would just have to take her chances. Retrieving her bike, she started pedaling up South County Trail toward home, all the while keeping a lookout for the truck in case he doubled back.
****
By the time she got home the sun was sinking below the horizon and dusk was settling in.
She looked back over her shoulder one more time as she wheeled her bike down the driveway just to make sure that creepy man had not followed her home.
Mom was outside in front of the house filling the bird feeders. “Zoe, what happened?” she asked, setting down the bag of sunflower seeds. “How’d you get so dirty?”
Zoe looked down at her muddy clothes. “I’m sorry. It’s just, well, I wanted to see where Uncle Luke was buried and…”
“Your mouth—it’s bleeding,” Mom said, reaching out to touch her cheek.
Zoe pulled back. “It’s nothing. I fell off my bike—that’s all.”
“Is something wrong, Zoe?”
“No—I mean, yes,” Zoe hugged her arms to her body and looked toward the road. She was exhausted and still shaken from the experience. Tears welled up in her eyes. “You know that bad man who pushed Aunt Grace and made her brain bleed?”
Mom nodded. “What about him?”
“I…I think I saw him.”
Chapter Nineteen
/> Zoe stared at the blue dress with the frilly white collar and wide white belt hanging on the back of the closet door. A matching cashmere cardigan, the tag still on it, hung on a hanger behind it. She slipped into her jeans and an old red Exeter-West Greenwich soccer league shirt and headed downstairs.
As she passed the basement door, Zoe could hear Mom working out on the treadmill.
The television in the kitchen was on low.
Dad sat at the table leafing through a pile of papers. The cordless telephone lay beside him. He looked upset, almost like he was going to cry.
Zoe had never seen Dad cry before. She wondered if it was something she had done. However, he didn’t even seem to notice she’d come into the room.
She walked over and sat down at the kitchen table.
Mom appeared in the doorway, a towel draped around her neck and sweat glistening on her forehead. “How’d you sleep, Zoe?” she asked, walking over to the sink and getting a glass of water.
Zoe shrugged. “Okay,” she lied.
Actually, she had not slept well at all. She could not get that creepy man’s face out of her head. She glanced at the phone lying beside Dad. She wanted to call Jen—to tell her what had happened after they left the cemetery and how it was the same truck that had passed their stopped school bus. But now obviously wasn’t a good time.
“The visiting hours at the funeral home start at four o’clock,” Mom said. She poured some Cheerios into a bowl then put the cereal bowl and a spoon on the table in front of Zoe. “Also, just so you know, the church service is tomorrow morning. After the service we’ll be going to the Quidnessett Cemetery for the burial.”
Zoe looked up. “But I thought Aunt Grace was going to be buried at the veteran’s cemetery next to Uncle Luke,” she said. “Isn’t that the way it’s always done? So they can be together forever?”
Mom shook her head. “No, we checked it out. The veterans’ cemetery only allows one spouse to be buried next to a veteran and Luke’s kids insisted he be buried there—next to their mother.”
Zoe frowned. “It’s just not fair,” she said.
“Maybe not, but those are the rules.”
Zoe fidgeted with her spoon. She did not feel the least bit hungry. After a few moments she said, “Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Did you tell the police about the guy I saw yesterday?”
“I did, and they said they’d look into it.ˮ Mom walked over to the fridge and got out a carton of milk and put it on the table. “Also, just so you know,” she continued, “Detective Tasca called this morning and she and her crew are coming over later this afternoon.”
Zoe screwed up her face in a pout. “Again? But why?”
Mom glanced over at Dad.
He let out a deep breath. “Because,” he said, “the missing passport turned up in your room, Zoe—that’s why. She thinks Grace might have hid other things there too. So I gave her permission to search your bedroom and also the…”
“But there’s nothing there!” Zoe protested. “Just ask Mrs. Worthen. The journal’s not in my room.ˮ She swallowed, trying to push down the panic rising in her chest.
“Of course it’s not—we know that,” Mom said. “It’s just that…” She paused as though searching for the right words.
“What your mother means,” Dad said, “is Luke’s kids have this idea Grace may have killed Luke for his money and…”
“But, Dad, they’re all wrong!” Zoe cried. “Aunt Grace would never hurt anyone.”
Dad looked down at his hands and shook his head. A flicker of something crossed his face. Exhaustion? Doubt? Zoe wasn’t sure.
Mom sighed and tapped her head with her index finger to show just how crazy she thought the accusations against Grace were.
Zoe frowned and turned away.
“I’m sorry, Zoe,” Mom said, putting her arm around Zoe’s shoulder. “We didn’t realize how much this would upset you, or we wouldn’t have given Detective Tasca permission to do it today. We just want to get this nonsense over with as soon as possible—so Grace can rest in peace.”
Zoe pulled away. “Well, it’s not fair,” she said, stomping her foot. “It’s my room, and I didn’t say she could search it.”
Dad pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and let out a long breath. “Well, life isn’t always fair, Zoe,” he said in a subdued tone. Placing both hands on the table, he stood, then disappeared into the family room, closing the French doors behind him.
Zoe sat back in her seat, trying to keep from crying. “Mom? Why is Dad mad at me all the time?”
