Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  No one was out there, and Lindsay wasn’t worried about getting into trouble; she figured she was due some slack after what she’d gone through. She wished it were already tomorrow when her hypnotherapy session would be behind her. She closed her eyes and tried to think happy thoughts.

  The flag snapped in the light breeze, its rope clanging against the hollow metal pole. A chain-link privacy fence about thirty feet behind her shielded the swimming pool and she heard cheers and whistles blowing for a swim meet in progress.

  Next year she wanted to join the swim team, but with cheerleading and yearbook committee, it might be too much. Keeping her grades up was critical. She was thinking about becoming a vet or a marine biologist, but she really liked fashion design, too.

  Lulled by the warm sun and the familiar, comforting sounds around her, she dozed off.

  Phil drove into the high school parking lot at 2:37 and stopped under an oak tree at the edge of the lot near the street. “I don’t see any empty spaces.”

  The school, originally built for a maximum student body of 1,500 was now educating over 3,000. Cars crowded every conceivable spot and school officials had long given up handing out citations.

  “I don’t believe it. There she is.” Erik pointed towards the flagpole on the other side of the lot.

  Phil checked the dashboard clock. “Why is she out there already?”

  “Who the hell cares?” Erik punched Phil’s arm. “This is our lucky break. Let’s go.”

  “Maybe we should wait,” Jake said from the backseat. “This doesn’t feel right.”

  “I agree,” said Phil. “What if her mother’s picking her up early? This is a stupid idea. We should just go.” He put the car in gear.

  “And lose a perfect opportunity? This could be our only chance, and we’re sitting here wasting time.” Erik turned in his seat, pinning Jake with an icy glare, each word enunciated slowly. “Let’s just do this like we planned, okay?”

  Jake squirmed under Erik’s defiance. “You’re probably right.”

  “Damn straight, I’m right.” He turned to face the front. “Let’s quit wasting time and do this.”

  Phil put the car in gear and creeped through the parking lot, slowly closing the gap between him and what he knew could only be disaster. His eyes darted around the lot, searching for a car coming that could be Lindsay’s mother.

  “You’re driving like an old lady,” snapped Erik, smacking the dashboard. “Let’s move it.”

  “Don’t really think it’s a good idea to call attention to ourselves.” Phil eased the Ford Explorer to the curb near the flagpole. He gazed through the passenger window at Lindsay and was surprised to see her eyes were closed. The rustle of a plastic bag distracted him and he turned to see Jake taking something out of the brown plastic bag he’d been carrying when they had met on the frat house porch. “What’s in the—”

  “Look at her. She’s asleep,” Erik whispered. “I can’t friggin’ believe our luck. Jake, forget those. We don’t need them yet. Let’s go.”

  Jake dropped the bag to the rubber floor mat.

  “Need what?” asked Phil, but he didn’t get an answer because they were scrambling out of the car.

  Erik leaned back in and whispered, “Keep the motor running.”

  “For God’s sake, we’re not robbing a bank.”

  “True. But if her mom shows up, we need—”

  “Go.” Phil watched them move toward her. This is wrong. Why did I let myself get talked into this?

  His internal alarms clanged into overdrive when he saw them skirting around her and approaching her from behind.

  Lindsay was dozing, when she was suddenly jolted awake and roughly hauled to her feet. Her brain frantically struggled to make sense of her predicament as she found herself being dragged through the grass to a vehicle at the curb. Finally her brain connected with her mouth, and she screamed.

  Erik snarled in her ear, “Shut the fuck up and get in.”

  From the SUV, Phil shouted, “What’re you doing?”

  Lindsay struggled furiously and screamed again. The back door was open and her head was forced down to the seat. Her shins slammed against the steel threshold, pitching her forward, landing hard on the leather backseat. Jake grabbed her arms and yanked her across the seat. She felt her legs shoved into the floor of the car and then something heavy settled on her back, jamming her face into the seat, pinning her head against something soft and crushing the breath out of her.

  The doors slammed. “Let’s go!” Erik ordered.

  “No. This is wrong,” pleaded Phil.

  “He’s right, Erik,” said Jake. He sat to the left of Lindsay, and it was his thigh her head was pressing into. “I don’t know what I was thinking, but I didn’t know it would be like this. This is wrong. Really wrong. Let’s let her go and get out of here.”

  “Too late now. What’s done is done. Let’s just get outta here before someone sees us.”

  The car started moving and Lindsay felt a soft bump as it rolled over a speed bump before exiting the parking lot. She struggled to raise her head to suck in air and realized Erik was sitting on her back. He punched her hard on the shoulder and told her to lie still.

  “God!” shouted Jake. “You don’t have to hit her.”

  “Erik,” said Phil, “you didn’t tell me you were going to grab her.”

  “Because you never would have agreed. Do you really think we could have stood out there and had a nice little chat with her? Seriously, Phil?”

  “Oh God,” said Phil. “What have you done?”

  “We’re all in this together so just keep driving, Phil.”

  Lindsay panted shallow breaths, trying to silently inhale air. Her heart rate was nearing the explosion point, her vision blurring into a sparkling mist. Starved for oxygen, she finally choked raggedly for breath.

  “Erik. Get off her. She can’t breathe,” said Jake.

  “Not while we’re in town. Somebody might see her.”

  Erik spoke next to her ear. She could taste his whiskey breath as she gasped desperately for oxygen. “When I let you up, you gotta promise not to do anything, or I will fucking kill you.”

  “Erik. Cut it out,” said Phil. “No one’s going to hurt you, Lindsay.” A minute later he said, “Okay, we’re on the freeway. Let her up.”

  “First we have to put these on,” said the voice to her left, pulling rubber masks out of the plastic bag he’d left on the car floor. “Here, Phil.” He tossed it on the front seat.

  “I’m not putting that on. No way, Jake.”

  “Do it,” said Erik, “so she doesn’t see your face.”

  “I don’t care if she sees my face,” said Phil. “What difference does it make?”

  “If she sees our faces she can describe us,” the one called Jake said. “So this is not only for our safety but for hers, too.”

  Erik moved to the right and jerked her to a sitting position, giving her a startling glimpse of his masked face. A grinning President Clinton.

  Now able to breathe, her head cleared, and she glanced out the window. The car was on 101 heading north out of town to the grade. Where are they taking me? Why is this happening? The man to her left wore a hoodie with a USL logo on it, sending a new flood of terror through her. Oh God, it must be them. She knew instinctively not to let them know her discovery. Lindsay dropped her eyes to her trembling hands on her lap and tried to control her rising panic. Her mother’s voice whispered in her head, “Focus and breathe. Focus and breathe.”

  As she willed her escalating blood pressure down, she remembered an Oprah show she’d watched with her mom a few months ago. It was about what to do when you found yourself in a dangerous situation. What did the man say? Don’t act afraid. Tell them your name so it becomes more personal.

  No one spoke as the car topped the long grade and began its descent. After a few minutes, Erik said, “Turn at Santa Sicomoro.”

  “What exactly is your plan?” asked Phil.
r />   “Don’t worry about it. Just drive through town and I’ll tell you when to turn.”

  Lindsay couldn’t stand it anymore and blurted, “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “We want to talk to you, that’s all,” Erik said, his voice muffled by the grinning mask.

  “Why? I don’t even know who you are.” Tell them your name so it becomes more personal. “M-my name’s Lindsay.”

  “That’s a relief,” he said snidely. “It’d be a real bummer if we’d grabbed the wrong girl.”

  She didn’t want to cry in front of them, but the tears flowed anyway. Are they going to rape me again? “Please let me go,” she whispered, her voice choking. “I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

  The boy in the hoodie turned to her. She shuddered when she saw the Arnold Schwarzenegger Terminator mask he wore. “You don’t need to be afraid. We’re not going to hurt you. But no more talking until we get there, okay? Then we’ll discuss everything and you can go home.”

  “Yeah, then you can go home.” Erik mimicked Jake, snuggling an arm around her thin, quivering shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. Just chill.” She tried to wriggle out from under his arm, which made him snicker and squeeze her tighter.

