Island of Lost Girls - Jennifer McMahon [5]
Yes, Vermont, Rhonda said, hating herself for not even thinking to notice the plate and commit it to memory. I think so anyway.
Okay, was there anything else distinguishing about the car? Some rust? Was there anything in the backseat maybe?
I didnt see into the backseat. And no, it was just a gold bug. Nothing unusual except the driver.
The rabbit, the cop said, a trace of skepticism in his voice. He was the shorter of the two and Rhonda believed he couldnt have been more than nineteen, barely over adolescence. The rash of pimples at his temples looked painful, more like boils, really, under the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat.
Yes, therabbit . Rhondas voice shook a little this time, from nerves and frustration, the frustration of having to explain herself again and again, of knowing what Trudy said was trueit was Rhondas own fault that Ernie was gone. She had taken no action. She watched the small girl in the red jumper be taken as easily as she had watched life unfold beneath the lens of her microscope: as a passive observer slightly in awe of the sight before her.
This was not who she was. She was a doer, someone who made lists. Someone who was methodical and looked at things with a keen, scientific eye. She always knew the next logical step in any situation. But for some reason, that afternoon, she sat staring, paralyzed, dumbfounded. Hypnotized by a white rabbit.
The other trooper was with Trudy on the other side of the store. Jim had pulled the folding chair with the ripped padding from behind the counter and set it up beside the candy rack, next to the Hershey bars and Good & Plentys. Together, he and the policeman had guided the nearly hysterical Trudy to the chair and were doing their best to calm her. Only moments before, when it finally sunk in that Rhonda had seen the abduction and done nothing, Trudy dove at her and tried to put her eyes out with her freshly manicured nails. Trudys nails were no joke. They were two inches long, filed to points, and showed off a fresh coat of a reddish orange that reminded Rhonda of a bleeding Creamsicle. The taller state trooper, the one who seemed to be taking the lead role in the investigation, pulled Trudy off and led her across the store to the chair Jim was setting up. Rhonda stayed with her back against the beer cooler, her head bowed.
You did nothing! Trudy called back. You sat on your fucking fat ass and watched my little girl get taken away!
Rhonda did not consider her ass fat but, compared to Trudys size six figure, Rhonda was a big girla chunky, five-foot-five-inch size fourteen who carried most of her weight in her torso. Rhondas face was round too, and she was forever trying to find a haircut that might help make it seem less so.
Once the taller trooper had settled Trudy into her chair, he resumed his questioning.
Is there anyone you know who might have taken your daughter? A family member? An ex-boyfriend, maybe?
Im a fucking widow! I dont have any boyfriends. I have Ernie and my sister and thats all. She began to cry, mascara running black streams down her pale face, cutting tracks through her foundation.
Please, maam. Im sorry. I know this is hard. But has Ernie told you about anyone? The parent of a friend, maybe? A stranger watching her play?
It was the rabbit! Trudy cried. Fucking Peter Rabbit! Oh,God ! She was sobbing and fumbling in the pocket of her denim jacket for the new pack of cigarettes and her lighter. Lottery tickets fluttered to the floor. The tall state trooper leaned down and picked them up, held them in his hand while she lit her cigarette, studied them like they were evidence.
Shes been telling me for over a month now about Peter Rabbit visiting her. Taking her to Rabbit Island in his submarine. She even drew pictures of it. Christ! I thought it was all made up!
Jim sauntered over and put a reassuring hand on Trudys arm, giving it a squeeze with grease-stained fingertips. I called over to the beauty shop. Pats on her way. Dont you worry, Trudy. Erniell show