The Girls On Poppy Drive: A Detective London McKenna Novel by Alex Gates

Author:Alex Gates [Gates, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2017-10-13T16:00:00+00:00

17

Getting tired yet?

It’s so hard to fight.

-Him

Nothing terrified me more than a midnight call-out to Poppy Drive.

Flashing red and blue lights tormented the wide-eyed windows and gasping doors of the houses on the street. It clashed with the merry, multi-colored Christmas lights and decorations spreading what little joy the families could offer. A bed of fresh white snow captured the kaleidoscope of streaking, muddled colors.

I pulled beside Ben’s car. He’d made it here before me, even though I’d only pretended to sleep to placate James. Also pretended to have a headache. It used to be that sex eased most stresses, but I wasn’t ready. Couldn’t face the darkness that guilt created.

“Media already heard the call.” Ben chugged a quarter of his Mountain Dew with a grimace. “Picked it up on the scanner. Expect a couple nebshits to point a camera in our faces.”

A crowd of neighbors clustered on the sidewalk, shivering in wool jackets tossed over robes and pajamas. Their hushed, frantic words carried over the street.

“But it’s too soon.” A woman covered her mouth with a gasp. “It’s too soon for another girl!”

The gut-punch ached inside me. Had the kidnappings become so common, so routine, that people expected a child to be taken by the predator stalking the families?

It had to end, and it would end in blood. But I didn’t expect it from a domestic call on Poppy.

I followed Ben, dreading the steps to the Gibson’s house. “Did Tim snap?”

Ben shook his head. To my surprise, he led me passed the cream home with the happy crimson shutters. Instead he pointed to the end of the cul-de-sac. The Wicker’s home.

“David?”

“Nope.” Ben waited for me to limp up the front stairs. A woman’s hysterical shouting echoed from inside. “Amy and a neighbor.”

The local patrol did a poor job of containing the women. At least they had the common sense to call us with any disturbance on the street, even when the domestic wasn’t exactly a domestic.

Just…extramarital.

“You homewrecking whore!”

Quite a declaration for a woman to shout at a grieving mother.

Trish Desmond punctuated every word with a hiss. The patrolman blocked her from attacking Amy Wicker, but he had a hell of a time holding the little housewife back. Years of Zumba and powerwalking at the local gym had strengthened Trish’s legs into tree trunks. It did nothing for the few extra pounds around her midsection. A drinker’s gut. Might be why she slurred her words.

And why Amy took such offense to her accusations.

David held her arms, nearly wrenching the terrycloth robe from her shoulders. She was nude underneath, and her struggling exposed her body to the street. Amy didn’t care.

It was most animated I’d ever seen her.

Raging. Energetic.

Manic.

“Don’t you ever come into my house again!” Amy’s shrill cry would shatter the entry way chandelier. “Get the hell out, you crazy bitch!”

Trish struggled against the patrol, clawing and scratching his uniform to close in on Amy.

“Fuck you!” She howled in misery. “You’re the reason Todd’s dead! It’s your fault!”

Amy stumbled backward, clutching at her robe.

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