The Hunger Month

By Jessamine Koch

Holbrook College is a place for second chances. But what happens when the danger you face is worse than the danger you escaped? At first, Audrey Connolly regrets her restless urge to come to a college so far from home, but to her surprise, she finds Holbrook friendly and enriching far beyond her modest expectations. Even a local murder can't spoil her newfound optimism. But then the death count begins to mount. Audrey's friends, Denny and Laurie, have faced their own hardships. Now life at Holbrook will challenge them to overcome the biggest of all, as the killer targets them with repeated attacks and no clear motive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: Jun 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781977228406

Jessamine Koch

Jessamine Koch has answered telephones, been chased by dogs as she made deliveries, worked as a librarian, an editor, and a bookseller. She lives in the woods with her husband and cats.

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The Hunger Month

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2020 Jessamine Koch

v4.0

This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To Marilyn Kaye and Barbara Allison,

who held up the ends.

And especially to Larry,

who held up the middle.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

APRIL 1968

AUGUST 1973

SEPTEMBER

OCTOBER

NOVEMBER

DECEMBER

BREAK

JANUARY

FEBRUARY

MARCH

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

APRIL 1968

She looked different.

They shook hands as he ushered her into his office. Her hand was cool, and her shake brief but firm. She seemed as solemn and composed as always. Strange, after these shattering weeks. But then, her behavior was very like that of her cool, businesslike parents.

Maybe it was her new clothes that gave him the impression. God, the poor child. She had lost so much more than her wardrobe in the fire.

The girl’s eyes were almost level with his, he noticed, as she stepped past him to take a chair. On the day of the funeral, he hadn’t stood face-to-face with her. He was five ten, so she must be five eight or nine, he mused.

Funny that her looks now, at nineteen, had altered so little from the eight-year-old he had first met. Still the same little girl.

No, he amended. It’s not that she still looks young. It’s that she always looked old.

He studied her. She was very pretty despite her pallor, cool blue eyes in a round face. If she ever smiled, she might actually look … pixie-ish. She moved, as always, with no wasted motion and sat very still.

At the funeral, he had noticed that she was overdue for a haircut. The boyish crop cut that she’d worn all her life was slightly shaggy, and she had brushed her bangs out of her eyes often, that strange, sad day. Now, three weeks later, her fine, dark hair seemed fuller, held back with a tortoiseshell band.

She had never experimented with hairstyles or fashions the way his own daughters had. He almost smiled at the idea of this quiet, self-contained girl wearing long, teased hair, or big hoop earrings. Or those white hip-huggers that his youngest, Cindy, loved so much.

I hope that you have had no trouble with the bank, he said as gently as he could. He took his chair behind his desk and rested his elbow on the arm in an informal posture.

She shook her head once. Thanks, Mr. Haver. No, they’ve been very nice. No questions.

He took it to mean that she would not welcome questions about her emotional state.

What she had been through this past month would have changed anyone. To come home from a concert to discover home, family, one’s whole life—burnt to cinders. Having to find and furnish an apartment down to the last fork and dish towel, after nineteen years in her parents’ home, with the two of them making almost every decision for her …

Well, maybe it was therapeutic. Gave her something to focus on.

His acquaintance with her parents had been a notch above merely professional. He’d been the family attorney for fifteen years now. He’d met with Victor and Alice at their home, and attended their two annual parties, for the Fourth of July and Christmas.

But Victor and Alice had never been inclined to chitchat. They had discussed their child only in terms of their wills and insurance, never lacing the conversation with anecdotes about her interests or activities. When Victor’s widowed mother died, Haver had spent some hours with the family discussing the settlement of the estate, but their daughter, then eleven, was allowed to put in her silent appearance only briefly for the social pleasantries.

He’d always had a strange feeling that they kept the girl in the icebox and defrosted her twice a year to pass hors d’oeuvres.

I’m glad that the bank is cooperating. Maybe we can start thinking about your plans, whenever … whenever you’re ready.

