Bone Rattle by Marc Cameron (best ereader for pdf .TXT) 📕

brace herself and wait for Imelda’s friends to bash in the door with guns – but no one did.

Imelda seemed like a regular kid once she settled in. And nicer, more genuine than Audrey and Evelyn.

Constance had never been one to paint her toenails, and if she had, it would have been black. Audrey had only bright colors – and pink, which Constance detested unless it was in the shape of a skull or something that looked rad instead of girly.

Imelda inhaled four pieces of pizza, laughing, trying to hide the fact that she was so ravenous. In the dim light of the porch she’d probably looked okay, but her frayed jeans and oversized T-shirt stood out starkly against the pristine furniture. Her hair was cut short, like a boy’s almost, and needed a good wash. She wore no jewelry, not even a watch, but her cell phone case had a little string of fake pearls hanging from the lanyard hole in the corner. It was an older phone, at least four or five years, and the face was webbed with cracks.

Audrey offered to give her a pedicure – mainly as an excuse to get her to wash her feet. It wasn’t quite as forward as saying, “Hey, girl, you could use a shower.”

Imelda seemed overwhelmed at all the different bottles of polish. Audrey suggested they go with a different color on each toe.

“You are much too nice,” Imelda said.

“No biggie,” Audrey said, painting the nail of her drug dealer’s little toe bright yellow. From her tone, Constance decided Audrey was nice too, just super messed up.

Constance worked on her own toes, but kept a wary eye on the door for the home invasion that she felt sure would go down any minute. She’d already decided to throw a chair through the back window and jump out the moment the front door opened.

Oblivious to danger – and just about everything else – Evelyn rested her chin on her hiked-up knees as she filed the nail of her own big toe. She asked, “Where are you from?”

“Guatemala,” Imelda said. “My mother and sisters will come up too when I send them enough money. It is very dangerous where they live.”

“You came to Alaska all by yourself?” Constance asked.

Imelda groaned and gave a sad shake of her head. “I paid a man, or, I mean my mother, she paid him. He got me as far as San Diego…”

Constance felt like she might cry. Imelda was only a year older – sixteen – and all alone in Anchorage. She worked for some guy moving his drugs and doing God knew what else for him. She never called him her pimp, but the bruises on her arms and neck were clear enough. Constance began to suspect that Imelda accepted the invitation for pizza and a pedi because the alternative meant going back for some more rough stuff.

Imelda stretched out her legs in front of her when Audrey finished. She wiggled her toes, moving the cotton balls in between each one.

“I am so very grateful to you all,” she said, sniffing back tears. “But you girls should be careful. I do not think you know the kind of man who sell you chochos. If he came here… and saw you are alone…”

Audrey fished the rolled paper sack out from under the couch. “Come on,” she said. “I’m tired of being sad.” She held the bag out to Imelda.

“Oh no, no,” she said. “No for me, thank you. They will make me take pills with them when I go back. But that is all right. When I am with them, I do not mind being out of my head.”

Constance wanted to scream. “Then don’t go back. We can help you.”

Imelda gave a soft laugh. “It is not so easy. He would hunt me down.”

Constance started to mention her uncle Arliss, but Audrey saw it in her eyes and changed the subject.

“Brighten up, Betty! I said I’m tired of being sad. Let’s play a game.”

Evelyn bounced up and down. “Truth or dare! Let’s play truth or dare.”

Constance studied the bruises on Imelda’s wrists, the worry lines in her pretty face. Yeah, a truth game with this poor girl was bound to cheer everybody up.

Chapter 20

“You wait here,” Van Tyler said. The parking lot at the Shrine of St. Therese was a few hundred feet off the road, tucked into a dark forest of huge spruce and towering hemlock. He’d driven past the lot first, hoping to get all the way out to the shrine by car, but found the road to the caretaker’s home and public restrooms blocked with a brightly painted little sign that directed him to go back the way he’d come.

Ensley put a hand on his forearm, cocking her head like she knew better. “You said you’d never been here before,” she said. “I have, so I should show you where to go.”

“Nice try,” the attorney said. “You already told me there was only one way on and off. I’ll be fine.”

“We’re the only car in the lot.” She took out her phone and opened a game with colored bubbles. “Looks like we got here first. Your informant is probably going to park right here. Maybe I’ll go ahead and get the information and cut you out of the deal.”

“Just stay in the car,” he said. “I’m serious.”

She gave him the most noncommittal shrug he’d ever seen and went back to playing on her phone, popping bubbles with her thumbs.

Van Tyler knew he should pull rank, but he held his tongue. This girl was hot, but sometimes she made him want to punch a wall. She didn’t have to do a damned thing he said. He’d given up all rights to be her boss as soon as her panties came off the first time. Before that, really. When they’d just flirted, talked about it in deliciously juicy double entendre. She had him over a barrel and she knew it – but oh, what