  Phil saw this in the rearview mirror. “God. Leave her alone, Erik. She’s just a kid.”

  “Not the way I remember it. She wanted it bad the other night.” His hand snaked down her front and pinched her small breast. “Didn’t you, girl?”

  She twisted away from him and crossed her arms over her breasts. “I-I d-don’t know what you’re talking about.” She’d recognized Erik’s voice as the creepy guy at the frat party who’d given her a Dr. Pepper.

  The SUV drove slowly through the small town of Santa Sicomoro, sticking to the speed limit. As they passed several small businesses and homes clustered within the downtown limits, Lindsay frantically looked about for someone on the street. She would bang on the window and scream, and they would see the license plate and call the police, maybe even get in their car and save her, but the sidewalks were empty.

  Erik noticed her eyes darting back and forth and chuckled. “No one out there to help you, Lind-say.”

  Jake slammed the front seat with his hand. “Quit screwing with her, Erik.”

  “Been there and done that.”

  Chapter Twenty

  DEAD GIRLS DON’T BLOG

  1996

  Friday, May 10

  At 2:57, Belinda Moore parked by the flagpole to wait for her daughter. The school bells sounded at 3:00, and moments later, students poured through the gates into the parking lot. At 3:10, the school buses were leaving and she was losing patience. She wanted Lindsay to have time for a snack before her 4:00 appointment with Dr. Greenburg.

  “She must be talking to friends and has lost track of time,” she said aloud. She got out of the minivan, walked around to the passenger side and leaned against the vehicle, arms crossed in irritation, watching the gate.

  A sudden wind gust snapped the flag rope against the metal pole and Belinda turned her head, looking up at the flag. Then she noticed a purple sweater at the foot of the pole. A split second later it struck her that it looked like Lindsay’s favorite sweater. She ran to it, snatching it up, knowing instinctively that something was wrong. She clutched the mohair sweater to her breast and rushed to the school office. The secretary was straightening papers on the counter when Belinda burst through the doors. “Have you seen Lindsay? I can’t find her!”

  Mrs. Watkins knew what had happened to Lindsay and when she saw the panicked look on Belinda’s face, she was immediately concerned. “No, I haven’t. Did she know you were coming?”

  “Yes! I was supposed to pick her up at the flagpole, right after school.” Belinda’s shaky hand grasped at the secretary’s bony hands as she fought back tears. “She knows she has a doctor’s appointment.”

  “She probably got sidetracked and doesn’t realize the time,” she said in a convincing, lighthearted tone she didn’t feel. “I have worried parents in here all the time looking for their kids. Often they forget and start walking home, totally oblivious.”

  Belinda visibly calmed down. “You’re probably right. I’m overreacting.” Then she remembered the sweater she held clasped to her chest. “No, I’m not.” She held out the sweater for Mrs. Watkins to see. “I found this on the ground by the flagpole. It’s her favorite.” She pointed at the label. “See? It has her name on the label.”

  Mrs. Watkins put on her black-rimmed glasses attached to a chain hung around her neck and peered at the label. “Hold on.” She rushed around the reception counter and out the doors. She looked towards the flagpole, praying for Lindsay to be there now. She wasn’t. She ran back into the office. “I’m not taking any chances. I’m calling the police. You stand outside and watch in case she shows up.”

  Belinda went outside while Mrs. Watkins dialed 911. Penny Hobart was the dispatcher who took the call and she immediately sent out a squad car.

  Mrs. Watkins and the school principal, Darrell Upton, joined Belinda and together they waited for the police at the flagpole. A crowd of curious students gathered, some recognizing Mrs. Moore, and their chatter escalated as they speculated amongst themselves. Upton, a tall, barrel chested man, asked them to quiet down.

  He took Belinda’s hand. “I’m sorry you’ve had so much worry, Mrs. Moore.” His innate, protective nature soothed Belinda’s jangled nerves.

  Jenny Farrell approached Belinda, carrying Lindsay’s pink and purple backpack. “Mrs. Moore?”

  Belinda turned to her, seeing the backpack. “Jenny. Where did you get that?” Her voice edged on hysteria.

