Wish You Were Dead (13 page)

Detective Payne nodded. I didn’t have to spell out the rest for him: It didn’t sound like a joke anymore. It didn’t sound like someone just wanted to play with my head. It sounded like whoever wrote that note knew in advance that something was going to happen to Adam.

Reilly came toward us and handed the phone to Detective Payne, who assured Mrs. Bloom that this was perfectly normal and her daughter wasn’t in any trouble. I went back to the table and watched as Detective Payne escorted Reilly to his car and held the door for her.

“I don’t believe it,” Jen said for the twentieth time.

“It’s pretty obvious that detective thinks this mystery guy is involved somehow,” said Jake.

“Like how?” Jen asked.

“Who knows?” said Jake. “It’s a little weird that first the guy would do something to Lucy and then come back for Adam.”

“I’d say it’s more than just a
little
weird,” said Courtney. “It’s totally weird. Like in the stuff-like-this-only-happens-in-movies category of weird.”

I listened with only half an ear. Whoever had left that note had known that Lucy, Adam, and I were friends. That didn’t sound like something some “mystery guy” could have figured out just by talking to kids at a party or a kegger. It seemed a lot more likely that the note had been written by someone who knew us. I was wondering about that when, halfway down the block, a familiar-looking purple car went around the corner. It was Tyler, who’d told Dave he’d be away this weekend.

The rest of us stayed at Starbucks and talked. Cell phones rang as friends called to find out where people were, and gradually the group sitting at the tables on the sidewalk swelled to more than a dozen. It was something I couldn’t remember us ever doing before. We often got together at school, sports events, and parties, but never on a Sunday afternoon outside Starbucks. I wondered if people felt there was safety in numbers. I also wondered what was going on with Tyler. The fact that he was still around and hadn’t gone away strengthened the “hot date” theory, but with no way of truly knowing, I forced myself to stop thinking about it.

A little while later, Reilly returned and told us how, at the police station, they’d asked her some questions, but that she’d spent most of the time with an artist at a computer trying to come up with a face that matched the “mystery guy” from the kegger.

We sat and talked a little longer. By now it was late afternoon and the sun had gone below a building and cast a shadow over us. The sidewalk began to feel chilly.

“So what about tonight?” Jake asked Courtney. There’d been talk on Friday that since there was no school on Monday, some
people might gather at her house Sunday night for what was termed more of a get-together than a party. But that idea had been floated before Adam had disappeared.

“Does anybody really still feel like it?” Courtney asked.

“It beats hanging around at home,” said Greg, and others nodded in agreement.

Courtney gave me a curious look.

“I might stop by,” I said. “But first I have to muck out Val’s stall, and I’m supposed to have dinner with my folks.” Then I had another thought. “One other thing, guys? Whoever goes out tonight, try to stay in pairs—like a buddy system, okay?”

It had not been my intention to remind everyone of the frightening circumstances surrounding our lives at that moment, but that’s the way it felt. People started to drift away.

“Give me a ride home?” Something about the easy way Courtney asked made me think that she wanted to make up. We got into my car and she said, “So you still want to know why I went with Adam?”

“Only if you want to tell me.”

Courtney looked out the window. “Maybe you were right. Maybe it was because Adam was Lucy’s boyfriend. So being with him … and knowing he wanted to be with me? Even when he was with
her?”

I was glad that she’d decided to tell me—but sorry, too. One reason I’d become friends with Courtney was because she had that wild and unpredictable streak—the opposite of me, Ms. Predictably Unwild. Her lack of restraint was kind of enviable considering how restrained I’d been brought up to be. But it had never
occurred to me that she’d do something so well, of course it was self-serving, but it was also so … out-of-bounds. In my mind, cheating with another girl’s boyfriend could not be justified, no matter who he or she was.

Courtney tilted her head against the headrest and glanced at me. “Angry?”

“No, not angry. More confused and disappointed, and really worried about him.”

“I know … but seriously, Madison? I could tell he didn’t want to be with her. You know that look guys give you.”

I nodded but secretly wasn’t sure. Had I ever gotten that look? “Just because a guy gives you a look … I mean, you must get that all the time.”

“Not from Adam Pinter.”