“He’s not mad at you, Zoe. Your father is just tired—that’s all. This has been a big strain on him.”
Zoe did not answer. She had seen Dad tired before and this, she knew, was more than just tired.
“Look,” Mom said, trying to sound cheerful, “why don’t you eat some of your breakfast. Maybe you’ll feel better after you get something in your stomach. There’s fruit salad in the fridge too if you want some.”
Zoe forced herself to take a few bites of cereal. The cold cereal felt like a lump of coal in her throat. Maybe Detective Tasca, she mused, had told Dad about that creep who murdered Grace being on the loose right here in Exeter, and that was what was upsetting him.
Her jaw tightened. She set down her spoon. On the other hand, who knew what a crooked cop like Detective Tasca was capable of. She was probably conspiring with that horrible man. And now she was going to be snooping around Zoe’s bedroom while they were at the funeral home. It just wasn’t right. Maybe she was even going to sneak the creepy guy into Zoe’s bedroom and then he would jump out and chop Zoe up into little pieces while she was asleep, just like Craig Price did to those poor little girls back there in the cemetery.
She pushed the bowl away, crossed her arms on the table, and dropped her head onto them. A wave of nausea passed over her at the thought of him there in her bedroom. She made a mental note to check under her bed and in her closet as soon as they got home from the funeral.
Mom reached over and stroked Zoe’s hair. “I know this is hard on you, sweetie,” she said. “But it will be all over soon. You’ll see.”
Zoe didn’t answer.
“Look, I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you need right now.”
Zoe nodded miserably.
“I’ll just be in the next room with your father if you need me.”
After a few minutes Zoe sat up, reached for the remote and switched the television to the Disney Channel. Cartoon figures flashed across the screen as animated sheep jumped in a lazy arc over a sleeping dog.
Zoe slumped back in her chair and closed her eyes as she remembered the journal. What was she going to do about it? She knew she had to get it to the real police—to let them know what a huge mistake they were making about Grace—and about Detective Tasca.
But how? She thought long and hard. Maybe she could hide the journal at the bottom of her sweater drawer. When the police came to search her room they would think Grace had hidden the journal there. Except—Zoe bit her lower lip—it was not exactly small like the passport, and Mrs. Worthen had managed to find the passport. And even if Zoe did find a hiding spot that had escaped Mrs. Worthen’s eagle eyes, what if Detective Tasca was suspicious and made Zoe take a lie detector test? If that happened she would be toast for sure.
A sense of hopelessness swept over her. How could she have made such a mess of things? Now she was probably going to end up in that awful prison for kids—unless she got murdered by that creepy guy and chopped up into crow food first.
She rubbed the back of her neck and stared at the television. An ad for Froot Loops was just ending, and a new cartoon, “How to Be a Spy,” starting.
Then she had an idea. Maybe she could strap the journal to her body—like they did in spy movies—and drop it into a mail box near the funeral home. Luke’s kids would probably be there at the wake pretending to be all broken up over Grace’s death, being the phonies they wer
e. She could even put their return address on the envelope—even better. She knew her parents kept Luke’s kids’ addresses in the desk. Then the police would think Luke’s kids were the ones who had the journal all the time. Zoe took a deep breath. She felt a little better at the thought of them being handcuffed and thrown in jail. It would serve them right.
Except—she groaned and slapped her forehead. Oh, no! She had left the envelope with the address of the police on it in the garage next door. What a dumb mistake! Now she would have to get another envelope—and stamps too.
She stood and peered through the French doors, which Mom had left open. Dad sat at the desk reading something. Mom was standing next to Yoda, who was lying in a patch of sunlight, gazing out the window.
Zoe dropped back down in her chair and buried her face in her hands. Now what?
Yoda padded into the room and past Zoe toward the back door. Turning, he looked up at her and whimpered.
“Zoe, can you take Yoda out?” Mom called from the family room.
Zoe sat up. Why not? It would give her a chance to get the envelope. “Sure, Mom,” she said, “I’ll take Yoda for a walk right now.”
“That’s sweet of you, Zoe, but you can just put him outside on his lead for now. Mrs. Worthen is coming this afternoon to take him for a nice, long walk while the police are here.”
“No, really, I want to,” Zoe insisted, trying not to sound too desperate. “Please, can I?”
“Okay—why not? It will probably do you good to get some fresh air. Just make sure you’re home in time for lunch.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Following Yoda into the back hall, Zoe quietly closed the door between it and the kitchen.
“Yoda, stay,” she said in a low voice as she slipped on her fleece jacket. Then she dashed up the back stairs and grabbed the journal from her room. She did not want to take a chance on the police arriving early and finding it in her room.
Yoda was sitting at the bottom of the stairs waiting for her when she returned.
“Don’t be long,” Dad said as she headed out the door with Yoda.
****
Wet autumn leaves blanketed the shoulder of the road, glittering in the late morning sunlight. The air smelled fresh and earthy. Zoe passed several houses, some barely visible from the road through their wooded yards, and headed back through a narrow trail in the woods which came out behind the garage next door. She pushed the back door open. The envelope was sitting on the boards under the window.
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