Desert Crossing (19 page)

I set my milk shake on the table, unable to drink the rest. “I put the bracelet in his truck.”

Kit stared at me. “What?”

“I put it in his truck, under the front seat,” I said.

“You're not serious.”

“Listen, Kit. It'll prove she was there. We can call the police and—”

“What do you mean you—Wait. That's what you were doing? Getting the bracelet?”

“Yes. I put it in his truck. Kit, if we don't do something, no one will ever know. They'll never catch this guy. And it's not just the girl! There were others. You saw what was in that box. And someone like Elena, you said yourself she can't go to the police. The bracelet, it'll prove the girl was in his truck.”

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Kit pushed violently back from the table, banging hard against the booth. “Listen to me: It doesn't prove anything.”

“But—”

“I keep telling you.
The police don't know the bracelet belongs to the girl.
For that charm to mean anything, they'd have to find the bracelet with
her,
not him. Don't you see?”

“But—”

“Besides, you don't know whether that girl was ever even in his truck. You don't know.”

“But she was! Kit, I know it.”

“Look, you may think that, but it's not up to you. You can't just decide the guy is guilty, and then, like, plant evidence in his truck. I mean, who do you think you are, the goddamn judge and jury?”

He glared at me.

“But—”

“But what? You can't just make this stuff up as you go along.”

I shrank back from him. “I wanted to fix it,” I said miserably. “I just … I can't stand for him to get away with it.”

“Get away with what? We don't even know if he did anything!” Kit yanked his wallet out of his jeans and tossed a twenty on the table. “Shit,” he said, standing up.

“Wait,” I pleaded.

He picked up the soda can and banged it against the edge of the table, gripping it tight. “Now we have nothing. We can't even show the bracelet to the cops and tell them what happened. They'll never find it now. They have no reason to search that guy's truck. And even if they did, the bracelet could belong to anyone—his girlfriend, his daughter, anyone.”

I felt a surge of shame.

“You're right,” I said.

“Yeah. Now you tell me.”

He turned and strode to the door. I scrambled out of the booth and followed him.

“Kit, wait.” I ran after him, grabbing his sleeve.

“No,” he said. “Go back to the motel. You've got the key.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What do you think I'm going to do? Get the bracelet back.”

“But how?”

He barely looked at me, jerking free and walking toward the highway. “I know where he lives.”

“I'll go with you.”

“No.”

“But you don't know where I hid it.”

“Under the seat. I can find it.”

“Kit.” My fingers circled his arm. “I'm sorry,” I said. “I'm really sorry. Let me go with you.”

He shook free and kept walking. I ran after him. “You need someone to read the map.”

“No, I don't. I know how to get there.”

“Kit, please.”

We stood there, at the edge of the parking lot, separated from the motel by a moat of pavement. The neon cactus flickered urgently above us, full of its own bright, false assurance. Kit gave me a long, angry look.

But then he shrugged, and when he crossed the road in the darkness, I was right beside him.

34

It was hard to see the turnoff. We drove past the gas station, a low fortress of concrete, and I kept my face to the window, peering desperately into the black night. The moon was a weak sliver.

“Here it is,” I said quickly, seeing a break in the right side of the road.

Kit turned sharply, grinding gravel.

“Slow down,” I said. “It's too loud.”

The rumble of the car on the rough road was deafening. He glanced at me.

“How will we ever get close enough to his house without him hearing us?” I asked.

“We'll do it,” Kit said. But his voice was grim. We reached a hummock in the road and suddenly we could see his house.

Our car slowed to a crawl, but still I could hear every crunch of stone. “He's going to hear us,” I whispered.

“He may not even be home,” Kit said.

But as we came closer to his driveway, I could see the truck. A light was on in the front window.

“Okay,” Kit said. He pulled off the road and killed the engine, turning off the headlights. We sat in the quiet car, looking at the house. The yellow light from the front window shone steadily into the yard. I couldn't see anyone inside.

Kit put his hand on the door handle.

“No,” I said. “Let me go.”