It was so hard to avoid painful subjects! He resettled in the chair and interlaced his hands on the leather desktop. When he looked back up, she was gazing at him, apparently not upset. Well, he thought, after all, she is here to discuss finances.

I’d hoped to have your first check from the life insurance by this meeting, but it certainly will arrive soon.

First check?

In fact, we should … If you’d rather have them come at another time of year … He rarely fumbled and tried not to do so now. It’s rather an unfortunate feature of these trusts that the annual payments fall near … near the anniversary of a difficult loss for the recipient. But I can arrange to receive them and remit monthly checks to you. Or make an annual payment to you on some other date. Maybe your birthday each year?

Her brow furrowed slightly.

Of course, I’m suggesting that for next year’s payment. You have a different set of financial circumstances this year.

She glanced sideways, her eyes narrowed, as though she had not expected this information.

Dear Lord. She doesn’t know about the trust.

He leaned back, trying to appear unsurprised. Your father set up the trust for your eighteenth birthday—

She looked back up at him, her eyes flashing for an instant, then reverted to her composed expression.

But of course, Victor and Alice had not actually discussed the possibility of their sudden deaths with their daughter. An absurd idea. No child had ever been more sheltered.

I presumed he was concerned about all the traveling that they did, especially after the Israeli war last year. He paused. The irony of their dying in their own beds instead of in a plane crash in Egypt or Morocco was too grim to think about.

Well, your father inquired about life insurance trusts. He may have been worried about overwhelming you with responsibility for so much money before you had some time to … to get used to managing it. As it is, you’ll get a check each year that will allow you complete independence and will let us make a plan for five years from now, when the principle will be remanded to you in full.

It seemed forever before she nodded slowly, and when she did, a glint caught his eye.

Good heavens. She’s pierced her ears.

A tiny gold stud rested in the center of each earlobe.

God knows they kept her on a short leash for nineteen years, but to splurge so soon after their deaths seems odd. He reached for a sheaf of papers while he collected his thoughts.

I’m overreacting. Circumstances have forced her into department stores, and she couldn’t help but walk by the jewelry counter. They do it right there. She had an impulse. It’s a good thing. If she were going to reject their values, she’d have come in wearing heavy makeup and a vinyl miniskirt or something, not this sophisticated new plaid jacket and slacks.

What about Aunt Pat? she asked.

All your mother left her were personal items, a painting, and some knickknacks, and, of course, those were destroyed. She didn’t seem to want or need anything else when I talked with her after the funeral. She and your uncle Joseph are quite comfortable. In fact, she mentioned that she had some mementos of your mother for you.

He ended on a slight questioning tone. Patricia McManus had seemed like a very nice lady who wanted more of a relationship with her only niece. She and her sister Alice had apparently had little contact in recent years. Patricia had flown to Boston immediately when she heard about Alice and Victor’s deaths and the destruction of the house, and she had paid for the hotel suite for herself and her niece during the following days.

She talked to me about it. The girl made no further comment but looked away as she spoke. She picked at the upholstery of her chair’s arm with her pinkie and seemed lost in thought.

Surely, Patricia had offered to take her back to Minneapolis for some recovery time. But maybe the woman, nice as she was, was still too much of a stranger. The girl probably preferred to be near her friends, even if it meant living in some apartment complex.

I need to make some decisions, I guess, she said quietly. But I’m not sure just what my situation is yet.

He paused. Well, despite your father’s … business setbacks, he saw to it that your situation is going to be very good. The homeowners’ insurance should cover all the … all the expenses, and even leave you a few hundred extra. The trust will pay you four thousand a year, and well over $300,000 at the end of the five-year period. Invested well, it could be substantially more.

She stopped picking at the chair arm and looked up. So it’ll be five years before I can go to college.

College! Haver disguised his surprise to the best of his professional ability. Victor had always intended that his daughter have a college education in accordance with his mother’s will. He’d footed the bill for her to attend Northeastern. It was she who had dropped out before the first semester was over.

My heavens, no, there’s no need to wait, Haver offered quickly. You could go back at any time.

