Dead of Night (The Youngbloods #2)

Dead of Night (The Youngbloods #2) Page 15

“It won’t be easy,” she said. “Since she’s bolting every time she has a shot at freedom, the fear factor is consistent. It could be a sound or a smell, but odds are it’s something that is a constant in her daily environment. Something she sees or senses like my jumper’s gate. It could be a piece of equipment, something you do as part of her care routine, or even one of your brothers.”

“I wish horses could talk.”

“They do,” Mena said, and smiled as she went over to Sali’s stall. “Like this cutie here. You’re just a big flirt, aren’t you, girl?” Sali lowered her head to nuzzle Mena’s neck. “See? She gives away free kisses to total strangers.”

“Horses don’t kiss.” Gray wheeled in the barrow we used when we mucked out the stalls. “Are you guys done? I’ve got work to do.”

Mena frowned at him. “Is it me, or is he this unfriendly to everyone?”

“It’s him,” I told her.

She dug her fingers into her back pocket, and produced one of her father’s colorful business cards. On the back she jotted down a number and handed it to me. “That’s our home number, if you need to talk. Or if your brother ever gets over himself and wants to ask me out.” She raised her voice. “I like going on trail rides, picnics and seeing movies, by the way.”

“Thanks.” I glanced at Gray, who looked like Rika had kicked him in the head again. “He’s a little shy.”

“That’s okay. I’m not.” She walked out of the barn.

I went to the door to watch her ride off, and after a minute my brother joined me. “There is something wrong with that girl,” he told me.

“She says what she thinks. I like her.” I held the business card up under his nose. “Are you getting over yourself, or should I sell this to you at a later date?”

“Shut up.”

My new job kept me too busy to brood much over my problems. Each afternoon before the sun set I focused on inventorying the store’s shelf stock and filling out the tally sheets, and then had my meal break. Jesse usually arrived right after that, and did his part by entering my counts into the computer. Once he’d gone through all the sheets, he’d bring out a bin from the storeroom and we’d tackle that together.

I did borrow one book from Mrs. Frost’s shelves, one I had to keep in my backpack in case my brothers decided to search my room again. I’d never read Bram Stoker’s Dracula, but I knew he had written a character in the story based on Abraham Van Helsing, a real nineteenth-century vampire-hunter. Since Stoker hadn’t even bothered to change his name, I was hoping to find out more about the first Van Helsing from the book.

I had very mixed feelings about Julian Hargraves’s collection. Some of the books fascinated me, especially those with detailed illustrations of fantasy creatures, but others seemed a little silly. A few even made me angry.

“From the way they describe these dogs, they probably had rabies or some other kind of disease,” I said to Jesse after I read a passage on hellhounds in a book about demonic animal possession. “So getting rid of them was a good thing. But I don’t get why black cats had such a bad rep. It’s just a fur color.”

“Black is the color of night, the time when people sleep, and are at their most vulnerable,” he told me. “It may be the reason mankind learned to control and use something as dangerous as fire. So they could light up the darkness.”

“Okay, so black isn’t anyone’s favorite color, but why pick on cats?” I argued. “I bet it’s just because they’ve never sucked up to humans the way dogs do.”

He laughed. “Perhaps.”

At home Trick brought down from the attic our small box of Christmas house decorations and put them out, which made the old farmhouse seem a little more festive. We never went all-out the way some families did during the holidays, but it was nice to see the old stockings hanging from the mantle, and the lighted wreath on our front door.

One night when I came home from work I saw something I didn’t expect in one corner of our living room.

“There’s a tree inside the house,” I said to Gray, who had walked me home from the bus stop.

“I know, I went with Trick to the tree farm to get it.” He sounded vaguely disgusted. “He wants us to help him decorate it tomorrow.”

“Oh.” I knew what Christmas trees were, naturally, but we’d never had one before this. “Is he going to make us go to church, too?”

“I don’t do church.” Gray trudged off to his room.

I went over to inspect the tree. At six feet tall it seemed like the right size, and it made the whole room smell like pine, which I also liked. Wedged in between some branches I found a little empty bird’s nest, which charmed me. The bottom of the trunk sat in a big, dirt-filled metal bucket, which didn’t make sense to me until I brushed back some of the dirt and found the tops of the tree’s roots.