“Uh-uh, wait here. It won't take long.”

“Kit, you don't know where to look.”

“I can find it.”

I touched his arm. “Let me go. It'll be faster.”

He looked at me doubtfully, then back at the house. “Okay,” he said finally. “Be careful. And hurry.”

I opened the door as quietly as possible and slid my foot onto the road. I was still wearing my flip-flops. Not good for running. I got out, still watching the house. I gently swung the car door closed, my hands trembling, but didn't latch it. Then I started across the yard toward the dark shape of the truck.

As I got closer to the house, I could see the window was open. I heard the faint drone of the TV, voices interspersed with canned laughter. The front door was still. My heart was pounding, my blood beating in my ears. Silently I crept to the passenger side of the truck and felt in the dark for the handle.

Still no sign of movement from the house. I lifted the handle and slowly opened the door. It made a low, groaning noise, and the light flashed on, flooding the cab. Panicking and blinking against the sudden brightness, I scrambled onto the seat and flipped it off. I crouched there, frozen, my eyes fixed on the house. But the TV voices continued, and nobody came to the window.

Okay, I thought, hurry, hurry, hurry. I shoved my hand under the seat, groping. Paper crinkled beneath my nervous fingers. I felt that hard handle of something and pushed it away. Where was the bracelet? I reached farther, leaning over the foot well, my arm almost entirely under the seat. I knew where it should be. Here on the side. But maybe when he was driving, maybe on the rough road, it had rolled and tangled itself somewhere else. I stretched my fingers flat and ran my palm desperately over the wreckage beneath the seat.

Then I felt something small and smooth. One of the charms, I was sure of it. I curled my fingers around it and tugged. Immediately the bracelet sprung free. Its chain swung against my skin.

“What do you think you're doing?”

The high, nasal voice came out of the darkness right next to me, and as quickly as I sprang back, out of the truck, it wasn't fast enough.

He was standing there, staring at me, his face a mask.

I couldn't speak, couldn't swallow, couldn't breathe. I turned to run, but his hand shot out and grabbed my arm. His grip was as tight as a vice.

“What have you got there?” he asked, edging between me and the passenger seat, his eyes flicking down to my hand.

I tried to hide it, spooling the metal links into my fist. But not before he saw it. Even in the darkness, I could sense his eyes focusing on it.

“It's hers,” he said finally. I felt a cold blade of fear slice through me. “Where'd you get it?”

I couldn't answer. He shook me suddenly, a sharp jerk that almost knocked me to my knees. I cried out and stumbled back to my feet, his hand still locked on my arm. “Tell me,” he said. “Where'd you get it?”

I shook my head, gulping. But then he squeezed my arm so hard I yelped, and he brought his face close to mine. I could smell him, a cold, sour smell. I cowered. “What are you doing out here?” he said. “Where's your boyfriend?”

He ducked suddenly and shoved one hand beneath the passenger seat. When he brought it out again, it held something small and thin. Something with a handle. I couldn't see it, and then I could. A knife.

“Please,” I said, my voice strange and shaky, not my voice at all. “Please.”

And then I heard a sound. A hissing sound, close to us. Wicker turned, lifting the knife, and I squinted into the darkness. Something silver came flying toward us.

“Run, Luce! Now!” I felt wet drops spitting over me and heard a dull crunching sound as the soda can smacked the left side of Wicker's face. He let go of my arm, staggering backward.

I ran. Blindly across the hard ground, through the rough grass, straight into the night. When I tripped in my flip-flops, I kicked them off, and the rough stones stabbed my bare feet. I could hear Kit behind me, and then Wicker's grunt and cry. “Hey!” But we were at the car, scrambling inside, and Kit was fumbling with the keys, shoving them into the ignition.

“He's coming, he's coming, he's coming,” I sobbed, watching the darkness shift, both shielding and revealing whatever was out there.

The engine roared, the tires spun on the gravel, and Kit turned the wheel sharply. We veered off the road for a minute, making the turn, and then Kit gunned the engine and sped back toward the highway.

