protest. “No arguments,” Thomas says, though in the back of his mind he can hear Tess telling him that he should wait until Cora is home from the hospital before taking Jordyn to see her in such a state. That it might be too upsetting to her.
He tries to nudge Tess’s intrusion from his head. “We’ll stop and see Grandma and then your friend. I think that will be a nice thing to do, don’t you? Cora is one of your best friends, right?”
“Right,” Jordyn repeats.
“You know,” Thomas says. “You girls are lucky. Even Cora. Her mom says she’s got quite the head injury and may have to have plastic surgery on her face, but the stab wound wasn’t as bad as it could have been. She could have died. You all could have died.”
Thomas watches Jordyn’s face. He sees fear and revulsion. Good, he thinks. This is why he’s taking her to see Cora. Jordyn needs to know that it’s dangerous for three little girls to go out in the middle of the night. Not that he thinks they were asking for it; he doesn’t think that at all. But it would have never happened if they had just stayed put like they were supposed to.
“Then go on, Jordyn, go on now and get ready,” he orders.
Jordyn pushes herself away from the table in resignation and slouches off. Thomas hopes he’s not making a big mistake. But wouldn’t it look more suspicious if Jordyn didn’t go to visit Cora? Wouldn’t she look guiltier?
Beth Crow
Tuesday, April 17, 2018
Pitch is a small town so you’d think there’d only be a few places Violet could hide but really there are dozens: back home, Jordyn’s house, school, Hickory Park, even outside of town where there are miles and miles of winding gravel roads. Hickory Park is in the far southwest part of town, the school is closed for spring break and I don’t think she would go back home.
“Try the depot,” Max says.
“Why?” I ask. “Wouldn’t that be the last place she’d go?” I ask, thinking Violet would be terrified, worried that the monster who stabbed Cora could be there.
“She’s been hanging around there with her friends a lot lately. I think that’s where they filmed the movie for their school project. There’s lots of places she could hide,” he explains. I had no idea that Violet was spending time at the train yard. I have so many questions but decide to save them for later.
My phone rings and I hand it to Max to answer.
“Hello,” he says. “Yeah... No, we haven’t found her yet, either. We’re heading to the train yard in case Violet went there.” He hangs up. “Officer Grady,” he tells me.
“Yeah, I figured.” Part of me wishes that Max hadn’t told Grady where we were headed. His mere presence freaks Violet but I couldn’t exactly tell my son to lie to the police.
I take the same road we drove the other night and park next to the boarded-up depot building. A bright red-and-white sign warns me against trespassing but I get out of my car, anyway, after telling Max to stay put. The train station doesn’t look quite as scary as it did in the dark of night but with the tall, weedy grass and the abandoned rusty boxcars it’s still eerie.
With one foot I test the steps that lead up to the depot platform. The wood cracks and pops with my weight so instead I hoist myself up, the rough concrete biting into my knees and the palms of my hands. I stand, brush the grit and dirt from my hands, and look out over the train yard. A scrap of yellow crime tape lies on the ground near where Violet collapsed. The only sound I hear is the rustle of the tall winter wheat waving back and forth in the light breeze.
Dozens of boxcars with rusty pockmarks sit throughout the yard. Violet could be in any one of them or in none at all.
First, I walk around the depot building. The brick is cracked and crumbling but each window and door is sealed up tight with heavy plywood. I can’t find any way that Violet could have gotten inside.
That leaves the boxcars. I hop down from the platform and make my way to the nearest car and look inside. Its corners are filled with cobwebs and candy wrappers and crushed beer cans but no Violet. I move on to the next car, this one tipped