The Vanishing Girls by Callie Browning (read this if txt) 📕

sending her chair crashing into Holden’s desk and knocking over his treasured obituary book with a heavy thud. Yellowing scraps of news-sheet checkered the book’s white pages like a deathly chessboard as it fell open on the floor. Lydia James’ face smiled back at her, a pretty pawn in a madman’s game. Eileen bit her lip as she picked it up. She’d never looked at it before; she found the idea of keeping pictures of dead people to be creepy and she was never entirely sure why Holden relished the notion. Eileen flipped through the book until she found the Slasher’s victims, each of them barely separated by a few pages. She shuddered. With no way to predict who else might attract the killer’s attention, who knew how many more young women would soon fill the book’s pages? The thought sent a chill down her spine.

The only connection between the victims was that they were young and came from humble neighbourhoods. Using that profile, half the island was at risk, including herself. Eileen massaged her forehead and glanced at the time. Mercifully, the clock on the wall told her it was time to lock up and go home.

Traffic was intense: buses, trucks and cars were at a standstill on the busy road. Only a snow-cone vendor was able to wend his way through the tangle of vehicles, his even pace propelling his bicycle and its large ice-box mounted on the front. Down the road, a man was loading animal feed onto a donkey cart as the supermarket manager pulled the sliding doors together and secured them with a padlock and a heavy chain.

Eileen tossed her bag into the car and slid behind the wheel. As she was about to pull onto Buckworth Street, a hand snaked through the open passenger window, flipped the lock and yanked open the door. Eyes wide, Eileen was about to slam her foot on the gas when in tumbled her nosy neighbour, Debra.

Chest heaving and arms sweating, Debra flopped down on the seat with two large grocery bags.

“Oh…g-good evening,” stammered Eileen.

“Good thing I see you before you pulled off,” Debra wheezed as she settled into the seat. She glanced at the sign on the building behind them and her eyes lit up. “Wait…one of your family dead? What you doing at the funeral home?”

“Oh, well, I…” Eileen hesitated, wondering if to risk karma’s wrath in case the universe punished her for lying. “…I was just turning around in the car park.”

“Oh… alright,” Debra pouted as though juicy gossip was more important than if Eileen’s family was alive and well. “Thanks for offering to drop me home,” Debra said as she shoved her handbags onto the backseat.

Offering? Eileen raised an eyebrow. Debra would only worsen her headache. Eileen had to find a way to get her out. “But I’m not going home yet. I’ve got a stop to make and I don’t want to keep you.”

Debra’s eyes lit up. “That’s perfect. I was wondering why you does leave home at all hours of the day and night.” She beamed at Eileen. “You could explain as you drive.”

Eileen rolled her eyes as she eased her rumbling car slowly into the traffic. “If you don’t mind, I’ve got a headache and don’t really feel like talking.”

Debra nodded knowingly. “Probably from trying to figure out what happened to Anna, the girl who lived in your apartment before. But, don’t worry; I’m gonna tell you now.”

“Uh-huh,” said Eileen. Her temples started to pound.

“She is one of them girls that get kill by the Cane Slasher.”

Eileen’s ears perked up. “The serial killer murdered someone who lived in my apartment?”

“Yes, girl,” Debra effused with the air of someone with a captive audience. She smacked her lips and leaned in as she stage-whispered, “The day she went missing, I see a man lurking in a car by the apartment. A tall, slim fellow. He waited outside for over an hour.”

“Did you tell the police?”

Debra snorted. “Them ain’t ask me nothing, so how I going to tell them?”

Eileen made a mental note to mention this detail to Holden so he could pass it on to Derricks. It might just be the clue the police needed to make the country safe again.

“Had you seen him before?”

“No, that’s why I noticed him. This fellow looked real twitchy like he didn't up to no good. He had on a brown uniform, kinda like what the road works men does wear. Name tag say he name J. Walker.”

“How did you see his name tag?” Eileen was flabbergasted by the depth of Debra's details.

“How you think I know he was waiting for Anna? My mother always used to say if you want to know, you would ask. So I went and ask him what he was doing there.”

“What kind of car was it?”

Debra pursed her lips, glanced at Eileen’s cracked dashboard and said, “It was old and rusty like this, except it was brown.”

Eileen ignored her and asked, “Anything else you remember?”

“Yeah, he hair coulda use a good combing.” Debra gave Eileen a knowing look. “A man who looks that rusty is capable of anything.”

Chapter 8

A strange request

“I didn’t realize so many people died until I took this job,” Eileen mused the following Friday as they drove north on the island’s tiny west coast highway. The sunset’s golden light filled the car and occasionally, just over the top of a galvanized paling, glimpses of the Caribbean sea came into view, the gilded surface shimmering under the lowering sun.

Holden smiled. “Life is a cycle. But, maybe it just seems like a lot because we handle government collections. Oddly enough, before we did it, Happy Home had the contract.” He puckered his mouth. “Our families used to get along very well before, sharing resources and materials until we outbid them for the government tender. That’s one of the reasons Lloyd doesn’t like our family very much anymore. Dorothy, on the other hand, realizes it’s just business and never took it personally.”

Eileen glanced