Matt felt the cool metal on his back as he stared up at the sky. The truck accelerated and wind whooshed overhead. The white noise, staring at the incandescent stars and the treetops blurring by, was hypnotic.
Matt decided to close his eyes for just a moment. The next time they opened, the sky was purple, the boy standing at the back of the truck. Matt sat up quickly. They were parked at a beachside lot. The old man and kid removed the rakes and the rucksack.
Matt jumped out of the truck bed. “Thank you,” he said.
The boy examined Matt for a moment, then dug through the rucksack, retrieved a bottle of water, and handed it to Matt.
“Hotel,” the boy said, his arm extended, index finger pointed down the beach. There were torches burning and hut-like structures. The boy and the old man walked in the other direction, headed toward a group of figures forking rakes at small mountains of seaweed.
Matt walked toward the lights, his sneakers sinking and filling with sand. He passed a group of huts and a wooden platform that had a tiki bar on top of it. A sign read MI AMOR. He pushed along, passing fenced-in cottages and villas. He came upon a cluster of beach chairs and tables. A path led to a hotel, which was dark and quiet. No one would be there until sunrise.
He sat on the canvas chair, gazing out at the ocean. He suddenly felt the sting of the scrapes on his arms and face, the grime of his travels. Looking around at the deserted beach, he stood, stretched his back, then stripped down to his boxers. He ran toward the ocean and dove in, surprised that he didn’t feel the usual jolt from the cold. It was like a warm bath. And there he floated, lost in the sound of the waves, numb from the crushing grief, until a thin line of orange appeared at the horizon. Today, he hoped, would be a better day. And really, could it possibly get worse? He’d go to the police station, meet with Se?or Gutierrez, sign the papers, and be on his way. What a shit show. He thought of Hank, the fear in her pretty face. He felt hollowed out, his thoughts fuzzy, like the whole thing was just a bad dream.
A very bad dream.
CHAPTER 26
MAGGIE PINE
BEFORE
Maggie awoke to a feeling of dread and a loud thunk. She swung her legs out of her bed and went to investigate the noise. In the hallway she found two suitcases strewn haphazardly on the floor. Another fell from the hole in the ceiling.
Then her father’s feet appeared on the folding ladder attached to the attic door. Her dad’s eyes flashed when he saw her as he descended.
“Morning, Magpie,” he said. “Hope I didn’t wake you. I’m just getting the bags for our trip.”
“I can see that,” Maggie said. This was really happening. A good night’s sleep hadn’t made him think more clearly. Cooler heads hadn’t prevailed. Maggie should call her mom. She was the best at talking her father down.
“Dad, you’re not serious about Mexico? I don’t think—”
“Why wouldn’t I be serious?”
“It’s just kind of, I don’t know, sudden.”
“It’s your senior year, you’re leaving us soon, and you deserve a trip. Besides, my doctor said a vacation would be good for me. While we’re there, we’ll check things out from the call.”
He said it so casually that it all almost started to make sense. But Maggie knew better.
“I think you need to consider that it was a prank. I mean, putting aside that, like, Charlotte is, um, dead, why would her cell phone have the name of the nightclub? It’s weird, and it’s super easy to spoof a caller ID.”
“Well, that’s why I have you, sweetie.”
Maggie furrowed her brow.
“You’re gonna trace the call, see if it really came from the club.”
Maggie let out a cough of a laugh. “I am, am I? And how will I be doing that?”
Her father clutched the handle of one of the suitcases.
“You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
With that, he grabbed the other suitcase and directed his chin to the third that had skittered down the hall to the landing of the stairwell.
“Pack beach clothes,” he said. “And I’ll need your help packing stuff for Mom.” His eyes flared again and he disappeared into his bedroom.
Maggie lugged the suitcase to her room, then plopped down on the bed. She was definitely calling Mom. At the same time, she liked the idea of sitting on a beach in Mexico. Away from her computer and her phone and her problems. Time to clear her head. And if she was honest, she liked the confidence her father had in her. He really believed she could track an anonymous call made from Mexico. Not a doubt in his mind. Still, she needed to get Mom involved. She tapped out a text: