Island of Lost Girls - Jennifer McMahon [16]
The stage went up like a strange life raft marooned in a clearing surrounded by tall white pines. It was built from two-by- fours and tongue-and-groove boards taken from an old silo that had been torn down a few miles away. The back of the stage was a framed wall from which they hung sheets with scenery painted on (which Rhonda, as resident artist, was always responsible for). There was no curtain. Sets were changed out in the open, for the audience to see. To the left of the stage sat Clems old red Impala with its top down, and this was often used as a prop. It had been a cop car, a gypsy wagon, and now, Peter was explaining, it would become a pirate ship complete with mast, sail, and a skull-and-crossbones flag at the top.
Rhonda opened the sketchbook shed brought and started to work on designs for the boat as Peter talked, throwing ideas at her. Drawing was the thing Rhonda did best. She could draw better than she could act, and she was by far the best artist in her class, if not the best in the whole school. Writing and directing the plays was Peters job, costumes and choreography were Lizzys department, but the scenery was up to Rhonda.
They were just in the planning stages now. Theyd spend the next weeks painting scenery, making their costumes, designing the sets. When school let out and the summer kids came to the cottages around the lake, Peter would hold auditions and they would begin rehearsing every day.
And this is where our crocodile will lie in wait, announced Peter, pulling open the trapdoor in the back of the stage floor. It led to a hole the kids had dug underneath. The hole was four feet wide, four feet long, and four feet deep. The trap door above it was designed so that evil wizards could appear and disappear, so that the dead could rise from quiet graves.
But who will be the crocodile? Lizzy asked, nervous about who was going to kill her.
Peter shrugged. Dont know yet. But that crocodiles out there somewhere, I can feel it!
JUNE 6, 2006
THE HOLE ELLAStarkee was left in was nine feet deep, and the floor, said the article inPeople magazine, was roughly the size of a wooden shipping pallet. The kidnapper, whom Ella came to call The Magic Man, covered the top of the hole with boards and leaves. He came to visit every day. The article didnt say what he did during these visits, only that he used a ladderfashioned from saplings lashed togetherto get down into the hole to see her. Each day, he brought her one butterscotch candy, golden as sunlight, with crinkly cellophane wrappers that she saved and sucked on long after the candy was gone.
PATS MINI MARThad transformed into the Find Ernie headquarters. Pat and Jim had cleared the shelves in the back aisle of Ho Hos and Smartfood, and moved the shelving units into storage. They were replaced with a long row of folding tables, piled high with flyers, envelopes, and legal pads. Extension cords and phone wires snaked out from behind the delis meat case, powering the laptop computer and two cordless phones. Those who stood too close to the work area for long, Pat roped inSurely, you have five minutes to stuff envelopes? or How about manning one of the phones for ten minutes, while Alison here takes a break?
Pats nephew, Warren, who had just finished his freshman year of college down in Philadelphia, had driven all night to get there to help out. His job was to collect all the phoned-in tips, jotted on the legal pads, into a database on the laptop. Karen Boisvert, who worked for IBM, had set up a Find Ernie Web site, complete with all the latest news and a form to submit possible sightings and leads. Peter had been there, working right beside them, until Crowley pulled him into Pats office for questioning.
Rhonda was sitting next to Warren and his laptop, answering phones. Warren wore a Penn State baseball cap and a hemp necklace with brown and black beads. His eyes were bloodshot from not having slept the night before, and he seemed to have a strange, boyish addiction to hot chocolate