She shook her head. Uh-uh, she said firmly. Most decent schools charge at least $3,000 a year just for tuition and board. Books, traveling, all kinds of things are extra.

Yes, she has been a very sheltered child, he thought wryly. Aloud, he said, There are lots of ways to manage an education. Massachusetts has excellent public universities. Or I’m sure your aunt Patricia would welcome you in Minneapolis if you wanted to go to one of the schools there.

Her expression showed what she thought of that idea.

Or you could look into scholarships or go part time. Or look for a work study program.

Her expression remained closed, but he labored on bravely.

That income could cover a degree, with some planning.

Mr. Haver, she answered, I want to be a regular student and live in a dorm. I’m not just after a diploma. Her voice became patient, as though she were speaking to someone ignorant in the ways of the world. It might have made him bristle, coming from anyone else, but under her circumstances …

He listened as she went on, Dorms shut down during vacations, so I need a home address. I’d have to support two households if you count school as one. That’s about what it amounts to.

That must have been the problem with Northeastern, he realized. Of course. Victor and Alice wouldn’t let their daughter leave home. He leaned back and considered her words. She wants to be like any other girl. I can hardly blame her.

There’s another option, he said. You’re a good candidate for a loan. The trust guarantees that you’ll be quite able to pay it back five years from now.

She seemed to brighten for a moment. Then the unemotional veil fell again.

He scribbled figures on his notepad. Tuition and board; say $4,000 just to accommodate yearly increases. Add books and supplies …

He smiled up at her, and she returned it faintly.

Monthly allowance, he went on, adding figures. Say, fifty dollars during school months? Allowance for four years would … come in at 1,800. We could round that up to two thousand.

He looked back at her, astonished to see that she looked impatient.

Well, he concluded, a loan of twenty thousand would cover all your needs through four years at nearly any school.

He couldn’t tell if her slight frown was disapproval or merely concentration. I’ll think about it, she answered at last.

Just as the thought that she was rather a brat crossed his mind, another replaced it.

What was the phrase she’d used a few minutes ago? Most decent schools. Her home schooling had very likely not prepared her well for the SAT. Maybe she was thinking of taking some catch-up study time and then aiming higher.

I suppose this is all rather overwhelming. That’s a good idea. Too many people jump into financial decisions quickly. Many heiresses have less lofty plans for their money, he reminded himself. He smiled warmly at her.

Her expression softened. He was glad he had praised her instead of lecturing. She seemed so self-assured that he had almost forgotten the insecurities anyone would have after sudden loss; the need for encouragement.

She stood, and he came around the desk to take her hand, saying, We can meet again when I have more information for you. Please call if you run into any problems. I hope the utilities got hooked up without difficulty? He had arranged for the security deposits when she found the apartment the day after the funeral.

Yes, I gave Mrs. Palmer my new phone number. Ellie Palmer was his executive secretary.

Good, good.

She thanked him and left.

Mr. Haver? Ellie poked her head around the door. The Homelife Fidelity report is here. I know it’s about … She looked over her shoulder, at the door through which Haver’s young client had just passed. I … I thought you might prefer to see it without …

Ellie, you did exactly right, he assured her, taking the envelope. It’s a painful subject for the girl, and I’d rather just give her whatever information is necessary.

Oh, and I asked her if she needed any help shopping for the apartment, Ellie added. She actually seemed to think that was funny! Ellie looked perplexed. But really, how could she know what it takes to run a home? She’s never … I mean, I was just trying to be helpful.

Haver smiled at the kindly Ellie. That was very thoughtful, Ellie. I’m sure that she only thinks she knows what she needs. When she realizes she doesn't have light bulbs or a hammer, she'll wish she'd let you.

Well, I told her she could call me or come to dinner sometime. She doesn’t have a mother anymore, and … well, she’s a sweet kid, really, just … shy, I guess. She even asked me how Gwinny was doing! After all she’s been through. Ellie shook her head.

