Page 97 of All You Want
I narrow my eyes, wondering why Chad isn’t watching more carefully.
“Todd, they’re grown women,” Tami reminds me, taking my attention. “Where’s our itinerary?”
“I had to print yours last,” Neil says. “Here you go. It looks like you guys start the farthest out.”
“That’s okay,” Tami says. “I thought we’re supposed to stay on this side of the creek.”
I give Tami a reassuring hug. “The map doesn’t look drawn to scale. Here’s Hangman’s Bridge. I don’t think it’s too far, and you have on hiking boots.”
“Like my sheriff’s girlfriend costume?” She points to the toy star and a toy gun. “Don’t worry, this isn’t loaded.”
“You look great. Let’s take a selfie before and after.” I stretch out my arm and point my cell phone camera back at us.
Everyone takes their selfies with their itineraries, and Tami hashtags and uploads to social media. We linger around to take group pictures and pick up our pillowcases, then we’re off, trekking toward our stations.
I’m halfway across the field when I get a call.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Tami. “This always happens, but I have to take it.”
“I understand.” She waits at my side.
It’s Shane. “Are you alone?”
“No, with Tami,” I reply.
“She might not want to hear this, so can you step away from her?” His voice is strained.
I cup my hand on the phone. “I have to take this in private. Police business.”
“Sure, I’ll head over to the bridge and wait for you there.” She takes her flashlight and shines a path toward the creek.
“Not too far,” I call out, but Shane is speaking again.
“You’re not going to like this,” he says. “But that friend of theirs, Larissa who was dressed like a fox. She’s missing.”
“We know she’s out with some guy, but what happened?” Dread creeps up my collar, and I hope it’s not a body. “Is she okay?”
“Don’t know,” he says. “I got a text message from her cell phone with an image.”
“Of what?”
“It’s a picture of Larissa with a gag on her mouth inside a mineshaft. She’s covered by a blanket, so I can’t tell if she’s injured or not. But she looks terrified and not there of her own free will. The surroundings are dirt, and she’s on a stained mattress, definitely not having the good time her friends think.”
“Where is she?”
“It’s pretty dark, and the flash made her eyes red. But as far as I can make out, it looks like a mineshaft or cave.”
“Who took her there, did you ask?”
“I tried calling, but she’s not answering, and the text messages stopped,” Shane says. “Let me text you the picture. You can see for yourself. There’s a hairy glove on top of the blanket, almost like it’s some kind of sign.”
I open the image he texted.
Lying on top of the woman’s lap is the Bigfoot glove.
“I got another text message,” Shane says. “She says it was Bigfoot. The guy who kidnapped her was the one who you said Tami hired. Did you find out anything about him?”
I should have said something earlier, but at the time, I didn’t think it was important. After all, the mask was thrown into or near the dumpster, and anyone could have found it.
