Riptide Read Free Page A

skeleton. She was even given special treatment
    at the Union 76 gas station at the end of Poison Oak Circle.
    The Food Fort manager, Mrs. Dobbs, wanted her autograph. Three
    people told her she looked familiar.
    It was too late to dye her hair black. She went home and stayed
    there. She got at least twenty phone calls that day. She didn't see
    Tyler, but he'd been right about what the sheriff had thought, because
    everybody else was thinking it, too, and was talking about it
    over coffee, to their neighbors, and not all that quietly. Tyler knew
    it, too, of course, but he didn't say anything when he came over
    later that evening. He looked stoic. She had wanted to yell at
    everyone that they were wrong, that Tyler was an excellent man,
    that no way could he have hurt anyone, much less his wife, but she
    knew she couldn't take the chance, couldn't call attention to herself
    anymore. It was too dangerous for her, and so she listened to
    everyone talk about Ann, Tyler s wife and Sam's mother, who had
    supposedly disappeared fifteen months before without a word to
    anybody, not her husband, not her son. Ann had had a mother until
    two years before, but Mildred Kendred had died and left Ann all

alone with Tyler. She'd had no other relatives to hassle Tyler about
    where his wife had supposedly gone. And just look at poor little
    Sam, so quiet, so withdrawn, he'd probably seen something,
    everyone was sure of that. That he wasn't at all afraid of his stepfather
    just meant that the poor little boy had blocked the worst of
    it out.
    Oh, yes, it all made sense now to everyone. Tyler had bashed his
    wife on the head--she probably wanted to leave him, that was it--
    and then he'd bricked her in the wall in Jacob Marley's basement.
    And little Sam knew something, because he'd changed right after
    his mother disappeared.
    Tyler remained stoic during the following days, saying nothing
    about all the speculation, ignoring the sidelong looks from people
    who were supposedly his friends. He went about his business,
    seemingly oblivious of the stares.
    He was in misery, Becca knew that, but there was nothing she
    could do except say over and over, "Tyler, I know it isn't Ann.
    They'll prove it was someone else, you'll see."
    "How?"
    "If they can't figure out who she was, then they'll check for runaways.
    There are DNA tests. They'll find out. Then there are going
    to be a whole lot of folk apologizing to you on their hands and
    knees."
    He looked at her and said nothing at all.
    Becca went shopping at Food Fort at eight o'clock the next
    night, hoping the store would be nearly empty. She moved quickly
    down the aisles. The last item on her list was peanut butter,
    crunchy. She found it and picked up a small jar, saw that it had a
    web of mirrored cracks in it, and started to call out to one of the
    clerks, only to have it break apart in her hands. She yelped and
    dropped it. It splattered all over jars of jams and jellies before

smashing onto the floor at her feet. She stood there staring down
    at the mess.
    "I see you buy natural, not sugar-added. That's the only kind I'll
    eat."
    She whirled around so fast she slid on the peanut butter and
    nearly careened into the soup. The man caught her arm and pulled
    her upright.
    "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Let me get you another jar.
    Here comes a young fellow with a mop. Better let him wipe off the
    bottom of your sneaker."
    "Yes, of course." The man not two feet from her was a stranger,
    which didn't mean all that much since she hadn't met everyone in
    town. He was wearing a black windbreaker, dark jeans, and Nike
    running shoes. He was careful not to step into the peanut butter.
    Her first impression was that he was big and he looked really hard
    and his hair was on the long side, and as dark as his eyes.
    "The only thing," he continued after a moment, "it's a real pain
    to have to stir the peanut butter before you put it in the refrigerator.
    The oil always spills over the sides and on