Island of Lost Girls - Jennifer McMahon [6]
Rhonda thought of eight-year-old Ella Starkee, the little girl kidnapped in rural Virginia last month and found in a hole ten days later. She survived by catching rain in a rusty tin can and eating earthworms. Rhonda shivered. Trudy glared at her, eyes glazed with fury.
The fat girl knows more than shes saying, Trudy spat. I mean, why the fuck else did she just sit there? She probably knew the guy. They were working as a team. She was the lookout. Dont kidnappers do that?
Well investigate her thoroughly, maam, said the cop.
The shorter trooper with the bad skin led Rhonda outside, where they stood talking on the oil-stained pavement.
Rhonda watched Trudy stare out at her through the glass window with its collage of beer and cigarette signs.WEDNESDAY SPECIAL: 5 CENTS OFF EACH GALLON OF GAS ALL DAY!!!MECHANIC ON DUTY , promised another. But wherewas Peter?
Trudy continued glaring out at Rhonda like she expected to suddenly notice a white fluffy tail peeking from beneath her blazer.
WHEN DETECTIVE SERGEANTJoe Crowley arrived at Pats Mini Mart, he called in a team to come and search the area. More state police arrived along with a white forensics van. They took pictures. They searched the parking lot for tire tracks and other evidence. They dusted the passenger side of Trudys car for fin gerprints, even though Rhonda had made it clear that the culprits hands were well covered. After all, the bunny had furry white paws.
Crowley put out an APB for the gold Volkswagen, for Ernie Florucci. He issued an AMBER alert. He sent the taller trooper home with Trudy, instructing him to pick up the girls rabbit drawings and a recent photo of Ernestine. The trooper helped Trudy up out of the tattered chair and gently handed her the lottery tickets hed been holding.
You cant forget these, he told her with a wink. Ive got a feeling theyre real lucky. Trudy gave a half smile and stuffed the tickets into the pocket of her denim jacket, then walked to the car, leaning into the cop as he guided her, his arm around her waist.
Sergeant Crowley had an air of authority that made Rhonda relieved and hopeful. If anyone could find the little girl and the rabbit, Crowley could. He was in his mid-forties (her fathers age) and wore his salt-and-pepper hair very short. He had on dark trousers, a white shirt, and a dark green tie with a gold clip. He looked, to Rhonda, like a man who had been in great shape once, an ex-athlete who blew out a knee and had let himself fill out a little.
Miss Farr, is there anything else you can tell me about the rabbit? Anything at all?
No, said Rhonda, shaking her head. There was nothing else she could tell him. Not aboutthis rabbit, but once, long ago, there had beenanother white rabbit and he too, in time, had somehow slipped away.
APRIL 11, 1993
THERE WAS SNOWin the woods. Her feet were slipping as she ran in her good yellow Easter shoes, ankles numb from cold. Lizzy was beside her. They were holding hands. Laughing each time they fell. Lizzy wore matching yellow shoes with pale satin bows: she had seen Rhondas and begged her mother to take her to the mall for an identical pair. It was like that with the girls: whatever one had, the other longed for.
Lizzy and Rhonda told everyone at school they were twin sisters living as cousins, when the truth was they were not related at all. But still, the other kids believed the story about them being twins. It was an easy lie to believe, because they looked so much alike: two chunky girls with straight, dark, tousled hair, dirt under their nails, funny overbites from sucking thumbs too long. They were quiet girls with big brown eyes. Koala bear eyes, lemur eyes, eyes that seemed to take up their whole plain faces.
They had been best friends since before they learned to talksharing a sandbox, being walked by their mothers in matching pink strollers down to the lake. And when words came to them, they seemed, the way their mothers described it,