Her Mother’s Grave

Chapter Seventy-One

They drove in silence, broken only by Sophia giving Josie directions to an old abandoned textile mill near the Susquehanna River. She parked the Camry along the access road and went to search the trunk for a flashlight. She made a show of riffling through the array of items that filled Sergeant Lamay’s trunk while Sophia waited in the passenger seat so that she could fire off a quick text to Noah. If Lila and Trinity were there, she would need backup.

Textile mill with Bowen, she sent.

He would figure it out.

The two of them walked along the old access road in darkness with only the moonlight to illuminate their way. If Lila was on one of the upper floors, Josie didn’t want her to spot the bobbing flashlight beam. Sophia, in two-inch heels, kept stumbling along the cracked asphalt. “Slow down,” she hissed at Josie.

“No,” Josie said simply. “You keep up.”

By the time they reached the southern entrance of the mill, Sophia was sweating and huffing out breaths. Josie stared up at the behemoth—five floors of old yellowing brick and smashed-out windows like empty eye sockets staring down at them. Josie felt a tickle along the back of her neck. “Where is she?” she asked Sophia.

“The third floor,” Sophia answered. “That’s all I know. This is where she said she was staying.”

For twenty thousand dollars, Lila could have done a lot better, but not many places would let you keep a hostage on the premises. “You go first,” Josie said, and she pushed Sophia through the creaky doors.

Once inside, she turned on the flashlight and swept it around the cavernous room. Broken glass, garbage, and other debris littered the floors. Old equipment sat abandoned like dilapidated sentries. A rat scurried just out of view as they walked through the place looking for the stairwell.

“Over here,” Sophia said, pointing to a set of double doors to their left. Graffiti and rust marred the paint on the doors, and a blackish fluid leaked from the wall above, over the door handles, and onto the floor. “Open it,” Josie said.

In the peripheral glow of the flashlight, Josie saw the look of disdain that Sophia gave her as she riffled in her purse. “We don’t have time for this,” Josie said.

A tissue appeared in her hand, and she used it to cover the doorknob before pulling it open. The door groaned behind them as they entered the stairwell. In the silence of the huge building, it sounded like the roar of a jet. The concrete steps crumbled beneath their feet, and Sophia stumbled again, grasping desperately for the railing. Josie kept the flashlight pointed ahead and her ears pricked for any sounds above them. They had gone up two flights of steps when Josie suddenly realized that she no longer heard Sophia’s labored breath behind her.

Instinctively, her free hand reached for her gun, but of course it wasn’t there. She curled both hands around the long handle of the flashlight, but it was too late. She was yanked back by her shoulder, down the steps, tumbling into darkness.