“She didn’t tell you?”
“I was going through a rough patch back then.” Amber watched as her toes dug into the soft, spongey soles of her flip-flops. “Truth is, she might have told me, and I might just not remember. But when I realized she was missing, I went straight to the cops. If they’d gone out to look for her the same night, they could have found her.” Amber kept her gaze directed at the floor. There was such horror and grief on her face that Jo had to look away. She couldn’t bear to imagine what the woman might be seeing. If it had been her kid, Jo would have thrown more than plants at the police station’s windows. Amber had gone to the cops because she’d lost the most precious thing she had—and they couldn’t even be bothered to look for it. They’d assigned a price to Mandy Welsh’s life and decided a girl like her wasn’t worth their time.
“We’ll find Mandy,” Jo promised.
Amber shook her head hopelessly. “She’s dead.”
“We know,” Jo said. There was no point in pretending it might not be true. “But we’ll bring her back to you so she can rest in peace. Then we’ll take care of the person who killed her—and make sure he never hurts anyone ever again.”
Amber shook her head as though the thought were ridiculous and Jo was cruel to even suggest it. “How are you gonna do that?”
“We were the ones who found the girl by Danskammer Beach today,” Harriett told her. “Our friend heard her calling.”
Amber blinked. “I’m sorry,” she said flatly. “What?”
“Our friend Nessa has a gift,” Jo explained. “When the dead are lost, they call out to her so she can find them.”
Amber rose slowly from her seat as if she’d spotted a snake slithering toward her across the floor. “You ladies are sweet and I appreciate your help, but I know the cops here, and they aren’t going to listen to a witch and a lady ninja and some woman who talks to dead people.” When she was on her feet, she headed straight for the door. “Thanks for everything you’ve done tonight, but I really need to get home to my kids. My thirteen-year-old is not the babysitter his sister was.”
“Harriett gave you a drink that sobered you up in about ten seconds flat. Would you have believed that was possible?” Jo asked.
Amber paused at the door.
“I can do more than that,” Harriett added. “It will take a lot more than a single drink, but I can restore your health. All you have to do is pay me a few more visits. How long has it been since you haven’t felt broken?”
Long enough for her to take the offer seriously, apparently. “And what would I need to do in return?”
Jo hoped Harriett knew it wasn’t a good moment for a joke about selling her soul to Satan.
“You just have to talk to our friend tomorrow,” Harriett said. “Tell her what you told us about Mandy—and anything else you remember between now and then.”
“That’s it?” Amber asked.
“That, and you let me give you a ride back to your car,” Jo said. “It’s getting late, and someone in Mattauk’s been killing women.”
“Car?” Amber asked. “My car hasn’t been running. I walked into town. And in case you haven’t noticed, somebody’s always killing women.”
Amber’s house was a single-wide trailer parked on a bald patch of sandy dirt. Broken toys lay scattered around the building and a run-down Corolla with three wheels and no license plate sat parked in front. The trailer’s rusted screen door looked as though it had been kicked in multiple times, and a broken window was patched up with duct tape. Jo had always known there were people around Mattauk who weren’t well off. But she couldn’t have imagined this kind of poverty existing a few miles away from her middle-class subdivision or the mansions on Culling Pointe. Mattauk hid its poor people well. Or maybe, Jo realized to her chagrin, she’d never really bothered to look.
Jo had wondered what kind of job would have driven a sixteen-year-old girl to walk five miles down a deserted road in her best dress. Now she knew—and she could have kicked herself for being so dense. A girl who lived in a place like this would have walked five miles for any job that would pay her. Whatever the salary, the money was desperately needed.
A potbellied little boy wearing a pair of basketball shorts stood on the other side of the screen door. The light from a television flickered on the wall behind him. He watched, one hand digging into a bag of Cheetos, as the car pulled up. When the headlights went out and he saw his mom in the passenger seat, he darted out of sight.
“That’s Dustin,” Amber said.
“He’s cute,” Jo said. “How old is he?”
“Seven.” Amber sighed. “Damn it. He was in bed when I left. His brother shouldn’t have let him out. I bet all three of them have been up the whole time. Mandy would have—” She stopped and stared through the windshield, her eyes focused on nothing in particular.
“I’m sorry,” Jo said. “If there’s anything I can do . . .” She wished she knew how to offer help without offending Amber’s pride.
Amber turned to her. “You kept me out of jail tonight. That’s the best thing anyone’s done for me in a really long time. And if your friend can find Mandy’s body, that might just help more than anything else. I can’t go anywhere until I know there’s no chance at all that she’s coming home again.”
“What time do you get off work tomorrow?” Jo asked.
“My shift at the Stop & Shop ends at seven,” Amber said.
“Okay,” Jo said. “My friend Nessa and I will pick you up after work.”
Why Amber Craig Turned to Arson
Her sophomore year in high school, Amber Craig, reporter for the Mattauk High Herald, was sent to interview the area’s oldest resident, who’d recently turned 102. The woman lived in what had once been the guesthouse of a gilded-era mansion that her family had erected more than a century earlier. When Amber rang the bell, she expected the door to be answered by a nurse or a housekeeper. Standing there instead was the woman herself, as alert and high-strung as a rat terrier. They spent the better part of an hour chatting about Mattauk over the decades before Amber got to the clichéd question her journalism teacher had insisted she ask.
“So what’s the secret to a good, long life?”
The woman leaned forward as if she’d been waiting for that very question. “You must do whatever you can to rid yourself of bad luck.”
Amber chuckled politely, imagining it was some kind of old-person joke.
“If it finds you, it will stick to you.” The old lady was dead serious, Amber realized, and she believed her advice was urgently needed. “Should that happen, you must not be afraid. You’ll need to fight back with all your strength. Do whatever is necessary to free yourself quickly, or else you will never escape.”