I take one last look at the Jennings’ home. Across the street is a chunk of land dotted with redwoods and sharp rocks. Beyond that is the Pacific Ocean. The salty ocean air is strong here, much stronger than it is in town. In one of Dad’s folders was some information on the Jennings family. I don’t really know what my house is worth, but the Jennings’ house seems awfully expensive on paper. Seeing it in person, I can understand why.
The white colonial doesn’t really fit in the neighborhood but pays tribute to Mrs. Jennings’s Southern roots. At least that’s what the newspaper said when they did a feature on the family shortly after Darren’s beating. Most of the homes in this neighborhood are set far apart—so far, in fact, that you’d have to squint to see much detail about a neighbor’s house without a pair of binoculars. They’re all set far back from the road, too, and none of them are really very large. Nice, but not large. Yet the Jennings’ house sticks out like a sore thumb with its ridiculous columns and fancy-pants flowers everywhere. Not that the flowers are in great shape right now. Every inch of the property looks like it was well cared for and perfectly designed at one time. Now the grass is overgrown, and the weeds are out of control. The flower beds would be worse off had it not been raining a lot recently. But nothing appears to have been kept up in the last few months.
Without any major leads at the house, I’m kind of stuck. I don’t know what I was hoping to find, but an abandoned house is definitely not it.
At the next house down, a woman is bent over what I think is her flower garden and working away. Her home is a one-story ranch with fresh paint and sturdy shutters. It looks a little bigger than Jeremy’s house, though it can’t be by much, but it’s definitely better updated. As fast as I can, I make my way over to the woman. The closer I get, the more nervous I become. I have no idea what I’m going to say to her or how I’m going to convince her to talk to me.
“Excuse me,” I say loudly but without being too rude or invasive. The woman stops her work and pushes herself up from the dirt. She reminds me of Grandma in a way. She’s definitely Grandma’s age, and judging by her khaki pants and brightly-colored floral top, it looks like they probably shop in the same store.
“Hello,” she says politely with a smile on her face.
“Do you know where they went?” I ask, hitching my thumb toward the Jennings residence.
“Oh, them?” Taking a step forward, she removes her gardening gloves and holds them in her right hand while slapping them into her left repeatedly. “No, I don’t.”
“Okay.” I blow out a frustrated breath. I need something here—anything would help. “Take a wild guess—what would you come up with?”
“I’d guess that man got himself into some trouble,” she says. “There a reason Forsaken wants to know?”
I look down at my hoodie, realizing that she thinks I’m asking for the club. I guess I am, in a way. I just have to keep her talking as much as I can. I’m on eggshells over here. One crack and I might be done for. I can’t tell her the club is asking, because they don’t take kindly to people using them for their own gain, even if this is kind of for them, and I can’t try to bully her. She doesn’t look like she’s one to be bullied.
“Forsaken is my family. The woman who was raped at Universal Grounds is my stepmom’s cousin and best friend. Nobody tells me anything, and it’s scary. I was just hoping that maybe Mr. and Mrs. Jennings knew something that might link what happened to their son to what happened to Mindy and Holly.”
The woman’s face falls, and she sighs. When she nods her head, I know honesty was the right way to go. The only fib there was that Holly isn’t technically my stepmom. Yet.
“I’ve told the police, but they blew me off like I’m a nosy busybody. That man built that god-awful house, and then he bought himself a Porsche. Then he bought his wife a new car. They redid the whole front yard and then got approval for some kind of man-made safari thing in the backyard. And do you know what they used on the soil? Pesticides.”
Okay, once she decides to talk, she really talks. I nod my head and scowl in what I hope are the appropriate places. She doesn’t even seem to notice.
“The homeowners association banned the use of pesticides, but that man paid somebody off to get that stupid safari plan approved. He had to. Nobody’s happy with them.”
“So,” I say slowly, “do you know where they went?”
“Oh, right.” She taps the index finger of her free hand to her lips. “No, I don’t know where they went, but I think he has a gambling problem. Don’t tell anybody that came from me. Anyway, they left early one morning and only took a few bags with them when they went. Why would they leave their son in the hospital like that unless they had to?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I say.
She nods her head and then squints at me. “What’s your name?”
Come on, Cheyenne. You know how to lie and how to be evasive, so figure it out already.
“Um, maybe it’s best we don’t exchange names.” I give her a smile while making a hasty retreat. “Thanks!”
Pulling my phone out of my pocket when it chimes, I read the message that awaits me. It’s from Jeremy. WHERE R U?
Crap.
OUT, I text back.