Jo lay down beside her daughter and pulled Lucy into her arms. Their world always seemed so safe and predictable. But the truth was, they’d just gotten lucky so far. Jo cried for Mandy Welsh and the mother who hadn’t been able to protect her. And though she didn’t often pray, Jo begged any god that might be listening to grant her the power to keep her own child safe.
She woke the next morning with her arms still wrapped around Lucy. The covers had been lovingly tucked around both of them, and she could smell oatmeal cooking. Jo peeked in the bathroom mirror and rubbed away the mascara smudges under her eyes before heading downstairs.
Art was at the stove, stirring frozen blueberries into a pot of bubbling oatmeal. She didn’t interrupt him. She wanted to watch. There was something so comforting about seeing him there in his bare feet and boxers, his hair still sleep-tousled and a streak of blueberry juice on his shirt. But she’d barely come to a stop when Art turned straight toward her, as if he’d felt her presence. “You going to be okay?” he asked.
“I don’t have a choice,” she said.
“Why don’t you take the day off?” he suggested.
“I’m not going to the gym today.”
“Really?” He sounded surprised. “I mean, great. I think that’s wise. We can do something nice, just the two of us. Maybe. . .” His words trailed off when he noticed Jo’s pained expression.
“I need to find out who murdered that girl.”
Art closed his eyes and shook his head as if he should have known it was too good to be true. “Jo, the police—”
“No one’s going to stop them from doing their thing,” Jo said. “I’ll just do mine, too.”
“But why?” Art asked. “Why do you have to do anything?”
“Because I saw a girl’s body rotting inside of a trash bag. And I swear to God, Art, I will never get that picture out of my head. I hope someone would do the same thing for me if it was my daughter who’d been killed.”
“Our daughter,” Art corrected her as he always did. She braced herself for the argument to come, but her husband simply nodded. “Okay. I get it.”
“You don’t think I’m crazy? You won’t try to stop me?”
Art’s smile seemed hopeless. “Would you let me?”
Jo closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around him. “Nope,” she said with her head on his chest.
“For the record, I do think you’re nuts,” Art said as he planted a kiss in her hair. “But that’s always been part of your charm. Just promise me you won’t get yourself hurt.”
“I’ll try. Right now I’m going to go out for a run. Gotta stay fit if I’m going to fight all the bad guys. I’ll be back in time to take Lucy to school.”
Jo jogged down Danskammer Beach Road, expecting to find it deserted as usual. She knew she wouldn’t encounter the spirits Nessa had seen, but she wanted Mandy and the other girls to know she was there. They would not be forgotten. She hadn’t told Art exactly where she was headed, of course. He would have warned her against it, and he’d have had a good point. Whoever had murdered the girl and dumped her body in the scrub might return for a visit. A woman running along an empty highway in the early morning would make an irresistible target. The killer could be lurking out there right now, waiting for another victim to wander into his trap. Jo hoped so. She fantasized about what she would do to the asshole if she found him—and wondered if she’d grown powerful enough to rip him limb from limb.
A truck sped past with two men in the cab. It swerved to the center of the road to avoid her, but didn’t slow. Another car drove by a minute later, ferrying a group of young women with their windows rolled down. More vehicles followed, one after another, all headed away from town. Jo couldn’t imagine where they all might be going. Even on summer weekends, Danskammer Beach didn’t attract many swimmers or sunbathers. The road was out of the way for anyone not bound for the Pointe.