ROSALIE
TUESDAY, JANUARY 23
I’m stopped at the traffic light in front of the school, a long line of cars crossing in front of me. CVS is another two blocks down, but I can see Amanda lit up in the store lights, talking to someone in a blue pickup truck. It’s definitely her—green dress flashing through her open coat, and who else wears five-inch heels to CVS? Ben is nowhere in sight. She climbs in, and then the truck pulls out of the lot and disappears up the side street.
My relief at seeing Amanda is immediately replaced by confusion. The light changes, and I close the gap between the high school and CVS, then turn into the lot. I look up the side street, but the truck is gone. Amanda’s car, on the other hand, is parked right here. Did she lock her keys inside? Maybe she was getting a ride back to the party. I look through the window, but there’s no sign of keys in the ignition or on the seat. I check the tires; no flat.
I’m propping my bike against the store wall when a kid in a CVS T-shirt walks out, shrugging an army jacket over his shoulders.
“Better hurry,” he says. “Store’s closing.”
“Wait.” I get in his path, stopping him. “Did you see a girl here a few minutes ago? Straight brown hair, heels, green dress?”
He blinks at me. “Yeah, I saw her.”
“Well, she just left in a blue pickup. Did you see who was driving?”
He shakes his head. I’m about to press him further when the truck reappears. I shine my headlamp toward the window, but all I can make out is a guy wearing a baseball cap. He’s built, definitely not in high school, and there’s no one in the passenger’s seat. The truck pauses at the stop sign, then hangs left. As it turns, I catch a glimpse into the back. It’s one of those four-door models, and there’s someone in the backseat, hunched over. Must be Ben. It looks like he’s reaching for something he dropped on the floor. Or holding someone down . . .
As the truck speeds off, I flash my headlamp on the license plate. RTK something.
“I need to use your phone. It’s an emergency.”
The kid stares at me blankly.
“I need to call nine-one-one. Now.” I stick out my hand.
He snaps to life and reaches into his pocket for his cell. I punch in the numbers and wait for the dispatcher to pick up.
“I need to report a kidnapping. A blue pickup truck with plates starting with RTK made a left onto—hold on.” I turn to the kid. “What’s this street?”
“Foster.”
“Made a left onto Foster at the CVS two blocks down from Logansville South. I saw a girl named Amanda Kelly get into that truck. She’s seventeen . . . she’s being held by her classmate Ben Gallagher and another guy.”
The kid gapes at me. The dispatcher asks about the truck’s make and model. Do I know who the driver was?
“It was a Ford I think. I don’t know.”
The dispatcher wants to know if I saw anything else, am I sure Amanda didn’t get into the truck willingly, do I know where they might be headed.
I lie. It’s too much to explain, and I need them to start looking. “They dragged her inside. Ben Gallagher and the other guy. Ben’s a student at the high school. The other guy was a little older, twenties maybe? Wearing a baseball cap. I have no idea where they were going. Left on Foster, about two minutes ago. Can you please look for the truck?”
When the dispatcher has all she needs, I hang up and return the phone.
“I know that girl,” the kid says finally. “She was here about a week ago, asking about these teddy bears? Said she had a secret admirer.”
I scowl. “Yeah well, that secret admirer just stuffed her into the back of his pickup truck. Thanks for the phone.”
I leave him gaping and grab my bike, wheel it over to Amanda’s car, and flip the kickstand down. My pulse is racing; I need to do something. But I already called Nathaniel. I called 911. By now, the truck could be anywhere; trying to track it down on my bike would be pointless. If Nathaniel got my message, he’ll come to CVS. My best move is to wait here.
I slip my messenger bag off my shoulders and dump it on the trunk of Amanda’s car. Then I pull myself up next to it and wait. A few minutes later, a single cop car speeds by.
When I’ve been waiting for what must be an hour, I admit to myself that Nathaniel’s not coming. My teeth are chattering so hard my jaw aches, and there’s been no further sign of the police. I need a new plan. The thought of busting into the Shaws’ uninvited makes my stomach turn, but someone needs to tell Amanda’s parents what’s going on. It’s not exactly my first choice of missions, but it’s something. Maybe they can get their useless PI on the phone.
I jump on my bike and start pedaling back up the hill toward the high school. It looks like they’re putting on an addition. The school is dark and empty, but the streetlamps cast a dull yellow glow on the half-finished structure. And one blue pickup parked in the tiny side lot. It’s barely visible from the road, half obscured by temporary fencing and a hearty pair of pines. If I had been going any faster, I’d have ridden right by it.
I jump off my bike and leave it propped against a planter in the lot. I leave my helmet too, but not before removing the headlamp. It’s pitch dark; I’m going to need it. I check out the truck first; it’s definitely the right one. I repeat the full plate number beneath my breath, but it doesn’t matter now. The truck is right here, and it’s empty.
Up close, I can see the half-finished addition is actually two buildings. One is still mostly scaffolding, but the other has walls and a roof. I turn my headlamp on and start walking. They might have taken her inside the school, but it’s probably locked up for the night. They’re clearly not in the scaffolding structure; I can see right inside. So that leaves the other building.
I walk around the perimeter, trying to stay silent. On one side, it’s attached to the school, but the other three sides are exposed. The site is a mess of bricks and buckets and all sorts of materials left out overnight. I guess no one worries about their shit getting stolen in Logansville. There’s one door and the only windows are a bank of thick glass cubes up near the top of the building. They’re not the kind that open. I think about trying the door, but if I’m right and Amanda’s inside, I’ll give myself away as soon as I push the handle. What I need is an air vent. Something I can listen to, see if I can hear them. If they’re inside, I’ll get back on my bike and find someone with a phone. Call 911 again.
Around the back, I find the vents where the heating and cooling system will eventually go. I get down on the ground and press my ear to the wall.
A voice asks, “Better?” Or maybe “bitter?” It’s a voice I don’t recognize, maybe the driver.
A different male voice speaks next. I can’t make out everything, but he says something about making a phone call.
Then Amanda’s voice rings out, the loudest of the three. “Then joke’s on you, ’cause I don’t have my phone.”
I suck in my breath. The second voice—must be Ben—is speaking again, saying something about calling Carter, speakerphone, breaking up. Everything’s far from adding up, but they’re definitely inside with Amanda, and that’s all I need to know. Time to find someone who will let me use their phone and let the professionals take over. I start to shove myself up off the ground, but the driver’s voice stops me.
“Is that a gun? Fuck, Ben, what the hell are you doing with that?”
He must be closer to the vent; he’s easier to hear. Ben says something next, something about taking this shit seriously. Then something about the art museum and Amanda’s mom and Carter’s dad. I can’t make it all out. I hear the words stealing and cash flow and scam. Whatever he’s talking about, it’s clearly making Amanda upset.
“This is about my mother? You’re so full of shit, Ben Gallagher. Even if you’re right, why do you care?”
I press my ear back to the vent. Ben’s voice again, something about “going public.” Is he talking about the museum? Or asking Amanda to be his girlfriend?
Then Ben says something I have no trouble making out.
“This gun isn’t a toy, Amanda. Make the fucking call.”