“It’s a live tree,” Trick said from behind me. “After the holidays we can take it outside and plant it.”

“That sounds nice.” I got up. “Why did you decide to put up a tree for Christmas this year?”

“I thought about it when you and Gray were younger, but we were usually moving during the winter holidays so the two of you wouldn’t miss school.” He reached out to pluck a piece of straw caught in a cluster of needles. “This is really the first year we have a permanent home.”

“I didn’t realize that,” I said. Then, before I could stop myself, I asked, “Can we really afford it?”

A shuttered look came into his eyes. “Of course

we can.”

“Let me rephrase.” This may not have been the best time, and I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I was already halfway there. “Did you find a job yet?”

Trick regarded me as if I’d just confessed to moonlighting as a stripper, and then the light dawned. “You looked through the newspaper.”

“Before you get mad, let me point out that Gray did the actual snooping,” I advised him. “I’m pretty sure he’s also applied for a job plowing fields at a strawberry farm.”

My brother shook his head. “I need him here, especially when I … no.”

“I’ll let you talk to him about it.” I took my first pay check out of my back pocket. “Here’s my first contribution to the avoid-foster-care fund.” I handed it to him. “If you’re a smart shopper it should cover our groceries for a week.”

“You’re not going in foster care, either of you.” He tried to give it back to me, and glared when I wouldn’t take it. “I can take care of us, Catlyn.”

“I never said you couldn’t.” I tried to sound cheerful. “Besides, you know how cold weather affects Grim’s appetite. The horses may not be safe.”

He tried going remote on me again. “I don’t need your money. If I don’t find work soon, I’ll sell the Harley.”

“I didn’t know there was a huge market for cranky motorcycles that break down every other week.” I gave him an innocent look. “Pardon me, my mistake.”

“Classic Harleys always break down. It’s part of their appeal.” He sat down on the end of the couch and held my paycheck, looking at it as if he’d never seen one. “If I can’t find a buyer for it, I’ll sell it to a repair shop for parts.”

“Okay.” I knew how much it hurt him to say that. “So what happens when that money runs out? Do we sell Flash, or Jupe, or some of the new stock? How much do you think you can get for Sali, assuming you can pry her reins out of my white-knuckled hands?”

He didn’t reply, and his expression grew bleak.

I went to sit beside him. “Look, Trick, Norman Rockwell might never have wanted to paint us, but we’re still a family. I know how hard you’ve fought to keep us together. Let me and Gray help, at least until you find a job, or we fix the problem with Rika.”

He gave my check one last glance before he folded it and put it in his pocket. “I’ll pay you back every dime of this.”

“I’m sure you will. You should also talk to Gray before he worries himself into two jobs.” I smothered a yawn and stood. “I think it’s time for me to turn into a pumpkin.”

“Wait, there’s something I wanted to show you.” Trick took a folded flyer out of his pocket and handed it to me. On it was printed MISSING above a picture of a pale, dark-haired teenager. “Do you know this girl?”

At first I thought it was Sunny Johnson, until I read the information written under the grainy photograph. “Melissa Wayne. No, I’ve never heard of her.” The name sounded vaguely familiar, though, and I studied the picture again. “Wait, no, I think I have seen her. She was in my Ceramics class. Everyone calls her Lissa; that’s why I didn’t make the connection.” I looked at him. “What happened to her?”

“Two days ago her parents dropped her off at their church to help with the youth group’s annual toy drive,” Trick said. “She never made it to the meeting, and no one has seen her since.”

Nine

The Sunday edition of the Lost Lake Community News ran a brief article on the front page about Melissa Wayne’s disappearance, along with a tip line number to call with any information and an open invitation for the community to join a prayer vigil at the Wayne family’s church.

“The article says the police recovered some evidence at the scene,” I mentioned to Trick when we talked about it over breakfast. “They wouldn’t give the reporter any details, though, so it must be bad.”

“It’s probably something they have to use for the prosecution.” He took the classified section from the paper and glanced at Gray, who was staring down at his bowl. “Is it too lumpy, or are you feeling sick?”