“I thought you said Maureen killed herself,” I said, biting each word.
“Yeah, and I still think that,” he said. “But with three girls gone—two of them in your band, might I add—I’d be a fool to not come here and ask questions. If you, Brenda, and Maureen have some sort of suicide deal, it’s stupid. Dead is dead. There’s no glory on the other side.”
I didn’t think Father Adolph would approve of that message. “Maureen didn’t kill herself. Brenda didn’t kill herself. I’m not going to kill myself.” The image of the pills I’d stolen from Mrs. Hansen flashed across my brain. I shoved it back.
Sheriff Nillson was staring at me, his expression unreadable. “If you remember anything that could help me find Brenda,” he finally said, his voice gruff, “you tell your dad, and he’ll tell me. In the meanwhile, I want you to know that I plan to have my deputies search my place, without me there. I won’t have anyone thinking I’ve got something to hide. Rumor is a termite. It will eat your home one grain at a time if you let it. I will not have you kids destroy what I’ve built, do you understand?”
I glowered back at him, refusing him the satisfaction of an answer.
I was cocky.
That’s when I still believed Brenda would be coming home.
BETH
Tumbling rumbling. Laughter. A yell.
So many men overhead. At least five by the sound of them, and not the kind he’d brought with him earlier. Those men had walked lightly, their voices tight gunshots of words. Those men had been invited, she could tell, but they also knew they shouldn’t be there. The men above now didn’t care if they’d been asked. They were striding. Policemen, maybe, or military.
Only a few feet of air and some insulated beams and floorboards separated Beth from them. They were talking loud enough she could catch every sixth word or so.
Girl . . . search . . . alive.
Something that sounded like “dodo.”
If she could hear them, they would certainly hear her if she opened her mouth.
“Help! I’m Elizabeth McCain, and I’ve been kidnapped! I’m down here!”
That’s what she would yell, if she could.
He’d caught her off guard. Again. He was an animal that sniffed out when she slept. Or maybe he had a peephole, up high where she couldn’t discover it. This time, she hadn’t had the lantern burning when he slid in, though, so unless he had some magic night-vision goggles, it’d been dumb luck that he’d caught her sleeping.
That, or reckless urgency.
He might have known these men were coming.
In fact, the more she thought about it, her brain dry and tight from thirst and starvation, that would explain everything. She assumed he’d come to violate her, but no. He’d rushed into the room. Secured her wrists behind her back with duct tape before slapping a strip over her mouth, the crisp ripping sound so shocking in the half-light that it tasted like lemon in her back fillings.
Then he’d shoved her into a corner as if she could be more hidden, hissed into her ear to be quiet or else, and hurried out, locking the door behind him. The men with their stomping, we-belong walks had shown up less than twenty minutes later.
Think, Beth.
Had he been unhappy as he taped her? Scared? She didn’t know his moods, not really. She knew the pretend man who’d sat in her section at the diner, confident and flirtatious even after she’d sent wet-blanket vibes so strong they could have snuffed out a small fire. She also knew the man who came and violated her, a dumb huffing monkey, a slave to his urges. That man was in and out quick.
Then there was the third version. That was the man who’d swapped out her chamber pot and water bucket three times those first days, the man who’d left her the bread. That version hadn’t shown up in a while.
Don’t forget to feed the zoo animals, buddy.
She started to laugh but then caught herself. When he’d first bound her, she’d made the mistake of fighting the tape at her wrists. The exertion provoked a coughing fit, which caused her nose to stuff up. With her mouth taped shut, she’d almost suffocated. It took every reserve ounce of self, of Beth, she had left to calm her mind, then her heart, then her breathing.
Not like this, she’d told herself.
I’m not dying like this, you son of a bitch.
Full, strong breaths once her nose was clear, deep in her lungs.
She could grunt and growl to try to get the attention of the men overhead. It wouldn’t work, she knew that. She’d already tested her voice with the duct tape over her mouth. It was pitiful.