Ellie’s thirteen-year-old daughter, Gwendolyn, had been diagnosed with leukemia a few months before. The best hospital system one could ask for had her stabilized at the moment, but her odds were not good. Still, Ellie’s house was a pleasant, casual place, full of comfortable furniture, and the good-natured goofing around of her two sons and their friends. It might be a nice contrast to the pristine, formal home that Alice and Victor had maintained.

I hope she takes you up on that. Haver smiled.

Ellie returned to the antechamber. He pulled out the contents of the envelope.

The fire investigator had reported nothing untoward. Haver flipped through the pages. Probable dryer lint fire … in torn vent hose … sparked and smoldered in wall for several hours before burning through to consume the house, which was why both parents were asleep … sleeping pills … doctor confirmed the prescriptions; both parents were high-strung, used the pills for years … unusual for daughter to be out that late, but not unheard of … She had failed to keep a hair appointment earlier that day … had gone to a chamber music concert at Northeastern that night; had greeted and gone out afterwards with some former classmates.

Surely they would close the case and release the money now.

Of course, procedure had to be followed. But, damnation, hadn’t the girl been through enough without an insurance company investigating her every move? She had nothing but her car and the clothes on her back after that night—not even a family photo, much less a family.

He looked out the window. Two stories down, he saw the girl, her hair just abundant enough now to shimmer slightly, as she walked and dug in her purse for her keys. She started her Karmann Ghia and swung out of the space. Something rested in the rear foot well, he saw. A doll.

She’s still a girl, really. Coping with sudden adulthood.

He returned to the business of the day.

AUGUST 1973

Leila held her breath, hitched the floppy suede purse up on her shoulder, gripped her knapsack, and strode through the bus’s shimmering exhaust cloud. It fanned her long hair and the loose shirt she wore open over her white T-shirt.

Hand on the station door handle, she hesitated.

This is it. I showed up in homeroom, and that marks me in attendance, so the school office won’t call Mom and say I’m truant. The store thinks I’ve got a dentist appointment after school, and Mom will think I’m working at the store till five o’clock … unless Prick Brad decides to follow and check up on me.

If something went wrong, this bus station would be at the top of the checklist. I could walk away and hitch instead, just in case.

Shit. No. They won’t know I’m gone till after five unless Katie finks on me, and even then, all Katie has is the phony Dallas plan. The bus is safer than hitching again.

But …

Do it. She stepped through the Tulsa bus station door.

Machine-chilled air carried odors of industrial cleaner and something sharp. She looked around to identify the smell.

Mustard, on a hot dog that a guy in the waiting area was munching as he held it over its paper boat. She saw a few older people and a tired-looking mother with a wiggling toddler.

She walked casually around a corner to the wall of coin-op lockers, over which a big black-lettered sign hovered:

"Contents will be impounded if left unattended for two weeks."

It’s been twelve days. I was cutting it close.

She’d made three locker runs over the past three weeks, ninety-minute round-trips in Mom’s car, late at night while Mom was passed out and The Prick was bar hopping. But only on the first run had she been able to move the contents to another locker. On the other two trips, people were watching, so she’d settled for redeeming the key with more coins. If the station managers found fresh change in its box, maybe they’d assume the contents were another load left by a different customer.

Be ready for the worst. If they took it, it’s only a setback.

She lowered her knapsack to the floor, steadied her hand, and guided the key into the keyhole. The door squeaked open against its spring hinges.

Inside, the blue vinyl suitcase sat untouched. Her old brown sleeping bag was stuffed in next to it, added on return trip number one.

It’s going to work. It’s going to happen. Leila gets off here, and Beth gets on.

In August, everybody school-shopped here in Tulsa. Mom had thought nothing of Leila taking the local in for the day, three weeks ago, and coming home with a bagful of typical teenage girl crap from Froug’s, stuff you couldn’t get on their hamlet’s Main Street: colorful bikini underwear, T-shirts, jeans embroidered with daisies.

But she’d also shopped at City Thrift and left those purchases, the suitcase, and its contents, locked up here. The case was only half full for the moment with some thrift clothes and new shoes that she’d paid her own cash for, to keep them off the receipt she took back to … to Mom.

