The Girl in the Lake by Victoria Michaels

Author:Victoria Michaels [Michaels, Victoria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-10-22T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Cheryl unlocked the door and stared at him through the crack across the chain that still separated them. Tommy could tell she was trying to decide if she wanted to let him in or not, even though she had invited him to come over when he had phoned earlier.

“I brought ice cream,” Tommy said holding up a bag that contained two chocolate sundaes. Cheryl looked at the bag, then back at Tommy and finally pulled the chain and stood back to open the door enough to allow his entry. The room smelled of stale smoke and several ashtrays were scattered around, spilling over with ashes and butts.

“We can sit on the patio,” Cheryl said and walked across the living room to a glass door. She slid it open and walked outside, not waiting for Tommy. He made his way to join her taking in the humble, yet tasteful décor, and sank down into an overstuffed cushioned patio chair. Cheryl sat directly across from him on a swing, already smoking. A clean ashtray sat by her feet. “Whadda ya wanna know, Tommy?”

He was unsure how to start, “What are you willing to tell me about the day Donna went missing?” He opened the bag and handed Cheryl one of the sundaes, then took the other out for himself. She set hers on the patio next to the ashtray.

“What did Kenny tell you?” Cheryl asked.

“Just what you all told the police originally.”

“I didn’t tell them nothin’.” Cheryl almost spat it out, “Fuckers treated us like garbage. I stayed in the car. That Sergeant Schmidt came out to talk to me, but I couldn’t even talk. I just ignored him, and he finally went back inside.”

“They didn’t force you to give a statement?” Tommy did not see how she would get away with that.

“A statement of what? The guys told the police Donna went missing. There was no crime. I didn’t do nothing wrong. All they got is a case of a missing person. There’s absolutely no evidence that any one of us did anything. Well, except if you include the drugs the boys sold, but that was a separate issue. I had nothing to say to them.” Cheryl took a drag off her cigarette then stubbed out the butt in the ashtray and lit another one. “The article in the paper a week later had a quote from that bastard, Schmidt. Something about us all being from the wrong side of the tracks. My dad told me I didn’t ever have to talk to them. Schmidt kept calling though. I think he called my house every day, maybe twice a day. I ended up getting so stressed out I had to go into the hospital for a few weeks. PTSD I think you would call it nowadays.”

Tommy had known that Cheryl had been hospitalized. It was a mental health center and he had heard she had been there almost a year, not just a few weeks. Should I press her? Would she be able to handle it? “Cheryl, what happened to Donna?” There, I’ve said it.

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