Dead Girls Don't Lie by Jennifer Shaw Wolf

Author:Jennifer Shaw Wolf
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2013-03-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Dad walks in; behind him are three men. “Did you finish the filing, Jaycee?” he says without introducing his guests to me.

“Yes.” I study the men who are with him, trying not to stare. They hover in the doorway. I’m sure they’re migrants, they’re all in worn jeans and stained long-sleeved shirts, holding their hats, looking nervous and out of place next to Dad’s white shirt and tie.

“Good, thank you. I need you to go home now, so I can help these gentlemen,” he says.

“Do you want me to get you some food?” I ask, but he’s already at his desk, looking distracted.

“No. I’ll get something later. Go ahead and take the truck. I’ll grab something in town and walk home when I’m done here.” He motions for the men to come in.

“Okay,” I say, trying not to look too eager.

“Straight home, Jaycee,” he reminds me.

“Sure, Dad.” I answer easily enough, but inside I’m shaking. This was exactly what I was hoping for, freedom from Dad and access to the truck. I cover the phone in my pocket with my hand as I squeeze by the men on my way out.

I’m almost out the door when he stops me again. “Jaycee, there’s a town meeting tonight. That FBI agent and Sheriff Cross are going to talk about gangs and what the community can do to stop them. I think I should be there. If you want to come,” he hesitates, and I see his inner struggle to shelter me from everything, “I think it might be a good idea if you came too.”

“Okay, Dad. I’ll go.” I feel a little surge of triumph mixed with fear. I know it’s a big leap for him to let me go to the meeting, like he’s finally letting me see that there are bad things in the world. It almost makes me feel guilty for what I’m about to do.

I start out heading home, but once I’m out of sight of Dad’s office I go around the corner toward the park. One of the pictures of me and Rachel was taken at the Sweetheart Log. I might as well start there.

It’s too hot for anyone to be playing outside, so the park is pretty much deserted. I go to the tree, kneel beside it, and scan the letters that are carved there.

I look for Rachel’s name, and then my name, then our initials. The carvings blur together, and I can’t find anything. I sit down and take the paper out of my pocket. I position myself exactly where the two of us were sitting on the log, but I still can’t see anything.

I look from the picture to the log, but nothing comes. Hot and frustrated, I think about heading home, but then the bells at the Catholic church chime one o’clock. The picture of Rachel and the group at the baptism was taken there. Father Joseph might know who was in the picture.

The sanctuary is empty. The candles in the front aren’t lit, but it still smells like burned incense.

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