I pulled into her driveway. The house looked dark and empty. Her father was probably away on business, and her sister at her boyfriend’s. No wonder Courtney wanted company tonight.

“Try to come by later, okay?” she said. “I don’t know what we’ll do, but I’m pretty sure it’ll be low-key. It just feels like right now is a time when you want to be with your friends.”

Soundview Stables was at the end of a dirt road. You parked in a lot at the bottom of a small hill and walked up to the two identical stables, painted red with white trim. When I got there, Mr. Farnsright, the overnight manager, was coming out of the west stable, the one where we kept Val.

“Hey, Madison.” He waved when he saw me. “Gonna do a little evening mucking?”

“Is that okay?” I asked apologetically. “I know it’s almost dark.”

“No prob,” Mr. Farnsright said. “Just be sure to lock up when you’re done.”

“Thanks.” I turned toward the stable door.

“Oh, Madison?”

“Yes?”

“What’s this I hear about kids disappearing? That true?”

I nodded.

Mr. Farnsright slid his cap back and scratched his head. “Strangest thing I’ve ever heard. You know, a detective came by here today, asking about halothane.” He could tell by the face I made that I didn’t know what he was talking about. “It’s a chemical vets use to anesthetize animals. Wanted to know if we had any of the stuff, or if I knew who might. I said we didn’t, and the only folks I could imagine having it would be the local vets, like Dr. Harris and Dr. Costello.”

Inside the east stable a horse neighed, and a bat darted through the dark above us.

“Well, g’night, Madison. Don’t forget the doors.” Mr. Farnsright headed up the hill toward his house and I let myself into the stable. What could an animal anesthetic have to do with Lucy or Adam disappearing? I wondered. It was maddening to think about. Another possibility to mix in with all the others. Maybe all of it was coincidental. No, surely the note implied that wasn’t the case. Wasn’t it obvious by now—because she’d been gone so long—that something bad had happened to Lucy? And somehow I knew something bad had happened to Adam, too. Because he wouldn’t have wanted his family to worry. That’s just the way he was.

Inside the stable I mucked out Val’s stall and thought about seeing Tyler in town a few hours earlier. There were probably lots of explanations for that, and yet it made me feel uncomfortable. Why did I have to have a crush on him of all people? Why couldn’t I have picked someone a little more predictable and easier to figure out?

I finished mucking, and started to groom Val, running the rubber curry comb down the horse’s flanks. There was something soothing about taking care of my horse. Once I got into the rhythm of combing, it took me away the way sailing took my father away. The stable began to feel like a world of its own, far from school, social pressures, inscrutable guys, and from friends disappearing. It was just me and Val and the long, even strokes down her brown flanks.

It was dark by the time I finished. I said good-bye to Val and left the west stable, latching the door behind me. Outside, the air had grown chillier, and I paused to watch my breath come out in a cloud of vapor. Suddenly I heard whinnying and banging from inside the east stable across the yard. It could have been a horse cribbing or weaving in its stall, but it sounded too frantic.

A nervous shiver ran across my shoulders. Something was wrong, but what should I do? I stared at the east stable’s red door, my feet frozen to the ground.

“Hello?” I called. “Is someone in there?”

No answer. The whinnying grew louder. A second horse had joined in the fray. Something was seriously spooking them. What if it was a fire? My stomach began to knot. I stepped closer to the east-stable door, hoping to hear something inside that would give
me a clue. But all I heard was banging and the clopping hooves of agitated horses.

“Is someone in there?” I called more loudly. “Is something wrong?”

No answer.

I was scared, even though I told myself I shouldn’t have been. I’d been coming to these stables since I was a child and knew everyone who worked here, as well as most of the people who boarded their horses. I made my feet step forward and forced my trembling hands to reach for the stable door.

Just then the banging and neighing inside stopped.

I felt a welcome relief. I didn’t have to look inside now, did I?

Suddenly the frenzied sounds started again. I jumped and backed away from the stable door, only to realize that this time the cacophony was coming from somewhere else. Somewhere behind me.

The noises were coming from the west stable … where Val was.

Without a moment’s hesitation, I ran to the stable door and threw it open. The horses inside were wild and bucking. Down at the far end something dark moved. Door hinges squeaked loudly. By the time I focused on it, whoever had been there had gone through.
Bang!
The door slammed shut.

