The Silent Spirit by Margaret Coel

Author:Margaret Coel [Coel, Margaret]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780425236406
Google: -ynARAAACAAJ
Amazon: B008SM0A16
Goodreads: 6316284
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2009-08-31T14:00:00+00:00

17

THE TAILLIGHTS OF the blond-haired girl’s pickup blinked red in the hazy snow. Vicky stayed as close behind as she dared, giving herself enough room to grind to a stop at the stoplights. They were creeping uphill in a parade of snow-piled vehicles when a truck switched lanes and slid between the pickup and the Jeep. She tapped on the brake, the Jeep shaking around her, inched into the oncoming lane to pass the truck, then pulled back, blinded for an instant by headlights looming toward her.

She should have gotten the girl’s name. If she lost the pickup, she would have to hope the girl showed up for work tomorrow at the nail salon. But by then, she would have told Dede that a lawyer was looking for her, and Dede could be hundreds of miles away. The right-turn signal ahead started flashing. The truck turned into a parking lot where neon lights from a bar flickered over rows of parked vehicles. Vicky pressed down on the gas, swung into the other lane, and passed two sedans. If the girl’s pickup turned into a neighborhood, it would vanish into a driveway or garage and she would never find it.

The pickup was just ahead now. They were nearing the edge of town—blocks of warehouses, shops, and garages interspersed by open stretches of snow. The red taillights grew brighter as the lights of town fell away. A scattering of stars poked through the haze. Then the pickup made a left turn across the road. Vicky waited for an oncoming truck to pass and followed.

Fresh tire tracks shot down the road past open fields that were flat, white sheets of snow. Ahead the pickup made another turn and as Vicky drew closer she spotted the one-story house with white siding and a black roof. The pickup stopped and the girl got out. She slammed the door, a low thud that reverberated like a drumbeat. Before Vicky had pulled up, the girl was inside the house.

Vicky followed the footsteps through the snow and knocked on the door. A muffled scream came from inside, like the scream she had once heard from a coyote caught in a trap. She knocked again, louder this time.

“I told you, nobody knows I’m here!” The scream turned into loud shouting. “Nobody! You hear me! You were supposed to be my friend.”

Then the other voice, quiet, cajoling at first, and finally shouting: “What choice you got, Dede?”

Vicky knocked again, then tried the knob.

“You promised, Gayle. You promised, and you broke your promise and I’m gonna be dead.”

The knob turned in her hand, and Vicky pushed the door open a few inches. The blond-haired girl—apparently Gayle was her name—was saying something when Vicky leaned inside and shouted over her: “I can help you, Dede. We have to talk.”

There was quiet then, the exhausted quiet after a storm has passed.

“Dede?” Vicky said.

The door swung open, and the girl facing her was barely five feet tall, with cropped straw-colored hair and smeared circles of green mascara around green eyes.

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