Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
“This is weird,” he says.
“I know.” I drive around the front and park at the far end, looking at a long span of lawn.
He stretches his hand on his leg, and I note cuts on his knuckles from the crash earlier. We’re both still bloody. “Do you want me to go inside?” he asks.
“No.” I check my phone again. The dog is definitely here. I had him chipped but hadn’t installed or updated the app soon enough. It had taken too much time. Keeping my temper in check, I zero in and widen the screen. The dog’s on the other side of the compound. I hit reverse and follow the curved path all the way to the east side of the building, where another long lawn stretches out with trees on either side. It’s a peaceful place, and with the leaves turning golden and red, it screams cozy autumn. All the pumpkins and decorations lining the front don’t hurt.
“How close can you pinpoint with that thing?” he asks.
I stare at the blip on the screen. “Just this. I can get to the east side of the building, but I can’t tell you what room the dog’s in.”
“Movement.” Wynd cocks his head. “Maybe it’s that room.”
I lean forward to see an elderly woman swing her legs over a windowsill and pop out. Before she exits, she tosses a huge duffel to the grass with a solid thud that carries across the lawn. This is different. She’s dressed in a bright pink velour tracksuit with matching tennis shoes and a scarf over her gray hair. She reaches in and assists another woman out, this one with gray-white hair and a blue tracksuit.
The dog leaps out after her, runs a tight circle, and then sits, panting happily. My shoulders go tight at the sight of him. Leo. All right. Now where the hell is Ella?
Another woman emerges, this one in jeans and a button-down shirt. She also looks to be in her seventies or so, and the other two women help her to the ground.
“Who are they?” Wynd asks.
“I don’t know.” I keep my hands loose on the wheel and watch the trio steady themselves, the pink tracksuit lady planting her feet near the duffel. The dog glances back at the window, then at them, then at the trees, waiting for a cue. I breathe in slow and let the quiet press against me until it sharpens my focus.
I lean even closer to the window, waiting for Ella to hop out. She doesn’t. Instead, the first woman, the one in neon pink, reaches up and gingerly slides the window down before hefting the duffel bag over her shoulder. She stumbles and then rights herself.
“What do you suppose is in that bag?” Wynd asks.
“I have no idea.” My voice is sharper than I intend. Where is Ella?
Wynd reaches for his door handle. “Do you want me to intercept them?”
“No. Let’s see where they’re going.”
They glance around, quick and cautious, then take off at a surprisingly fast clip across the lawn and into the tree line. I wait until they disappear on the trail before reigniting the engine and following along the forest’s edge to the main road. Trees crowd close on either side, shadows stretching longer with the fading light. The quiet feels loaded, pressing in against the glass.
A clearing opens ahead, and I catch sight of the women climbing into a car. At first glance it looks too big, too heavy, but then the details register. Chrome fenders catch the dusk. The body is a pale seafoam green, paint polished within an inch of its life. Whitewall tires. Wide bench seats. A Buick Electra from the sixties.
The thing shouldn’t even be running, but it purrs when they slam the doors. Somebody’s babied it—waxed, polished, kept hidden away until now. Lace curtains twitch in the back windows, and a sun-faded hula girl wobbles on the dash. It’s a car out of time, but they slide in like it’s always been waiting.
Wynd whistles low. “That’s … something.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, watching the taillights flare. I keep driving, letting them ease onto the road behind us, heading the opposite way. Once they’re clear, I swing a sharp U-turn and fall in behind, far enough to stay out of their mirrors.
My hand finds the button on the dash, and I call Kaz.
“Hey, Justice,” Kaz answers, his voice cheerful. He’s been a lot nicer since Ella lit into him. He doesn’t even sound smug today.
“Hey, I need you to do a search on the Cinderfalls Community Home. Three women, all in their late seventies. They came out of the east side window. I don’t know who they are, but they’re tied to Ella.”
“Sure.” The sound of typing filters through the speaker.
We merge onto the interstate, headlights flashing past, the tires humming steady under us. “Call me back when you have something.” I click off.