Mom doesn’t deserve lies. I just didn’t have a choice.

Leila pinned the knapsack against the wall of lockers with her torso and pulled an extra shirt and jeans out of it, to make space, then rummaged the suitcase for an apple-green orlon cardigan with round pearl buttons, the new brown chukkas, and a small navy shoulder bag. She crammed them into the knapsack and let the locker close, the suitcase and sleeping bag still inside. She bought back its key with more quarters, and headed for the ladies’ room, just as the next departure announcement crackled over the intercom. Some passengers stood and hoisted bags.

Alone in a bathroom stall, she let her eyes brim with tears.

Katie asking, But what would we do in Dallas? and Leila answering, Be free! Shit, not worry about anything! Leave Brad and your creep stepdad and never see them again. We could wait tables, take classes. We could go to the beach! And Katie looking happy for a moment before the fear of change closed up her mind again, and she said, It’s no better than here. Worse. Nobody would protect us. Leila, exasperated, said, We’d protect each other. No, Katie shaking her head, we’re only sixteen.

Someone entered and went into another stall. Leila let her tears roll silently. Get finished, lady. The other user seemed enragingly slow.

Damn damn damn, lady, you made me sit here and think. Like, why do I have to escape like a criminal and give my home and my … my mom to that goddamn prick? No wonder Katie doesn’t want to do it with me. Who would? I thought it would feel like an escape, but it feels like I’ve been robbed.

I knew she wouldn’t be brave enough. That’s why I lied to her about going south when I’m really going north.

Flushing sounded from the other stall. Footfall ambled to the sink. Water running. Paper towel scraped out of the dispenser. Ta-tap of the door.

Leila was again alone in the room. She exhaled.

Not the lady’s fault. Thinking about it doesn’t change it. So stop.

She blew her nose and flushed the soggy wad, then unbuckled the knapsack and dug to the bottom for scissors, a comb, and a brown paper bag.

She’d rehearsed this: she parted her long, mouse-brown hair neatly down the back, as though making pigtails, and cut the same six inches off of each side, to just above shoulder length. No mirror necessary. She could dampen her hands at the sink and tousle it a little to disguise the amateur cut if she needed to.

She dropped the pieces into the paper bag and rolled it tightly closed.

Next, she exchanged her tan shirt and saggy suede fringed purse for the green sweater and navy handbag. A light sweater didn’t look too weird with her nondescript white tee, thanks to air-conditioning. Neither would the brown chukkas, which were not much hotter than her sneakers and looked less teenage. She stuffed her discarded sneakers, shirt, and purse into the knapsack.

Out at the mirror, she dared to push her luck. She was alone in the room. She could cut some bangs fast before anyone else came in. That would alter her appearance even more, but she needed a fixed mirror so she’d have both hands free to part out the section. If the room had been occupied, she’d planned to forego bangs for now.

She’d rehearsed this too. Quickly, it was done, and the hair added to the paper bag. She twisted the bag into a tight knot, then stuffed it deep into the steel trash can, where it blended with masses of crumpled brown paper towels.

One last check of herself in the mirror. My first glimpse of Beth Carey.

Wow. I look like my fourth-grade school picture.

Well, okay, not exactly. Nobody looks the same from age eight to age sixteen. Maybe it’s the haircut. My face doesn’t look so long and thin. Or maybe I just look like I have hope for my life not sucking.

Good job, Genius!

No. Forget being the genius. Leila’s the genius, not Beth. Leila’s a gifted sixteen-year-old, young to be starting her senior year in high school. But if I want to be Beth, I need to be eighteen and average. Beth is so square she sleeps in a shoebox. She craves sorority rush. She carries a proper suitcase and reads romances and dreams of dating a premed. Beth is boring. Don’t forget that.

Two older women entered the bathroom as she left. They barely glanced at her.

She retreated to the waiting area and watched the clock until ten minutes before departure time, then opened the locker. She stuffed her brown sleeping bag into a third City Thrift purchase, a green drawstring stuff sack, then emptied the knapsack’s contents into the blue vinyl suitcase, squashed the knapsack, and added that.

