The Killing Moon by Dan Padavona (books to read for 13 year olds .TXT) 📕

“These are all pictures of Valerie.”

“Right.”

“How does that help us?”

“We’re not interested in Valerie. We’re interested in who her friends are.”

Scout examined the media club photograph. Nobody in the picture jumped out at her. Sifting through candids, she stopped on a picture of Valerie with several friends in the library. She recognized one boy—Derek Jordan, the teenager on the news. But it was the boy standing off to the side, almost as if the others didn’t want him in the photograph, that drew Scout’s eyes. Her heart quickened. While everybody else in the picture smiled at the camera, this boy stared at Valerie. Scout’s eyes dropped to the boy’s T-shirt. Freddy Krueger with knives for fingers.

“Krueger31,” Scout muttered.

Naomi straightened her back.

“You found him?”

Though the application had pulled images of Valerie Leonard, it didn’t include captions. Scout needed to sift through the entire yearbook again. Her hand trembled on the mouse as she raced against time. Halfway through the yearbook, she located the library picture.

“Gardner Raimi,” Scout said, reading the names. “Can you give me my phone, Mom? It’s on the card table.”

Naomi covered her mouth.

“He’s the boy stalking Valerie on the internet?”

“It has to be him.”

Naomi removed her phone from her pocket.

“I’ll call Thomas.”

Scout chewed a nail.

“Hurry, Mom. I think he plans to kill Valerie tonight.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

October 31st

9:10 p.m.

“Raven, are you home?”

Serena yawned into her hand as sleep hung heavy on her shoulders. She hadn’t noticed her daughter’s Rogue in the driveway. Then again, she’d been too tired to search for the vehicle. A light shone over the kitchen counter. Otherwise, the house was as dark as a tomb. She pressed the wall switch and flooded the living room with light. Some kid had plastered the window with eggs. Probably a disgruntled trick-or-treater. Serena snickered to herself, remembering Halloween mischief from her teenage years. Tomorrow, she’d clean the window before the yolk solidified.

She plopped her bag on the end table and shuffled to the couch. Recalling Naomi’s request for Serena to call, she dialed her friend’s phone. Strange. Serena dropped into Naomi’s voice-mail. Figuring Naomi must be on the phone, Serena left a message and promised to check in tomorrow morning.

Aiming the remote at the television, she scowled at the horror movie. Too much blood and gore. If she watched a scary movie, she’d be up all night. With a moan, she turned off the television and padded to the kitchen. As tired as she was, she craved a snack before bed. After popping a slice of bread into the toaster, she leaned against the counter and checked her messages. Raven had written a half-hour ago to check on her. LeVar wrote ten minutes later. Neither expected to finish work before sunrise. Guess she had the house to herself tonight.

Serena set the phone on the kitchen table and sifted through the mail while she waited for the bread to toast. Nothing but junk mail and bills. She jumped when the bread popped up. After she plucked the snack out of the toaster, she wandered in an exhausted daze toward the bedroom, wondering how Scout’s investigation was going. How that girl worked all day and night without adequate sleep boggled Serena’s mind.

As she opened the bedroom door, gravel crunched in the driveway. Someone was outside.

She set the toast on the nightstand and listened. It might be a last-second trick-or-treater. Nobody rang the doorbell. Buck, the jerk who lived down the road, came to mind. He flew a confederate flag on his truck and blasted his music at all hours of the night. But he never bothered Serena and Raven, and Serena saw no reason for Buck to harass her tonight.

The night turned quiet again, except for the infernal wind whipping the lake into a frenzy. Serena swallowed the rest of her snack and pulled the sheets back. She kept a Kindle beside the bed, and a mystery novel awaited her. The moment after she opened the Kindle and turned off the bedside lamp, the front door opened.

Something tightened in her chest. Her heart closing into a fist.

As she lay paralyzed, praying LeVar or Raven had stopped home, the floorboards groaned in the living room.

Serena swung her legs off the bed and shut down the Kindle. She sat in complete darkness, as a sliver of light burned beneath the door. Footsteps trailed through the house. Searching. Hunting.

She reached for her phone and remembered she’d left it on the kitchen table. Now what? She couldn’t give herself away and alert the intruder she was inside the house.

No weapon, no means to defend herself.

The footsteps drew closer. As she crept toward the door, a shadow interrupted the light spilling beneath the threshold. He was outside her bedroom door. She knew it was Mark Benson, the escaped convict. Raven had warned her, and Serena hadn’t listened. If he twisted the doorknob, he’d find her alone in the bedroom.

The shadow loomed outside her door. Patient. Listening. The bedroom door had a twist lock that guaranteed privacy, but wouldn’t stop a grown man from breaking inside. She didn’t dare engage the lock with Benson in the hallway.

When she was certain he’d open the door and catch her, he stepped down the hallway. Heading toward Raven’s bedroom.

Serena whirled around and considered her options. The window was painted shut. No chance she could open the pane without drawing Benson’s attention.

The crawlspace.

Her bedroom closet included a panel in the ceiling. The panel opened to an attic crawlspace.

She still couldn’t see inside the bedroom. With her heart in her throat, Serena rounded the bed and swiped the curtains aside on the window. Moonlight revealed the desk and chair across the room. Down the hall, Raven’s door creaked open. Serena thanked God her daughter wasn’t home.

As Benson crept through the house, Serena carried the chair to the closet. She gritted her teeth when the chair leg banged against the jamb. Sudden quiet enveloped the house. Benson must have heard.

Pulling the chair