"Wonder if she's connected … "
"Maybe the first victim … "
"No one's brought her up for a while … "
A group of girls is having a hurried conversation in hushed tones by the art table. I reach for my paintbrush and fake fruit, setting up my props and materials for today's assignment.
"Do you think she ended up like the others?"
"Possibly."
"Maybe he did do it."
"Maybe she's just really gone."
"But people are saying … "
"Ericka never came back … she just disappeared. People think she might have died."
Just then, one of the four girls glances up and notices me staring.
"Suppose you heard us," she says.
I nod, wondering if it's a bad thing that I did.
"You should be careful now that you're dating him," she warns.
Just like that, she looks away.
I drop the fake fruit on the white sheet propped up on my desk. Jorie sits beside me, watching the confrontation, if it could even be called that.
"Don't worry about her," Jorie says. "She's just jealous because she dated Beau once. Couldn't keep his interest past a week."
"Who's Ericka?" I ask.
The other students on each side of us perk up at the mention of her name.
"A girl who used to go to school here," Jorie explains. "She moved away quickly and people thought it was odd."
"Why was it odd?" I ask.
"Because she never said goodbye to anyone. She withdrew from classes. Didn't go to school for a few weeks. In a place as small as this, people notice. I'm telling you, it was nothing. But you know this town, always needing to have a story to spin."
"How do you know it was nothing?" I ask. "Those girls seemed to think it was suspicious."
"Listen, I used to tutor the girl in math. Her parents got another job offer, and they sold the house and moved. Only reason people even talk about it is because of what happened right before. Terrible coincidence."
I dip my brush in water, and then in paint, but I'm not paying much attention to the assignment.
"Didn't you used to hang out with Ericka?" the girl to my left says to Jorie. "I thought you were friends."
Jorie glances sharply at the girl, her eyes hard. "Not your conversation."
"Were you?" I ask. "Friends with her, I mean?"
Jorie shrugs. "Sure. You could call us friends. I helped her out in math, and she sometimes brought me the most delicious chocolate chip cookies as a thank-you. We weren't enemies, but I wouldn't say we were close, either."
Maybe Jorie knew her well enough to understand more of the girl's story.
"What happened right before?" I ask.
Jorie is quiet for a moment. "Remember how I told you that Beau breaks hearts?"
I don't like where I suspect this is going.
"Well, word has it that Ericka and Beau dated. He's dated so many girls, it's hard to keep track. Mind you, he's not always public with the girls he sees, so who knows what went on behind closed doors."
"You telling me he hurt this girl?" I ask.
"That's what people think. That he hurt her feelings so badly, in fact, that she up and disappeared one day. Her whole family did. No one has seen her since. But like I said, her whole family didn't leave town for a breakup. Much as I don't like Beau, it's mighty hard to believe he caused a girl's disappearance, don't you think?"
"But those girls said that maybe she died," I say. "That maybe she is actually the first of the Mangroves Murderer's victims."
"Well, that's impossible. She wasn't found dead in the swamp, see?"
"That's true," I say.
Still, I wonder if she really did move away.
…
Gran shuffles around the kitchen, acting like she doesn't need a cane, holding onto the counters and chairs for support as she moves about.
"Set the table, will you?" she asks.
Mom and Dad discuss birds at the kitchen table. It's been confirmed that they did, in fact, discover a new species. They're thrilled. I'm not. Maybe because I miss them, and maybe because I'm jealous that they have so much love for each other and their profession that they don't mind being tied up in it. Though lately, they've been staying home more because of the murders. Even still, it's obvious they miss the field. As much as I like having them around, I can't wait for them to get back to what they love. And for the murderer to be found.
"Mind grabbing the gravy, too?" Gran says. "Can't have turkey and taters without gravy. Get the green beans while you're at it. I need to fetch the rolls from the oven."
"Sure," I answer.
There's something on my mind. Something I need to discuss with Gran. If anyone knows the truth, it's her. Gran always has a way of finding things out.
"Gran, do you think you could tell me about a teen girl named Ericka who disappeared?"
She sighs heavily. "Ericka Sprayer. I knew that story would eventually find its way to you, though I'd hoped it wouldn't."
"Why didn't you want me to know?"
Gran takes a seat in the living room and beckons me to do the same. My parents are too busy pointing at numerous pages in their journal to notice what Gran and I are discussing.
"Because there's no use in scarin' you. Some things happen 'round here that folks don't talk much about, and this is one of them. That girl, she had it all. A family. A nice house in town. Friends. Up and left everything. Her parents got a job offer somewhere else, though most people don't believe that version of the story. No one ever heard from her again. Shame, I tell you."
My stomach churns with nerves. Something tells me that this girl has a part in the murders. How? I have no idea, but I suspect that she's connected.
"Well, 'course there are a few 'round here who can't leave well enough alone. The town librarian, for one. She went digging. Swear some people are born with the need to know, and some are born with gossiping mouths. Thankfully the librarian didn't tell many people, and the ones she did tell decided to keep quiet."
"Were you one of those people?"
She watches me with a sharp look.
"You seem to be the type who has to know. So I'll tell you, I will, but I want you to keep quiet, you hear?"
I swallow a lump in my throat and nod.
"I was one of them, yes. Saw the reports on the internet myself. That Sprayer girl didn't disappear. Neither did her family. They quietly sold their house and left. The reason they got positions elsewhere is because they wanted to move to help their daughter, you see. The girl was having trouble here. No one is quite sure why. What would make her as sad as she was? Word has it that her family had a history of depression. Secrets like those are normally carried to the grave around here, such a stigma attached. Shouldn't be, of course, but there you have it. Something upset her so badly that her parents thought it was in her best interest to leave town altogether."
"They moved?" I ask, not quite sure I understand. "That's all? She's not dead?"
Gran closes her eyes slowly, and when she opens them, worry shines through.
"Now, I didn't say that," she whispers.
I don't understand, not at all.
"It didn't seem to matter that she moved across the country. The girl never recovered. She took her own life. So yes, she's gone."
I feel sick-my stomach churning like the swamp waters after high winds. There's something familiar about the way Gran gazes at me, as though she means to comfort with a single stare. Ericka's life is lost. I somehow feel the absence, even though I never knew her. I wish I could have helped. I wish someone-anyone-would've helped her. I wonder if she reached out in her pain, in her time of need. Was her family there for her?
"What happened?" I ask. "What would drive her to such a thing?"
"Like I said, so many rumors around here. Maybe depression. Maybe something personal. But some say she dated your boy, Beau."
"A lot of girls have," I say.
"Yes, but Beau's wicked ways could have spawned her actions. He is prone to upsetting girls."
Gran stands and nearly falls over. I catch her arm and wait for her trembling muscles to steady. She takes a minute and then walks back to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of tea. I pretend not to notice when she spills a few drops. Sensing that she's not done yet, I wait.
"I wouldn't doubt that Beau emotionally destroyed her," she says.
"If it's true that he dated her, and that she suffered emotionally and mentally, I wonder why she didn't say something to someone other than her parents. Wasn't there some way to help her?"
"Maybe," Gran replies. "Or maybe he hurt her heart too badly for healing, Willow Mae. And perhaps she never recovered."
32
Beau
I ease the boat around an eddy, through silt waters that have risen from the rain. Mangrove roots can no longer be seen. Everything is covered in a clear sheen of swamp like a thin wax coating.