Oh, shitshitshit, it’s too bulky; it won’t—

There. It closed. She was safely down to only two pieces of luggage, suitcase and stuff sack. If she’d had three, they’d make her check one. And that would mean that she couldn’t mysteriously disappear between stops.

A clack! crackle issued from the PA: Attention. 4451 to … Kansas City … Des Moines … St. Paul … is now boarding …

She already had her Des Moines ticket, purchased late last Friday night on the final locker-run, when she blended with a swarm of students heading to their various hometowns after some game or concert in the city.

Now, she dawdled to become a middle-of-the-boarding-line passenger.

I’m Beth from now on. Leila’s gone. Her trail ended south of home when she bought a decoy ticket to Dallas and vanished.

Beth, a proper would-be debutante in her pearl buttons had hitched back north to Tulsa, and now was boarding a northbound bus.

And in one more misdirection, getting off well before Iowa.

2

Aha. I thought I’d find you out here striking Lonely Hunter poses.

Audrey sat on the Dutch Oven One delivery dock, feet dangling in the parking bay. She’d been doing it since Mom and Dad bought the restaurant when she was six. Her legs hardly dangled further now than they had when she was twelve.

She resisted the urge to call her elder brother a sonuvabitch. Enough family conflict tonight.

Will I miss him and his bullshit?

God! Dad would hate that. He always said, Family is everything. Normal kid fights really bothered him.

Mom, Nathan, and Janie were still inside doing after-party cleanup. Audrey had wanted to help, but they’d shooed her out because she was the guest of honor.

I don’t want to be the guest of goddamn honor. It’s like I’m already … an outsider. They’re going on without me.

Robert climbed the concrete steps and leaned against the wall, smoking.

Thought you left, she said curtly.

Without the requisite tearful farewell? He feigned horror. She didn’t laugh. He took another drag. Nah. Couldn’t let Uncle Nat’s crap keep me from saying a real goodbye.

Shit, Robert, you didn’t really have to give him a hard time at my party, did you?

Not you too. He dropped the cigarette stub onto the platform and ground it with his grubby boot. It’s just a song. A good, lively party song.

She turned to look him in the eye. You had to play ‘It’s All Over Now’ and expect him to … to not think about Aunt Maureen?

Come on, Audrey. Aunt Mo walked out on Nat, what, twelve goddamn years ago. He frowned but calmed down. I was, like, eight. Why would I even have that in my head? Why would you either, except that Mom said it? When she told me I owed him some fucking apology, that tore it.

Robert could be obnoxious sometimes, but Audrey found herself believing him. Mom was as reasonable as it got, except when she got protective of her brother. Or of any of them.

I bet Robert does turn into a rock star, she admitted grudgingly. He could charm an audience. He’d smoothed out that uncomfortable moment during the party with some joke about Nat walking out to go to a Patti Page concert. Then he’d played I Don’t Want to Spoil the Party, So I’ll Go, which made people smile again, and wrapped with Ain’t No Sunshine, which even got Audrey to tear up. Then he’d kissed her cheek and left so that Uncle Nat could finish his cigarette and come back in like he’d won and driven Robert out.

Robert was studying the ash smear on the concrete platform and said slowly, Actually, the song was about Uncle Nat.

Shit, Robert! How mean can y—

Him and you. His smug smile reappeared.

She glared daggers at him.

Robert touched one ear and pretended to speak into a mike: Will her uncle forgive her for breaking her chains and escaping the Dungeon of Dirty Dishes? Tune in next week!

At that, Audrey shot to her feet and faced him down. She was five foot three, but he was only a skinny five-seven himself, a good-looking but scraggly artiste with a scroungy moustache, scroungy clothes, and a carefully cultivated air of having experienced lots of hardships.

What are you, better than the rest of us? Is running two successful restaurants something to put down?

He held up his hands. It’s an honest living. Okay?

