Island of Lost Girls - Jennifer McMahon [73]
Rhonda reached back, stretched her arm across the desk until her fingers found the cool, smooth edge of the granite stone, felt the indentations of engraved letters:PAT HEBERT, STATION OWNER AND MANAGER . She grabbed it. Heavy. Seven or eight pounds maybe.
Good boy, my ass! Pat hissed. She clenched the crowbar.
He killed her. He took my little Birdie and he
No! Rhonda raised the stone and aimed for Pats temple. She made contact, and the force of it vibrated through her arm and into her chest. The crowbar slipped from Pats hands, clanking on the ground. Then Pat herself went down.
Rhonda, gripping the granite stone in her hands, stepped carefully over Pat and opened the door.
Shit, shit, shit, she whispered, trying to calm herself. What had she done?
I didnt have a choice, Rhonda whispered, trying to convince herself. Warren? she called out.
She peered carefully left, toward the store, and right, down the hall toward the garage. No one. Quiet. She tiptoed across the hall and into the dark storeroom, felt for the switch, and turned on the lights, only to find herself face-to-face with a tall man in sunglasses and a baseball cap. She swung and knocked him flat.
Fuck!
Shed knocked down a life-size cardboard cutout of a race car driver advertising motor oil.
Good shot, Farr, Rhonda told herself. Her hands were shaking.
She backed out of the storeroom, keeping the light on. She wanted every corner blazing.
Adrenaline buzzed through her body. She turned and faced the metal door leading to the garage.EMPLOYEES ONLY, warned a red-lettered metal sign.
She looked for a light switch to the garage outside the door leading to it. No such luck. Shed have to go in and feel her way around. Still clutching the heavyPAT stone in her hand, she pushed the door open and stepped into the garage, where she smelled burned rubber, oil, and exhaust. An engine was running. The metal door swung closed behind her with a loud thunk. After the fluorescent bright hallway, her eyes could make out nothing in the inky black garage. The air was hot and thick, full of exhaust. She turned and felt along the wall for a switch. There was one to the right of the door: four switches, all pointed down. Using her index finger, she flipped them all up and turned around.
Rhondas heart jackhammered. She dropped the stone, which hit the cement floor and cracked, the wordsPAT HEBERT breaking off fromSTATION OWNER AND MANAGER.
There, in the far bay, was Warrens car. The rabbit was strapped into the drivers seat. The car was running, and a length of hose ran from the exhaust pipe to the back window cracked open.
Shit! Rhonda leaped forward, hurried to the car. She pulled the hose from the exhaust pipe and went around to the drivers side. Locked. Shit!
Back to the tool bench, where she found a small sledgehammer. Two swings and shed shattered the front passenger side window. She reached in, pushed the button to unlock the doors, then returned to the drivers side and opened the door. The rabbit was leaning back, seat reclined like he was just taking a little bunny nap. She leaned over him, turned off the car, then found the button to release the seat belt.
He was heavy. Dead weight. No, she thought, not dead. Cant be dead. Cant be a killer.
She dragged him from the car. Laid him down on the cement floor of the garage.
Air. She had to get air. She unlatched the lock on the overhead door of the left bay of the garage and yanked it open. She took a deep breath, then crouched beside the rabbit. She placed two hands on the mask, and gently, ever so gently, she pulled it off.
A sob escaped her lips. She snatched her cell phone from her pocket and dialed 911.
While Rhonda waited for the ambulance, she thought about Ella Starkeehow the Magic Man was found dead in his living room the day Ella was rescued and was able to describe him and his car.