Mrs. Page struggled to tighten her seatbelt as Mr. Hernandez swerved, guiding his Subaru SUV through traffic in the Old Village. “These streets are too narrow,” he said, groaning. “They were too narrow when the town was built. And now they’re ridiculous.”
He roared the SUV onto the sidewalk to edge it around a slow-moving garbage truck. Mrs. Page bounced against the passenger seat.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “So sorry I didn’t let the school know about Gretchen’s problems. But she was doing so well. Her therapist felt that getting away to a new place was the right thing to do.”
Hernandez nodded, peering through his sunglasses at the line of traffic in front of them. “I don’t know if we’d have done anything differently,” he said. “Maybe kept a closer eye on her. Listened to her complaints about Devra Dalby a little more seriously…”
“How far are we from the camp?” she asked.
“Only about forty-five minutes. If traffic starts moving. We should be okay once we get past town.”
They rode in silence for a while. The sun slid over the windshield, forcing Mrs. Page to shield her eyes.
“I’m sorry, but I need to ask,” Hernandez said, frowning. “And there’s no gentle way to ask it. Do you think Gretchen could have killed Madison Grossman? Wasn’t Madison her friend?”
Mrs. Page pressed her hands together, fingers tightly entwined, almost as if praying. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I … I don’t think my daughter is a murderer. She is a troubled girl. I mean … I can’t picture her … I just can’t imagine—” Her words broke off with a sob.
“Can you think of any reason at all she would have for murdering Madison Grossman?”
Mrs. Page shook her head. “No. No reason. Madison was her only new friend since moving here. At least, I think she was. You have to understand, Mr. Hernandez, Gretchen is very private. She doesn’t confide in me.” And then she added, as if an afterthought: “Oh. I think there was a boy, too.”
Hernandez’ eyes widened. “A boy?”
“Yes. I met him. Nice looking. Gretchen seemed to like him. I just got a vibe, a feeling. She didn’t say they were going together or anything. He came to help her clean out the garage last Saturday.”
“You don’t remember his name?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t. I was so shocked that she seemed to have a boyfriend.…” Her voice trailed off again.
Hernandez hit the brake, nearly hitting the SUV in front of them. “Can you describe him?”
Mrs. Page thought for a while. “Well, he had one of those very trendy haircuts. Awful. You know. Buzzed very short on the sides and long on the top. Brown hair. And … I remember he had very big ears. He was nice looking, except for the big ears.”
“Sounds like Sid Viviano,” Hernandez said. “He’s the equipment manager for the cheerleader squad.”
“Yeah. Maybe,” she said. “That would make sense, I guess.”
“But everyone in school knows that Sid and Stacy Grande are a couple. Have been for a long time.”
Mrs. Page didn’t answer. She took a shuddering breath. “I thought I was paying close attention to Gretchen. She accused me of paying too much attention. But … I guess I didn’t do my job. I should have been more responsible. I should have watched her even more closely.”
They drove in silence for a while. The traffic eased as they left Shadyside. The afternoon sun began to dip, lowering itself over the flat gray and brown farms that ringed the town.
Mrs. Page kept her eyes shut. Hernandez knew she wasn’t asleep. Was she praying?
He wondered if she had told him everything about Gretchen. He imagined there were big chunks of the story she had left out. He kept thinking about the knife they found in Gretchen’s backpack. Thinking about it caused a hard rock to form in the pit of his stomach.
Dread made his entire body feel heavy as he swung the SUV into the dirt driveway to the campgrounds. Tall trees reached their limbs over the narrow drive, sending shadows over them, deepening as they followed the drive to the camp.
Mrs. Page’s eyes snapped open. Her face locked in a wide-eyed expression of fear and anxiety. Spotty sunlight dappled the roofs of the line of small wooden cabins, abandoned this time of year.
The car sank into a deep hole in the dirt, then bounced back up, causing Mrs. Page to cry out.
Hernandez slowed the car as they passed two cabins with lights on, the pale light seeping from the small dirt-smeared windows. And then they could see at the end of the row of cabins a large two-story building that must be the mess hall.
A sudden movement along the path caught Mrs. Page’s eye. She saw a girl running toward the mess hall entrance. And she gasped. “Is that Gretchen?”
Hernandez stopped the car as the girl neared the building door.
Yes. Yes. It was definitely Gretchen. Her blond hair flying behind her, gleaming dully in the late afternoon sun.
Yes it was Gretchen. And yes, that was a knife in her hand. A knife raised as if ready to attack.
“No. Oh no,” Mrs. Page moaned.
She and Hernandez reached for the door handles, intending to leap out of the car and stop her.
Too late.
Gretchen vanished into the mess hall.
And instantly, they heard screams, shrill and frightened. High screams of terror ringing through the open windows. And the horrified shout of Coach Walker: “Stop! No—please! STOP!”