Page 26 of Murder Road

“I never believed it,” Gretchen said. “I always thought it was a stupid campfire story. Something the guys made up to scare the girls. I never thought I’d know—” Her expression twisted and she bent, putting her hands on her knees. “Rhonda Jean,” she said, her voice hoarse with grief, and then she started to sob.

You let her go, I thought, staring at her bent back. All of you let her go, and now she’s dead. But she was so young, practically a child. I had to remember that. I hadn’t been a child for a long time.

I reached out and touched her between her shoulder blades, rubbing up and down. Through the flannel shirt, her skin was so hot I could feel it. I patted her awkwardly.

“Why did she leave?” I asked.

“She liked Mitchell,” Gretchen said without pausing, her hands still on her knees. “Mitchell didn’t like her back. He didn’t even notice her. She felt like she didn’t fit in here. She’d heard of a camp in Nevada that was hiring summer staff. She said she was going to get a bus down there and apply. She was hoping to see the Grand Canyon.”

So Rhonda Jean hadn’t just left, then. She’d told at least one person about her plans, though when she walked away in the middle of the night, she had probably done it on impulse. Maybe she’d decided she’d had enough of being overlooked by the guy she liked. Then, as she’d walked away to her death, the guy she liked had sat there, smoking a cigarette and watching her leave, oblivious to her feelings. Life wasn’t fair.

“Tell me honestly,” I said as Gretchen straightened up and wiped her eyes again. “Forget the Lost Girl for a minute. Is there anyone here that could have done this?”

“You mean, followed her and killed her?” Gretchen’s brows furrowed. “No—I mean, not that I can think of. I don’t know most of the people here very well.”

“Does anyone here have a car besides Todd?”

“No.” She shook her head. “These murders started in the seventies, before a lot of us were born. It doesn’t make sense that it was one of us.” She looked at me, alarm starting in her face. “Wait a minute. Will the police come here?”

“Yes, they will,” I said.

“When?”

I shrugged. Whenever they get it through their heads that Eddie and I didn’t kill Rhonda Jean. “Probably soon.”

“My parents will kill me.” She turned back to the belongings she was packing. “I’m getting out of here.” She pulled something from the pocket of her bag. “You can have this. Give it to her parents, maybe. I don’t want it.”

I took it. It was a photo, taken on the beach. Todd was standing there, making a goofy face. Gretchen was standing next to him, smiling. And next to Gretchen was Rhonda Jean, with her freckles and her shy smile. The sight of her hit me like a blow.

The photo was slightly blurry and overexposed, but each face was clear. “You’re sure you don’t want this?” I asked.

“I don’t want anything to do with any of this,” Gretchen said, her voice thick with misery and fear. “I can’t look at it. Take it.”

I slid the photo into my pocket. “Do you want a ride somewhere?”

Her glance was brief, but I read it clearly. “I’ll get Todd to take me. There’s probably more than one of us leaving. We’ll take his van. I think he owes us.”

She was right; he did. But she also didn’t trust Eddie and me.

Maybe Todd had killed Rhonda Jean. Maybe she had gotten in his van instead of a mysterious truck, and Mitchell was just covering for his friend. It was certainly possible. Or maybe Eddie and I were lying, and we had killed Rhonda Jean ourselves.

Either way, Gretchen had to take a risk to get to the bus station. She was picking the devil she knew, at least a little bit.

I’d been this girl. For years and years, I’d been her. She’d never believe me if I told her the truth.

“Be careful,” I said to her. “Please.”

But Gretchen had turned away, and she already wasn’t listening to me.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Robbie’s car was blistering hot by the time we got back inside, and Eddie had to roll the windows down while he started the engine. I winced as the backs of my thighs hit the hot vinyl seat.

“You okay?” Eddie asked me, and I knew he didn’t mean my scorched skin.

“I’m fine,” I said.

He let the feeble air-conditioning start to blow as the car cooled down, but he didn’t put it in gear. He just waited.

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