* * *
Dead End, September 1970
Eleanor started to worry the minute she arrived at Beau's after school. She'd been a few minutes late, because she'd lost track of time watching Mitch Wolf at football practice. She'd finally agreed to go out on a date with him, and the anticipation was a delicious tingle in her bones. She wanted to stay and discuss with her girlfriends every syllable of every word he'd spoken when they'd talked that afternoon, but she was determined to make a good impression at her new job. Especially since Miss Lorraine seemed to be having a hard time lately.
But when she got there, Lorraine wasn't there and Beau was really major-league anxious about it. Then, after about a half hour, Beau took a phone call that made him so mad he started slamming things around in the kitchen. Finally, Eleanor dared to peek in.
"Beau? Do you think I should go over and check on Lorraine?"
He growled at her, but then stopped. "Yes. Yes! Run over to her apartment. But if you hear that jerk she married yelling, you come right back here, you hear? Don't confront him. He's dangerous."
She nodded, already pulling off her apron. "I have my daddy's car. I'll be quick."
But when she got to the apartment building on the edge of town, Lorraine was gone. The door to their apartment was hanging open and—worse—the place looked like somebody had trashed it.
And there was blood on the floor!
Eleanor froze, tears she didn't realize she was crying running down her face. This was way out of the realm of what a sixteen-year-old girl, even a cheerleader and Honor student, knew how to handle. She took a tentative step into the apartment and her gaze landed on a framed photo on the bookcase.
Lorraine and Ruby Callahan.
Of course! If Lorraine had trouble, she'd go to her best friend, just like Eleanor would. But what should she do now?
She found her eyes drawn back to the blood on the floor. If Miss Lorraine had wanted the police, she would have called them her own darn self. She must have gone to the Callahans.
Eleanor knew where their farm was, too.
She tightened her hold on her keys and ran back to her daddy's car, closing the apartment door behind her. She had to help. Or get help. Or at least be sure that Miss Lorraine was okay.
She had to brush tears out of her eyes a few times on the way to the farm, but she only drove a few miles over the speed limit. If she got into an accident with her daddy's new Buick, he'dkillher.
But then she thought back to the blood and shook her head. No, he wouldn't kill her. He would never raise a hand to her. Maybe that was an exaggeration she'd never, ever use again.
She'd thought she was prepared for anything, but when she pulled into the Callahan's driveway, the worst thing she'd ever seen was happening.
Right in front of her.
Earl Packard, his face screwed up in a snarl, punched Lorraine in the face! Eleanor slammed on her brakes and screamed, but he didn’t seem to hear her scream or even the sound of the car, because he just turned to Ruby Callahan, who Eleanor hadn't seen at first, and kicked her in the head! Then he left them both on the ground and turned around and saw Eleanor.
He shouted something and started toward her, his fists raised, and something in Eleanor's mind broke. She didn't think—couldn't think—couldn't stop screaming.
But somehow she must have taken her foot off the brake and put it on the gas, because suddenly she was roaring toward him faster than fast. His horrible, ugly, screaming face got bigger and bigger in front of her and then his fury changed to fear. And then she smashed her daddy's new Buick right into him.
She saw his body fly into the air just before she crashed into the tree and hit her head on the steering wheel.
The next thing she saw was Mike Callahan's face when he pulled her out of the car.
* * *
"My father hugged me and then he grounded me for a month," Eleanor said ruefully, still lost in the memory, but then her face sobered. "I couldn't believe Earl's dead body wasn't lying right there on the ground, when I came back to myself. Mike and Ruby told me that Beau had basically run him out of town, and I was so glad he was gone, but even more I was glad I wasn't a murderer. But if Beau lied, and that was Earl's body in the swamp all this time, then I killed him, didn't I? I ran him down like a dog. In cold blood."
"Not exactly cold blood," Jack said dryly. "Sounds like you were a kid scared out of your mind, trying to protect your friends."
"Maybe, but if I killed him—"
I stopped her. "You didn't kill him, Eleanor. Not unless you went to his apartment later and shot him in the back of the head."
"What?"'
