Page 67 of The Sister's Curse
The sound of an engine rattled through the woods, and our heads turned. Mom’s eyes narrowed, and she took off at a run.
I sprinted after her, listening to the whistle of breath in the back of my throat. I didn’t know my mom could run, and definitely not so fast. I struggled to keep up with her, my backpack bouncing uncomfortably against my shoulder blades. We followed the sound to another bend in the river, where I stopped short. Aniridescent sheen of oil was spreading over the water, with a sickly sweet smell that caused me to gag.
Mom’s gaze was murderous. She turned and followed tire tracks through the grass. A beat-up Jeep was making a retreat, speeding up a hill. Metal drums clanked noisily in the back.
I tried to memorize the license plate number, repeating it to myself like a mantra:ADP 1123, ADP 1123…
Mom shouted at the Jeep, but the driver floored it and lurched up onto the road. Within seconds, it was gone from sight.
I stayed by the riverbank, helpless, watching that iridescent oil spread. It would’ve been pretty under other circumstances, if I could tell myself that it was some kind of fairy spell. But it wasn’t. It was a thing that brought death to whatever it touched.
Just downstream, a blue heron turned its head toward me. I shooed it away, and it took off in a silent flutter of wings.
“Don’t come back!” I yelled tearfully, hoping it didn’t have a nest nearby.
Mom returned to the bank, her gaze black, furious. That was the look of the mother I knew—stiff and scowling.
“I memorized the license plate number,” I told her.
She shook her head. “It won’t do any good.”
I sighed in frustration, scrubbing at my red face with the back of my filthy arm.
“This is something we will take care of ourselves,” she said quietly, with unfathomable malice.
16
Dethroned
One of the Kings of Warsaw Creek had indeed been dethroned.
I pulled up to the Silver Bridge just after sunrise. Mist clung to the river below, and the metallic bridge shone pink in the morning light. It would’ve been pretty if not for the police cars blocking the bridge.
I rocked up with a giant jug of hot coffee and put it down on the hood of a patrol car. Monica appeared and began blearily pouring out a cup.
“You’ve been out here all night?” I asked.
“Not the whole night. I made Detwiler guard the scene and slept in the car for a bit. That fucking radio never shuts up.” Monica walked down to the shore. The bridge was above us, and a tow truck was parked by the shore. The tow line extended far into the river while the driver leaned against his truck and watched the line draw out from the winch.
“Not a fan of the new radio system?” I noted that Monica had called me only over her cell phone lately.
Monica made a face. “I’m waiting until I can thoroughly read the manual. I’m anal like that. I want to make sure it’s not scanning our brains.”
“That sounds a little paranoid.”
“I didn’t get to be captain without a healthy dose of paranoia. Which is probably something you could use.” She glanced at me sidelong.
I winced. “There’s going to be hell to pay for this mess, isn’t there?”
“Not saying that I would’ve done anything different. But yeah. Especially now.”
I looked up at the bridge. From this vantage point, I could make out the broken guardrail.
“It’s good you got the girl away from him.” Monica sighed. “But now we gotta fish him out.”
A disembodied hand far away in the river popped up and gave a thumbs-up—probably Jasper’s.
When Jasper had made it to shore, the tow truck driver activated the winch. The river slowly began to churn.
