Culling Pointe
Jo made it home with barely enough time to jump in the shower. She pulled on some clean gear and grabbed her keys. Lucy was already waiting for her in the car.
“Hey, I’ve got a question for you,” Jo said as she slid into the driver’s seat. “What would you do if someone you didn’t know offered you a ride?”
Lucy gave her mother the stink eye. “Do you think I’m dumb?”
“Okay, fine.” Jo tried again. “Imagine your dad forgets to pick you up from school and someone offers to drive you home. Let’s say it’s someone you know, but not very well.”
Lucy appeared thoroughly unimpressed by the latest scenario. “I have a phone, Mom. I’d just call you to come pick me up.”
“What if a man tried to drag you into his car?”
“Then I’d scream my head off and kick him in the balls and bite and punch and make the pervert wish he’d picked some other kid.” Lucy sounded like she’d enjoy nothing more.
“Good,” Jo said, though the conversation had done nothing to settle her nerves. The dead girls down by the beach must have had similar chats with their mothers. “But there’s one more thing I want you to do if anyone ever tries to hurt you. I want you to look them right in the eyes and tell them ‘If you mess with me, my mother will fucking kill you.’ Make sure you use the word ‘fucking,’ and try to look crazy when you say it.”
“Sure. I can do that.” Lucy seemed confident.
The traffic in front of Lucy’s school was worse than usual, and there were fewer kids walking alone. The line of cars came to a stop. “Show me,” Jo ordered.
Lucy lowered her chin and looked up at her mother with a hideous grin. “If you mess with me, my mommy’s going to fucking kill you. She’s going to rip your intestines out of your butt and shove them into your eye sockets and out through your mouth.”
“Yeah.” Jo nodded with genuine admiration. “If that doesn’t do the trick, I don’t know what will. Did you come up with that last part by yourself?”
“Yep!” The adorable eleven-year-old Lucy was back. “Pretty good, right?”
“Absolutely terrifying,” Jo commended the girl. The line of cars surged forward until they reached the drop-off point. “But seriously, Lucy, be careful. I can’t lose you. And I don’t really want to kill anyone. So please stay safe, okay?”
“Okay, Mama.” Lucy leaned over and planted a kiss on her mother’s cheek. And then she was out, the car door was slammed, and Jo’s most precious possession was skipping away from her across the schoolyard. It wasn’t until the SUV behind her honked that Jo finally stepped on the gas.
Her unease only intensified when she pulled up in front of Nessa’s prim two-story white colonial ten minutes later. Though she knew her friend to be an early riser, there were no signs of life inside. Jo felt the first flicker of panic as she hurried down the flagstone path to the front door. She should have checked on Nessa the previous night when her call went straight to voice mail. After all, there was a killer in town, and as anyone who watched shows like Dateline or Newsnight would know, Nessa’s picture-perfect house, with its jolly red door and white picket fence, was the ideal setting for a gruesome murder.
Jo rang the bell six times and tried the door handle. She’d started pounding with her fists in frustration when Nessa answered the door, still in the outfit she’d worn the previous day. The sunlight hit her face, and she recoiled with a hiss like a vampire.
Jo grabbed hold of the doorframe. Relief had weakened her knees. “Oh my God, I thought you were dead.”
“I wish,” Nessa said. “What time is it?”
“Eight forty-five,” Jo informed her. Then she leaned toward the woman and sniffed. “You smell like a winery. Did you throw a party after I dropped you off?”