Page 50 of The Witch's Orchard
“No,” I say. I take a step toward her and squeeze her shoulder. “You thought you were safe.”
She nods.
“The church,” she says. “I thought, well, hardly anyone was there but…”
“Do you remember anyone? Remember seeing anyone?”
“No,” she breathes. “No, I’ve tried so hard. But it was just cars. And I don’t go to that church. I didn’t know any of their cars except the Zieglers’ Buick. And I remember thinking that if we wanted to pee we’d have to drive on into town and use the bathroom at McDonald’s because… because I didn’t go there. And maybe if we’d gone there… maybe someone would’vehel-hel—” Her word disappears into hiccups, which she swallows before she tries again and finally gets out, “Helped us.”
I tug Mandy’s shoulder, and she comes without any resistance. Falling into my arms, she’s just as small and thin and light as I thought she’d be. She cries into my jacket for a while and then, when she’s finally all cried out, she backs away.
She pulls a phone out of her pocket and looks at the cracked screen.
“Oh,” she says. “I have to go back in.”
She turns on her phone and holds the camera view up to her face, checks her makeup. It’s still there. Amazing; drugstore mascara is truly a marvel of modern science. She scrapes at the redness under her eyes like that will help and then adjusts the strands of hair that have gone frizzy with her wallowing on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.
“Don’t be.”
“You’re going to keep looking?” she says.
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah. I’m going to keep looking.”
She meets my eyes and nods. Then, she turns and walks back into the diner.
I get in my car and drive back toward the cabin.
“Not long now, Honey,” I say. I am exhausted, I realize. I began this day before dawn, finding Molly’s body in the forest in the wan early light and now, in the dark, I slow down as I pass the Andrewses’ farmhouse. Max’s truck is there, solitary in the driveway, but there are no lights on inside.
I keep going and pull down the lane and into the driveway in front of the cabin.
There’s a sheriff’s department cruiser waiting for me.
I breathe out a long sigh. My night is not over yet.
EIGHTEEN
“YOU’RE GONNA WANT TOsee these,” AJ says as I get out of the car. He’s holding up a manila envelope and looking very serious.
“Have you seen Max?” I ask.
“Not since this morning; I’ve been at work all day. Shiloh’s been over there, though, and I think that’s all the company he wants right now. She texted me earlier, said Greg Andrews is on his way home.”
“Max’s dad?”
“Yeah.”
I let us both inside and, making my way toward the kitchen, I pause to shove my still-scattered belongings into piles.
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever been burgled?” I muse, scooping up my errant pens and notebooks and tossing them back into my rucksack. I double-check as I go to see whether anything else is missing, but as far as I can tell it’s only the casebook that’s gone.
“Can’t say that I have. This your first time?”
“No,” I say. “It happened once when I was in college, after the Air Force and before I was a PI. And it happened again when I first moved into the office I have now.”
I pause in the kitchen, flicking the coffee maker on.
