Page 75 of Fire Fight
“I always am,” I grumbled under my breath as I walked away, making my way through the house, purse slung over my shoulder and keys in hand.
Since I’d been staying with him, Crew had been kind enough to let me park in his garage, and I’d been more than a little grateful for it. Now, I wouldn’t have to worry about any more jump scares in the form of creepy notes left under my windshield.
At least, not while I was home.
My head would be on a swivel while I was in away, though.
When I reached town, I headed straight for the library. I was greeted like a celebrity, Ginny excitedly shuffling out from behind the info desk and sweeping me into one of those warm hugs.
“Oh, it’s good to see you, dear,” she said, clasping my hand and leading me back into the meeting room. “I kept those yearbooks stashed away for you. Take a seat, and I’ll be right back.”
“Oh, I can help, Ginny. You don’t have to do that.”
“Nonsense,” she insisted, waving me off. “Get comfortable. I can handle carrying a few little books.”
I wasn’t about to argue with her. Little old ladies like her were stubborn, and there’d be no talking her into letting me assist.
A few minutes later, she returned with a stack of yearbooks—then left again and came back with another. After two more trips, I had probably forty of them on the table before me. Damn, this woman was stronger than she looked.
“This is…more than I was expecting,” I admitted.
“I pulled them for each of the years those girls was in school,” Ginny said proudly. “To really give you the full scope of their high school careers.”
I glanced up at her with a grateful smile. “Thank you so much, Ginny. You are truly a gem.”
“It’s no problem, dear. Old ladies like me like to be useful.”
“So far, you’re the most useful person I’ve met in this town.”
A blush flooded her deeply lined cheeks, a pleased smile gracing her lips.
“Thank you. I’ll leave you to it, but let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do. Thanks, Ginny.”
With a final squeeze to my shoulder, she disappeared.
I took my time flipping through the yearbooks, starting at the beginning with Roger and Vicky, smiling at any pages I came across that featured Birdie and her late husband, Jase. Despite being grainy and sepia-toned, I recognized his sons in his face easily. They’d all taken after him in one way or another—the height, the broad shoulders, the muscular build. The smile. The lack of real color to the pictures didn’t offer any confirmation, of course, but I could guess his eyes were blue, his hair the sandy shade each of his sons sported in variation. Birdie was still gorgeous, but she’d been a knockout when she was younger. Aria was a dead ringer for her mother.
Vicky had been as vibrant and involved in school activities as Birdie had said. I could hardly flip a page without her face appearing in a photograph.
She reminded me so much of my sister, my heart thumped painfully in my chest every time I looked at her. Was it her dark hair? Or maybe the way her energy seemed to leap off the page, making me feel surrounded by her spirit despite the fact that she was long gone?
Whatever the reason, I found myself lingering on her photographs, wanting to feel close to my sister in this fucked up way.
“I miss you,” I whispered, hoping Lola, wherever she was, could hear me.
By the tenth yearbook, I was scanning for victim number four, a girl who had been twenty at the time of her death, home from her sophomore year of college, kidnapped on her way home from the store. The second my gaze locked on her face, thewheels in my brain started spinning at warp speed, and a pattern emerged.
Suddenly, the weird ass email I’d gotten the other day made a lot more sense.
I spared far less time on the remaining eight victims, only going so far as flipping to the individual photos of each student from each grade to locate the girls before moving onto the next.
I knew what I’d find; I merely needed confirmation.
After glancing through the final one, I left them on the table in five neat stacks, collected my things, and rushed out to Ginny.
“Thank you so much again,” I told her. “I left them on the table because I’m not sure where they go. I can absolutely help you put them away, but?—”
