Wish You Were Dead Read Free Page A

Mom.
    “You’re sure there isn’t something you’re not—” she began.
    “Mom, give me some credit, okay?”
    She sighed. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. Those poor people. I feel so terrible for them. They must be worried sick.”
    Once again, I replayed the memory of Lucy standing in the dark, hugging herself against the chill, her cigarette glowing. Where could she have gone?
    “Well, hopefully she’s safe.” Mom checked her watch. “You remember that your father’s expecting you to crew for him this afternoon?”
    I’d forgotten. “Who’re we racing against?”
    “American, I think.”
    The American Yacht Club was on the other side of the Sound. “We won’t be back until after dark. I have homework.”
    “Take it with you,” Mom said, heading for the door.
    I slid back down into the covers and squeezed Rumpy, my ratty old Gund dog. My thoughts drifted back again to the night before. What could have happened? Where could Lucy have possibly gone? Nothing I could think of made sense. And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was my fault.
    It was dark when Time Off , Dad’s racing sloop, returned to its slip. The other members of the crew had families and Sunday dinners to get back to, and it wasn’t long before Dad and I were left alone to finish the job of packing up and securing the boat. On Sundays Mom was used to keeping dinner warm until we could get home.
    “Get your homework done?” Dad asked as we tied the mainsail to the boom. It had gone from a cool but breezy and sunny afternoon to a chilly, damp, dark evening. My hands were cold and a little stiff. I wished I was wearing gloves.
    “Uh-huh.” I’d done my homework at the galley table belowdecks while Dad and the other crew members sailed home after the race.
    He smiled. “I know crewing wasn’t your first choice today, Maddy, but it makes me happy when you come along.”
    “No prob, Dad.” I was always glad to spend time with him. These Sunday-afternoon races were his only respite from his role as head of M. Archer and Company, his investment firm. There were often entire weeks when I didn’t see him. Dad literally traveled the world to attend meetings, meet investors, and consider business possibilities. On any given day he might be in Brazil looking at sugarcane producers, then fly overnight to meet a wealthy sheik in Dubai for a breakfast meeting, and then continue to Vietnam to look at a toy-manufacturing facility.
    The smile on my father’s face was replaced by a pensive look. “I hope they’ve found Lucy by now.”
    “Me, too,” I said. But I could not shake the sense of dread that I’d felt all day. An hour before, we’d called Mom from the boat to see if there was any news. There wasn’t. Lucy was still missing.
    By the time we finished securing the mainsail, a crescent moon had risen over the Sound, creating a shimmering white swath of moonlight across the black waters. Dad and I walked through the dark boatyard past the tall, hulking cranes and hoists, the dry-docked hulls, and racks of powerboats. We’d almost reached the parking lot when I realized I’d left my books in Time Off ’s galley. I told Dad I’d only be a moment, then rushed back through the dark.
    Walking quickly through the shadows left by the tall white hulls, the only sound I heard was the crunch of my footsteps on the gravel. I reached the ramp that led down to the dock and hurriedalong, my thunking footsteps now accompanied by the slosh of water. A few moments later I climbed on board the Time Off , dashed into the galley, and grabbed my backpack. While locking the galley door, I thought I heard footsteps on the dock and stretched up to look out at the dark. But there was no one on the dock, just the empty berths and the sticklike silhouette of a mast here and there.
    Pulling my backpack over my shoulder, I walked quickly along the dock, water sloshing beneath me with every step, my eyes darting left and right. Stop it