The Hunted Girls by Jenna Kernan (best book club books for discussion txt) 📕

“How do you know that?”

“My van broke down and got red-tagged by a trooper.”

“I see.”

“If the car is unoccupied, they red-tag it. It’s a big red sticker on the driver’s-side window. Then they call it in.”

She didn’t understand.

“What has this got to do with your parole?”

“Mom used Dad’s truck,” said Arlo.

Last year, her mother had told her that she’d killed a man. That she’d used the victim’s truck to move the body.

Arleen had failed to mention that victim was their father.

“Can you back up and explain about the sticker?” she asked.

“She drove them in his truck. Dad’s truck. She parked on a shoulder somewhere that night and took those bodies into the woods and buried them. While she was gone, a trooper tagged Dad’s truck. Just bad luck, really.”

She nodded, following him now.

“If you could help me, find out who tagged that vehicle. They’d know where Mom took their bodies.”

“But Mom said Dad left in that truck.”

Arlo looked away. “They didn’t. Mom had a friend; he knew a guy. They took the truck to a chop shop. I heard her talking about it and how much money she got.”

Nadine blinked, absorbing the implications. Up until this point she’d only had suspicions as to what Arleen might have done to their dad. Now she had something more, a witness to a possible crime.

“That truck would have been red-tagged over twenty years ago. I’m not sure there will be any record.”

“Check. Will you?”

“Yes. I will.”

“If you can find something and I come forward about seeing that sticker, my lawyer said it could help them solve two murders and might get me early release.”

And if he didn’t, their mother could find out that her son had snitched on her. Was Arlo right that she’d try to teach him a lesson?

Nadine started sweating. If she helped Arlo and he succeeded, he might be on the outside sooner than planned and might pick up exactly where he had left off. But if he failed, he’d be stuck in here and their mother might send someone to hurt him.

“What do you think, Nadine? Will you help me?”

Eleven

MONDAY

When she removed the Do Not Disturb door hanger, she noted that the hotel service included delivery of the Orlando newspaper. Looking down at the pages, Nadine spotted an article about an upcoming book tour by her former boss. Dr. Margery Crean had worked with a ghostwriter to produce a tell-all book on the Copycat Killer.

“Is everyone writing a book?” she muttered.

She reminded herself that she was through hiding who she was. But that didn’t mean she enjoyed standing naked in the spotlight.

Safely back inside, she tucked into the armchair and read the article while rain lashed her window. Crean, who had retired after their prime suspect shot her in the face last year, would be in Orlando on Friday to speak and sign copies of her book with the on-the-nose title: The Copycat Killer.

The AP photo of her former boss showed puckering pink scars on her left cheek and right lower lip. Nadine learned from Tina that Crean’s upper palate had been destroyed and her reconstructive surgery was still ongoing.

Her phone chimed, alerting her to a text: Juliette asking if she saw the paper. Before she could answer, Demko’s text arrived and then Tina’s, both asking her the same thing.

She did not see Demko Saturday because he had left early to visit with his mom and then gone directly to his son, Christopher, in Miami.

She group-texted them all, then sent a DM to Juliette, asking her if she had time for the blood draw.

Thirty minutes later, showered and dressed, she headed to Juliette’s room where the ME drew a vial of blood. Meanwhile, Jack-Jack, the cockatoo, did a serviceable imitation of the beeping used by a garbage truck backing up.

Nadine spotted a small Easter basket on Juliette’s nightstand. Inside were the same chocolates Clint had left in a larger basket hanging from the door latch of her own room Saturday.

Juliette noted the direction of her gaze.

“Clint gave me that,” she said. “When I was a kid, we had an egg hunt every year before church.” Her smile and faraway look touched Nadine.

Unlike Tina, Clint or her, Juliette had been adopted as an infant into a normal, affluent home and only learned of her mother’s crimes when she was no longer a child.

“When did you see him?” asked Nadine.

“Caught Demko at breakfast, Saturday. He came by to get his blood drawn and deliver the basket before he went to the prison. He gave me one like it to deliver to Tina.”

“You got his blood draw?”

“Yes, and I took mine and Tina’s on Friday night. Do we know how to party or what?” She laughed and then secured the cotton ball and Band-Aid to the puncture site before placing the vial in her mini refrigerator. “So we’re all set.”

“Almost. I need one more of those tests.”

“Which one?”

“The same, only on this.”

She handed over Arlo’s soda can inside an evidence bag and the waiver, written on a napkin and witnessed by a guard.

Juliette rolled her eyes. “Fine. But I’ll tell you again. You are not going to get any answers. Even if your result is positive, the association to violence is, well, it’s not widely recognized and it’s not like a diagnosis for a disease.”

“Small study. Correlational at best. I understand.”

“Do you?” Juliette eyed her suspiciously. “Did you know that an increased sales in ice cream is correlated to a spike in reported rapes?”

Nadine frowned. “What?”

“So, do you think it’s the ice cream’s fault or maybe it’s because the weather is warmer, and more people are outside?”

“I understand a correlational relationship, Juliette.”

Her friend looked unconvinced. Nadine was about to leave when the ME said, “How was your visit with Arlo?”

“I’ll tell you later. It’s a lot.”

“Highlights?”

“He wants to offer evidence to a double homicide in exchange for early release, but if he doesn’t get out, he’ll have