Island of Lost Girls - Jennifer McMahon [4]
Trudy left the engine running, thinking she wouldnt be long, that she should leave the radio on for her daughter, little Ernie Florucci, who sat strapped into the backseat with its faded upholstery riddled with stains and cigarette burns. Ernie had just been picked up from school. She was wearing a red corduroy jumper and had her brown hair in pigtails held with matching red elastics. Ernie was in second grade.Second grade, Rhonda would think later, trying to go back in her mind to what she had been like at that age, how vulnerable she must have been, how small and insignificant.
Trudy had left the radio playing, the volume up loud enough that Rhonda could hear it from her own car. It was country music, which Rhonda never listened to, even as the radio stations that played it seemed to multiply, so she didnt recognize the song. It was a love song maybe, a song about heartbreakarent they all,Rhonda would later think.
The music was distracting to Rhonda as she sat nervously going over what she might say in the interview, what questions they might ask. She had spent the past two days reading up on zebra mussels so she would sound smart, informed. She wanted the researchers to know she cared enough to do her homework. She was rolling over these facts in her mind, thinking about the sneaky destructiveness of the invasive species, about the photos shed seen of larger native mollusks smothered by zebra musselswhen the third car pulled into the lot, right alongside Trudys Corsica.
It was a gold-colored Volkswagen Beetle, and Rhondas first thought wasShit, Laura Lee Clark . Tocks mother. Rhonda put her head down, pretending to study the dial on her radio. She was not in the mood to make chitchat with Laura Lee, who was sure to bring up Peter and Tock (such a happy couple,she was fond of saying), and little Suzys latest brilliant endeavor (a genius,Laura Lee insisted,my granddaughters a genius ). Rhonda kept her head down, but glanced up just enough to see the driver open the door and climb out. Thats when she saw that the car was not driven by crazy old Laura Lee Clark at all, but by a large white rabbit.
You mean someone wearing a rabbit suit? one of the state troopers would ask her later. Like the Easter Bunny?
Yes, she would tell him. Of course. A white rabbit suit. A costume. It was a man wearing a costume.
How do you know it was a man, Miss Farr? With the costume?
I dont know, I guess. It just it just seemed like it would be a man. And he was tall.
Six feet tall, the trooper repeated back to her, reading from his own notes.
But the truth was, when the rabbit got out of the car, there in the Pats Mini Mart parking lot at quarter to three on a Monday afternoon, it didnt occur to Rhonda that there might be a person inside. He hopped like a bunny, moved quickly, nervously, jerking his big white head one way, then the other. He turned toward Rhonda, and for an instant he seemed to stare at her with his blind plastic eyes. She imagined she could almost see his nose twitch as he gave a slight nod in her direction.
Rhonda watched as the rabbit rapped on Ernies window with his big white fluffy paw. The little girl grinned up at him and pushed open her door. He leaned down and Ernie touched the bunny fondly on the head, right behind its ears, and unbuckled her seat belt.
The rabbit held out its paw and Ernie took it in her own small hand, stepping from her mothers car to the gold Volkswagen, getting in the passenger seat without a struggle, without any hesitation. The little girl smiled the whole time.
THE GOLD VOLKSWAGENhad a dent in the rear bumper.
That was all Rhonda could tell the troopers when describing the car. She told them how, at first, she thought it was Laura Lee, then it turned out not to be. She hadnt thought to get the license plate number.
But it was a Vermont plate? Not out-of-state, Quebec,