Page 96 of The Sister's Curse

It was an unfinished basement with cinder-block walls and a concrete floor. A washer and dryer stood at one end, a furnace and water heater at the other. Unused exercise equipment was jammed in a corner.Ordinary enough.

The copper pipes running to the washer and dryer caught my attention. I bent to examine them.

Connected to the copper pipes were three pairs of handcuffs. And next to the washer was a plastic bucket smelling of urine.

In the dust coating the side of the dryer, someone had drawn a circle. It might have been a circle, or it might have been an ouroboros.

I exhaled and texted Kara:Need you in the basement ASAP.

I vibrated with anger as I waited for Kara, imagining those girls huddled down here in the dark.

“Jesus,” she said. “There was more than one girl down here.”

Fuck that guy.I was glad he was dead.

—

The girls from Greenwood Kingdom Church were the witches dancing in the dark of Bayern County.

I thought I understood. The girls, powerless, sought control over their surroundings, even if it meant chanting in the dark and putting pins in dolls. The girls channeled their rage, and Viv channeled them. But did they kill the men related to the Kings ofWarsaw Creek? I couldn’t imagine Leah wanting to hurt an innocent like Mason; she seemed to truly love him.

The girls might’ve asked for justice in their ritual, but maybe justice had different ideas than they did.

I headed home to let the dog out and pace in the garden. The heat had wilted the peppers and tomatoes, and weeds reached up from the cracked clay soil. I soaked them with the hose. They seemed fragile and puny, though, unlike the spiky Russian thistles beginning to claw their way up from the earth. I pulled them away from the heart-shaped stone for Nick’s mother, and the grave for the snake.

My phone dinged, announcing a text from the Vice guys on Sumner’s whereabouts:

Subject is at the worksite. No sign of the victim.

TY. Keep me posted, I typed awkwardly with my thumbs, around dog slobber.

I figured Sumner would be involved with work for at least a little while. I texted Monica:

Wanna head over to the Sumner house?

You know it. Meet you there.

If Jeff looked at the door-chime alerts on his alarm app, he would know if someone had opened the front door. But since I had access to his account, I could easily archive our movements, and I doubted he’d sift through the archives to check for unwanted visitors.

Gibby was thrilled to ride shotgun, his tongue flailing from hismouth like a pink banner as he stuck his head out the window. When we arrived at the Sumner house, I put him on his leash, tied him to the open car door’s handle, and put down a water dish for him.

“You gotta stay put, okay?”

He grinned his inscrutable doggie grin at me. I wasn’t sure he would stay put.

Monica rolled up, carrying evidence-collection bags. “Ready to rock and roll?”

I slipped the key into the lock while Monica rushed to the alarm’s panel to disarm it. I stood in the doorway, put my hands on my hips, and said:

“Well, that wasn’t what I expected.”

I wasn’t really sure what I had expected. I’d hoped to find Viv tied up and unharmed, and bring the case crashing down around the ears of the Kings of Warsaw Creek.

Instead, I’d walked into a frat house.

Beer bottles had leaked out onto the beige carpet and were scattered across the couches and the coffee table. The television mounted above the fireplace had a crack in its screen. Something smelled vaguely of garbage. The curtains were drawn, plunging the place into semidarkness.

I walked into the kitchen, finding more bottles, and an open pizza box with crusts hardened like bones. No dishes were in the sink, at least.