He didn't look at me. He was leaning over the wheel, his eyes locked on the road. “Is he following us? Can you see the truck?”

“No,” I whispered. “No, not yet, but Kit, hurry. Hurry.”

The road disappeared behind us. I couldn't see the house. The car jolted onto the smooth surface of the highway, and I huddled in the dark, the bracelet clutched in my hand.

35

“We have to call someone,” I whispered, barely able to speak. I kept looking behind us. No headlights.

Kit nodded and tossed me his cell phone. The panel of turquoise light beamed brightly in the darkness, but I couldn't get a signal.

“Wait till we're closer to Kilmore,” Kit said. He kept checking the rearview mirror. Finally he turned to me. “You okay?” he asked.

I nodded mutely.

“Luce? Are you?”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing my voice into some semblance of its normal self.

“You should have let me do it.”

I nodded again, but I was thinking of what Kit had said about putting the bracelet in Wicker's truck. About me being judge and jury.

“Kit, when he saw the bracelet, he said, ‘It's hers.'”

Kit didn't say anything.

“He did this to her.”

“Yeah.”

Finally the
NO SERVICE
message on the phone stopped blinking. “I want to call Jamie,” I said.

“You should call the police.”

“I know, but Jamie first, okay? You have the number at Beth's, right?”

Kit shrugged. “Listen to the messages. It's on there. There must be a dozen from Jamie.”

I started to play through the messages, but the first one was from Lara. I stiffened when I heard her voice. “Hey, Kit—”

Kit must have realized who it was, because he reached for the phone. “Here, you don't know how to work it. I'll get the number,” he said quietly.

He dialed for me and handed it back. A few seconds later, I heard Beth's anxious voice say, “Hello?”

“Beth, it's Lucy. Can I talk to Jamie?”

“Lucy! Where are you? We thought you'd be back hours ago. What's going on?”

“We found…” I sucked in my breath. “We found the guy, Beth. The one who left her there.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, a beat of nothing, then her voice, puzzled, disbelieving. “What do you mean? How do you know?”

“It's a long story. Can you call the police for us?”

“Have them come to the motel,” Kit said.

I nodded at him. “Could you tell them to meet us at the Desert Inn in Kilmore? That's where we're staying. And, Beth … could you tell them to come soon?”

“Lucy,” Beth said. “What happened?”

“I can't,” I said. My voice was shaking. “There's too much. I'll tell the police. But can I talk to Jamie?”

I heard the hesitation at the other end of the line, then Jamie's worried voice. “Luce? Where are you?”

“Jamie, we found the guy. The one who left her on the road. We think he killed her.”

“But it was heart failure,” Jamie said.

“I know, I know, that's what the police thought. But we went to his house and we found pills, ecstasy—”

“Ecstasy?” Jamie sounded stunned. “Luce, you have to get back here. Now. Mom and Dad have both called, like, five times today. Asking where you were, who you're with, what's going on.”

I sighed. They knew just enough to be worried. “Call the police for us, okay? Right now?” I said finally.

“Okay,” Jamie said. “But Luce—are you all right?”

“Yeah,” I said. I missed him, suddenly. Missed not just him but myself, who we were four days ago, before any of this happened. I thought of the two of us when we were kids, all the crazy stuff we used to do. And how things turned out fine, more or less, every time.

Jamie sighed. “Man, do I want this to be over.”

“Me too,” I whispered.

I clicked off the phone and held it in my lap. If it was so hard to explain to Jamie and Beth, how would we ever tell the police?

*   *   *

It was well past midnight when two police cars pulled into the motel lot. We'd been watching the highway, sitting in silence on the edge of Kit's bed. I could feel things changing, the tipping of one reality into another. It reminded me of that moment on the road when we first found her. The rising panic was the same. And the sense that everything was about to be different.

I had the bracelet in my hands. I slid it back and forth between my palms and stared at the tiny charms. I thought of the girl buying each of them, carefully choosing the horseshoe for luck, the treasure chest for its surprising cache of jewels. The bracelet was an intimate record of who she was.