  At that moment, a squad car screamed into the parking lot, halting near the group. Two officers got out and Belinda ran to them, waving the sweater.

  “This is her sweater! I found it on the ground over there.” She pointed at the base of the pole. “I was supposed to pick her up here, right after school.”

  Officer Gabe Miller and his younger partner, Dan Martinez, were the officers who had found Lindsay sitting on a bench at the train station and had taken her to the hospital.

  “We’ll find her, Mrs. Moore,” said Miller in a quiet, compassionate tone.

  “I’ll start questioning the students,” Martinez said to Miller, as he turned towards the growing mob of kids pressing in on them. “Can I have everyone move back, please?”

  A tan sedan pulled in behind the squad car and Detective Angela Yaeger stepped out.

  “Angela!” cried Belinda. All at once, the police cars, the flashing lights, and the arrival of Angela overwhelmed her. It meant this was for real, that they believed Lindsay was in danger, that she truly was gone. Taken. “Oh God! My baby! Where’s my baby? How can this be happening?” She sank to the ground, pressing the sweater against her womb, sobbing.

  Angela knelt beside her and draped her arm over Belinda’s trembling back. She almost said the empty platitude everyone says when trying to comfort someone, it’ll be all right, but caught herself in time. Due to previous police visits to the school, Angela was on friendly terms with Mr. Upton and Mrs. Watkins, and she beckoned them to help Belinda to a nearby bench. Mrs. Watkins sat on the bench beside her and held Belinda’s hand.

  Angela approached Officer Miller, who was standing close by, and steered him out of Belinda’s earshot. “Call Tommy. Then tape off the area.”

  “I’ve already called and they’re on the way. I’ll get the area secured.”

  Angela returned to Belinda. Upton stood up from the bench and asked her what he could do to help.

  “I want to talk to her last teacher of the day, if they’re still here; otherwise, please try to get them here a.s.a.p.”

  “I’m on it.” He saw Jenny lingering on the sidelines, still clutching the backpack. “I think you should talk to her.” He signaled Jenny over.

  As she approached, Belinda saw her daughter’s backpack again. “What are you doing with that?”

  Jenny’s eye
s grew large with threatening tears. “She asked me to take it home with me and said she’d get it later.”

  “Where was this, Jenny?” asked Angela.

  “In study hall. She left early and didn’t come back.”

  Angela took the backpack. “What time?”

  “Maybe 2:30?”

  Angela looked at her watch: 3:35. “I want you to stay in case I need to talk to you again. You can call your parents in the office and tell them I’ll get you home. Then come back here.” Jenny jogged away and Angela turned to Belinda. “I’m going to empty Lindsay’s backpack. If you see anything unusual, tell me.” Angela unzipped the pack and spilled the contents on the ground in front of Belinda and Mrs. Watkins. A Trapper Keeper, a math book, gum wrappers, a hairbrush, cherry flavored lip gloss, two dollars, a Tiger Beat magazine, a Jolly Rancher candy stick, a half-eaten sandwich. Angela didn’t need Belinda to tell her there was nothing out of the ordinary. “I’m thankful you didn’t wait to call us. It’s probably nothing, just a little mix-up, but we don’t want to take any chances. May I have Lindsay’s sweater?”

  Belinda reluctantly released it to her. “Why?”

  “Because it tells us she was at the flagpole, and now we have to figure out where she went, so I’m going to have Tommy, our best tracker, sniff the sweater and then we’ll see what he comes up with.”

  “Oh my God. You think she’s dead!”

  “Absolutely not! But Tommy can give us a lot of information fast so we aren’t wasting valuable time.” Angela noted Belinda’s gray, clammy pallor and was concerned she might be going into shock. She spoke softly to Mrs. Watkins. “Can you take care of her?”

  “Of course. Please, don’t let us slow you down.”

  “Go! I’m all right! Just find my little girl,” Belinda pleaded.

  A K-9 SUV drove into the lot and moments after, an officer leading a sleek, black Labrador joined the other officers. Angela took the sweater to the K-9 Officer, who then had Tommy smell it.