Page 50 of Bad Intentions

“Oh my god! Karen! Gosh, I’m so sorry. I’ll clean up, hold up!”

Except I didn’t pay attention to her words. I gaped at the floor and the ice amid the water, the pieces sparkling in the bar light.

I frowned.

Cherry came back, lowered herself down to her haunches, and scooped a bunch of ice with her hands, then yelped. “Ouch!” She dropped the pieces back on the floor and stared at her hands. “The hell is that?”

Katie and Birdie came over and gaped at the floor.

“Is that…?” one of them said, but didn’t finish the sentence.

I crouched on my haunches and carefully picked up several glittering shards that looked like ice. Except they weren’t.

“Is that broken glass?” Katie murmured. “In your tumbler?”

I looked around at the bar counter full of people. Most weren’t paying attention. Derek was nowhere to be seen, but I knew he’d seen my tumbler at the checkout unattended and slipped broken glass into it.

I turned to Birdie, who stared at me, horrified. “Please, clean it up and throw away the tumbler.”

Then I went to the bathroom and threw up.

29

JOSIE

Trevor, Rika, and I talk about the case for hours. I sift through the court records, read the testimonies—my grandmother’s, my mom’s, her best friend’s, the Hartzels’. Everyone who worked at Ma Shirley’s at that time testified too. Two of the girls left town afterward. One still lives in town, and the name hits me like a brick—Mallory Blain.

“Wait, the kidnapped woman?” I ask.

Trevor nods in confirmation. “Maybe it’s our guy’s way to get to Karen Boots again.”

“No wonder…” I don’t finish, but it’s no surprise Grandma went all white when she saw the guy’s picture on TV.

“How do we talk to Mallory Blain?” I ask. “The police won’t give me her address.”

“Pfft. It’s public record. She lives on the farm outside town that she inherited from her grandparents.”

“We should talk to her.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“Why?”

“For one,” Trevor says, “it’s sketchy. What if the guy is watching her? Two, he might be watching you.” He bulges his eyes at me. “What, you really think he’s not?”

“That’s—”

“Creepy?” Rika prompts.

“Right,” I say.

“In this story, you are the main piece,” Trevor says. “I don’t think the kidnapped girl matters. She was used to drag you into this mess. So I’d say, you should watch out.”

“I do carry pepper spray.” It’s true, though I haven’t been too mindful of it lately. But I’m not planning on any nighttime adventures on my own anymore.

It’s three in the morning when Trevor finally leaves. He resides upstairs in the same building. I get up to leave too, but Rika stops me. “Are you hungry?”

I halt in surprise. “Now?”