And Then She Was Gone(45)

“Where are we going now?”

“The fountain. Then we need to go thirteen benches down.”





13





Thirteen Benches





“Thirteen,” Chandler announced as they arrived at the bench. It sat at the edge of the walking path between two hills at the bottom of a little valley. The path here was wide enough for four people to stroll abreast.

Jack jogged up the slope behind the bench. At the top, a large field of grass stretched away until it connected with another path in the distance. With no bushes or trees, it was a perfect spot for picnicking or Frisbees.

Chandler caught up with Jack, huffing and puffing. “Now what?”

Jack headed back down the slope. “Come on.” He motioned for Chandler to follow him. “Robyn found the handbag on the other side.”

Chandler exhaled loudly. “How do you know where she found it?”

“Robyn said she found it when she was peeing in the woods. This side looks like a golf course, so it has to be the other side.”

“We should have asked her to come and point out where she found it.”

“She never would have come with us.” Jack briskly walked past the bench and up the slope on the other side.

“Why are you hustling?” Chandler said.

“Stacy.”

“What? You think she’s here? Her car was found at Ford’s Crossing.”

“And her bag, if this is her bag, was found here. Look, if Stacy left town or something, she would have taken her purse. My dad says a woman never leaves her purse anywhere. Think about Victor’s grandmother—she held on to her handbag like her life depended on it.”

Chandler nodded. “Sure, but you really think Stacy could be out here, alive?”

“She was in an accident, and she’s diabetic. Vargas said she could be disoriented. Maybe she was trying to get back home and ended up here somehow. She could be injured or hurt somewhere nearby. It’s a big park with a lot of woods.”

They reached the top of the hill and stopped again. The sun was low in the sky and the shadows stretched long across the ground. The grass here was wild and un-mowed. Scrub undergrowth was mixed with trash. The ground sloped away quickly, but a hundred yards distant, they could see the corner of the pond. Cattail reeds marked the edge of the marshy area.

To their right, the ground sloped back up a bit. There, the brush and reeds gave way to maple and pine trees, creating a small stretch of forest.

Chandler pointed to a trail that cut into the woods. “There’s a path over there.”

Jack pointed to a different spot. “See those two small spruce trees? Perfect potty.”

“Gross. I’ll wait here.”

“You’re a germophobe,” Jack muttered.

Jack walked toward the trees, scanning the ground as he went. The scrub brush at the edge of the grass was full of litter that probably ended up here after being blown by the wind. Plastic bags and discarded fast-food wrappers waved like small flags in the breeze.

Jack checked the area around the two spruce trees. They were shielded from sight, but nothing about the spot stood out. Jack stepped over the remains of some old beer bottles, their jagged bottoms protruding from the ground like punji stakes. He looked back to see where Chandler was, and saw him squatting down in the scrub brush.

“Did you find something?” Jack jogged over.

Chandler pointed in the direction of the pond. “I think someone went that way. Look, these branches are broken.”

The stubby pine Chandler pointed to was dead, but brown needles clung to the branches like ribs on a skeleton. Several of its lower branches were snapped off, and the tall grass in front of the bush had been crushed down in the direction of the pond.

Jack cupped his hands to his mouth. “Stacy!”

Silence was the only reply.

They picked their way through the underbrush toward the pond. The scrubby plants changed to cattails, and then they came upon a two-foot-wide section of crushed and broken reeds. Someone had obviously trampled through here.

“I’m getting the heebie-jeebies right about now,” Chandler said.

“Someone came this way.” Jack peered down. The ground was spongy, but not wet. The reeds were dry and snapped off easily in his hand.

“Maybe it was some kids trying to fish. The pond’s right there.”

Jack kept walking. The trail of crushed reeds ran in a straight line to the pond. A short muddy bank with rocks spotted by dark-brown algae led to the mucky water’s edge. This area, too, was littered with trash. Nearby, the remains of a rusted bike frame were chained to a scrawny maple. The seat, handlebars, and tires had long since been stripped away. At Jack’s feet, the tire from a lawnmower stuck halfway out of the muck. He poked at it with the heel of his sneaker, and a rotten, wet compost stench rose up.