I ran down to Val’s stall. Like the other horses, she was weaving and whinnying, but nothing appeared to be the matter. I heard a creak and spun around.
Bang!
The other stable door slammed shut. I fought the impulse to run to it. My heart was banging and I took deep breaths trying to calm myself.

I walked slowly toward the door and pulled the handle. But
it didn’t open. It was latched shut from the outside. I was locked in, trapped.

Fright rose in my throat. A cry began to gather in my chest, but I stifled it, then pulled out my cell phone and dialed Mr. Farnsright’s number.

The next few minutes were some of the longest I’d ever experienced. The horses calmed down, but I didn’t. Stomach in knots, heart thumping, trembling from head to foot, I waited.

Finally the stable door began to open. I took a fearful step back and held my breath.

There stood Mr. Farnsright with his bushy eyebrows in a deep
V
. “What’s going on, Madison? How’d you get locked in here?”

“Someone … must have locked me in.”

He frowned. “Who’d do that? There’s no one else around.”

“There was. And I don’t know why.” I stepped out into the cold air. The night had grown quiet.

Mr. Farnsright closed the door behind me. “You saw someone?”

“I thought so. It happened so fast. You didn’t hear the horses?”

He shook his head and looked around again. “Seems pretty quiet.”

It was obvious that he doubted my story, and for a moment I was tempted to try to convince him. But how? And even if I did, what was the point? I glanced at the dark dirt road that led down to the parking lot and began to feel nervous again.

“Mr. Farnsright, would you mind just walking me down to my car?”

The night stable manager frowned again, but then nodded. We went down the road. My car was the only one in the lot. At
first everything looked fine. Then I noticed something odd. The car seemed lower than normal. The front tires were slashed.

“What’s going on?” Dad asked later, while driving me home from the stables. Mr. Farnsright had stayed with me until he’d arrived.

“I don’t know, Dad,” I said. “I’m really sorry about the car.”

“That’s the least of my worries,” he replied. “The garage will come get it in the morning. What I want to know is why you went to the stables alone.”

“I always do that,” I said.

Dad slid his eyes toward me and pursed his lips hard. “For God’s sake, Maddy, given what’s been going on, do you think that was a good idea?”

He was right. “Sorry, Dad. I didn’t think.”

“Why would anyone slash your tires?” Unlike Mr. Farnsright, Dad didn’t doubt for a second that someone else had been there upsetting the horses, and had locked me in. He drove silently through the dark, but I knew his mind was processing, assessing, and considering.

Finally he said, “We need to decide what to do.”

“About what?”

“First Lucy, then Adam, and now this. Mom told me about the note. Do we keep you home? Or send you and Mom away someplace safe until whatever’s going on passes? I won’t take any chances with you, hon. You’re too precious.”

“But we still don’t know what’s going on. Maybe my tires were slashed by mistake. Maybe whoever did it thought I was someone else.”

But I could see Dad didn’t believe that. “I’m worried about kidnappers,” he said. “Lucy and Adam both come from well-to-do families. Just because a ransom demand hasn’t arrived yet doesn’t mean one won’t come soon.”

“But what about the note?” I asked. “And don’t kidnappers usually just kidnap one person at a time? Have you ever heard of something like this happening before?”

“I’m not sure you can apply the word
usual
to what kidnappers do,” Dad said. “What I do know is that kidnapping has changed. It’s become an international problem with drug cartels and terrorists getting involved. The terrorist angle is especially worrisome because it accomplishes two goals. They can get money for their activities and strike fear into the hearts of people everywhere. You know that’s always been one of my greatest concerns.”

M. Archer and Company was known for being associated with people of great wealth. While other kids were learning to look both ways when crossing the street, I was being taught what to do if I was ever kidnapped. What the general public didn’t know, and the police only suspected, was that the kidnapping of the children of wealthy parents happened more frequently than was reported in the news. Most wealthy families were much more concerned with quickly paying the ransom and getting their children back than solving the crime, and so the police were rarely notified. Instead, special “intermediaries” were used to negotiate ransom demands and deliver the agreed amounts. Only the lawyers of wealthy families seemed to know who these “intermediaries” were.