It’s more than that! They worked their butts off to keep this family going after Dad …

She still hated saying died, so she heaved an exasperated sigh, as though she had simply gotten off the subject. Mom couldn’t have done it by herself, either. If Uncle Nat hadn’t given up his own life to come help—

Life! What life? This was the sweetest deal he ev—

Tell it to Mom! She realized she was almost shouting and lowered her voice. She was working herself to death.

Well, little sis, tell me this. Why the hell did Mom and Dad even start that college fund if all we’re supposed to do is stay here and sling hash?

So why the hell don’t you go? she retorted.

He broke into a grin. Me? Can you picture me? Obediently regurgitating what professors demand?

Comedian, actor, musician, general charmer. He could do better than live in a dump off Abercorn with his two band buddies and wait for gigs.

As though he’d heard her thoughts, Robert went on: So. Did you notice? Our dear uncle’s as down on Holbrook College as he is on me and my life. Mom and I are the only ones on your damn side.

You’re not on my side. You’re just against Uncle Nat. Nathan doesn’t count?

A shrug. You’re the one who told me he razzed it.

Audrey had loved thumbing through the college catalogs with their idealized photos of happy students strolling through golden autumn foliage, throwing Frisbees, and gazing into thick books with smiles of delight. Nathan, who was sixteen, had mocked the pictures. ’Oooh! Calculus makes me so-o-o hot!’ says Missy Fem-Wipe of Klingon, North Dakota! Nathan could get in the middle of a family fight and make both sides laugh.

He just wants you gone so he can have your job. Smug grin.

Whoa, Rob, Nathan’s voice broke in behind them. They spun. He laughed and worked the steel door back and forth. Good thing I oiled these hinges so I can sneak up on y’all.

We were having a private conversation, mumbled Robert.

Yeah, about me. Nathan was still grinning. But I’m tellin’ you, Rob, it’s gonna take both Audrey and me to run this biz and support our starving artist brother. Before Robert could fire back, Nathan turned to Audrey and said, We’re all done, if you wanna walk back with us. He ducked back inside and let the door clack shut.

Audrey looked at her older brother.

Hey, sis, he said gently. Be okay out there.

She nodded.

And do what Mom says. Have some goddamn fun for once.

She didn’t exactly say it like that. Audrey let herself smile, and he stepped up and hugged her.

See you at Christmas, he finished and disappeared into the dark.

Christmas!

Audrey felt the Georgia humidity wrap her. She looked up at the ancient oak trees, dark against the city-lit night sky. When they’d moved to Savannah, she’d been five and afraid of the trees with their eerie drapery of Spanish moss. She’d called them witch trees then. Now she loved them.

I won’t be back till December! Forever. Forever and a day.

3

Um … are you gonna watch that? A plump girl in a striped madras shirt that strained at its buttons was frowning at Beth.

Beth had to be like her old self, Leila, in one important way. She had to be smart about danger. She hadn’t liked the looks of some fellow-passengers over in the plain seating, so she’d hauled her bags across the waiting room and claimed the last seat in the Kansas City bus station’s TV lounge, where each chair had a coin-op TV bolted to its arm.

Crap. More precious money wasted. Yeah, she answered, looking at her watch. I was waiting for my show.

The girl clopped away in her Bare Traps. Beth thumbed three quarters into the machine and dialed the TV to Adam-12.

Oddly, she wasn’t very tired. Fear. Adrenaline. I’m like that poster. When this is all over, I’m going to have a nervous breakdown. I’ve earned it, or something like that.

Most of The Plan had come from a library book about runaways that she had quietly tucked into her bag and taken without checking it out. It had lived in her school locker until she’d finished with it, speed-reading during lunch hour and taking notes. Then she’d snuck it back.

For her purposes it was a manual on what not to do. But this one-day break between legs of the trip was her own idea. If they got smart and realized she’d gone north, then got even smarter and realized she’d disembarked before Des Moines, it might be good to leave the station and seem to vanish into Kansas City, as though it had been her destination, instead of making a trail east right away.

So she’d found an all-night