Page 6 of The Executioners Three
And cold trickled down Freddie’s neck. She gulped. “Did you hear that, Div?”
“The wind?” Divya shivered. “How could I miss it? I should’ve worn my winter coat.”
“That’s not it.” Freddie turned toward the sound. It had come from farther down the hill.
The creak repeated, shuddering deep into her ear. She knew that sound, and yet she couldn’t pinpoint how.
Divya scampered in close, worry pinching her forehead. “What do you hear, Fred?”
“Something isn’t right.” As soon as Freddie said that, she knew it was true. Deeply, terrifyingly true.
Divya tensed beside her. “Is it your gut?” Like everyone else, she knew that Freddie’s gut was foolproof. Freddie had sensed three tornadoesanda kitchen fire before they’d happened. Plus, she’d known Divya’s cat was dying before anyone else had even sensed Rasputin was acting sluggish.
She threw a hard look at Divya. Her best friend’s flush was gone; her lips were pale. “Div,” she said softly, “I think you should go back to the Village, okay? And call the sheriff. She needs to be here.”
Somehow, Divya’s face went even whiter. “What about you?”
“I’ve got experience with this kind of stuff.”
“What kind of stuff? Creepy forests? I’m pretty sure a few weeks riding last summer with Sheriff Bowman does not mean you can waltz through here looking for trouble.”
Freddie wasn’t just waltzing. She’d done two summer internships with her hero, Sheriff Rita Bowman, and even though they’d never encountered anything truly horrific, shehadlearned what to do at a crime scene. “Please, Div. Just go.”
“Absolutely not.” Divya took Freddie’s hand in hers.
And Freddie swallowed. She did feel safer having Divya there, and she supposed every sheriff needed a deputy. “Come on, then.”
They resumed their march, hands held and eyes watering against the wind. The trees blurred. Freddie’s boots kicked up mud and decomposing leaves. She barely noticed. The creaking sound was getting louder. It grated against her skin.
Then the forest opened up, and the girls skittered to a stop.
Freddie released Divya’s hand. She knew what the sound was now: the groaning of a rope. The gritting of fibers against each other as if a body was being towed downward and swung on the wind.
She spun and spun, but there was nothing there. Nothing but raging wind and spraying leaves—
A crow cawed. High and just beyond the clearing.
Freddie’s gaze lurched up, to a sycamore. To a branch so high, no human could have possibly reached it.
Yet someone had.
“Divya.” Freddie clutched her stomach. “Cover your eyes. We’re leaving.”
2
Freddie’s mom had never been one to fuss. Now, though, it was all she seemed able to do. Ever since Sheriff Bowman had called and told her to pick up Freddie from the Village Historique the evening before, Mom had been nonstop fuss-fuss-fuss.
Freddie wanted to throttle her.
Especially because Freddie hadn’t even seen the body (which apparently belonged to a middle-aged man). All she’d seen were a pair of dangling Nikes, blue with orange accents. Mud on the tread.
Andyes,it was true that those shoes were imprinted on Freddie’s brain for all of time now, but cups of tea and Snickers bars weren’t exactly helping. Nor was tucking Freddie into bed, stroking her hair every ten seconds, or surprising her with a “real breakfast” of bacon and eggs.
By the time Freddie was supposed to meet Divya to walk to school the next morning, she was desperate to get away. She didn’t care that it was raining. She didn’t care that her usual Friday outfit of cute tights and a festive fall skirt was missing an accent scarf and now getting wet. Nor did she care that, in her race to leave the house, she’d forgotten to trade her glasses for contacts.
Why, Freddie didn’t even care that she couldn’t roll her bike by the handlebarsandfit under Divya’s umbrella either. She was free, and it tasted so good. Drizzle-frizzed hair or eighth-grade glasses couldn’t ruin it.
Divya, it would seem, felt the same. She and Freddie had just stepped off Freddie’s leaf-strewn lawn onto the street when Divya tipped back her umbrella and said, “My mom wants me to see a counselor.”
