Once Upon a Grind by Cleo Coyle Read Free Book Online Page B

shivered. “I had nightmares for weeks.”
    â€œThat massacre probably occurred in lower Manhattan, not way up here.”
    â€œIt happened on this island, this land. You never wondered why the Manhattan population is happiest on concrete? Why the entire island is paved over? It’s a layer of stone between the residents and the cursed earth, which we do not have the advantage of at the moment.”
    â€œYou actually believe there’s a curse on Manhattan earth? You never mentioned this to me before.”
    â€œWe’ve never been alone, at night, in the Central Park woods before—”
    An animal chuffed from the bushes and we both nearly jumped out of our shoes (in Matt’s case, pointy boots). I aimed the flashlight at the sound and saw a pair of shiny eyes on a masked face. The creature blinked calmly and scurried away.
    â€œA raccoon,” Matt whispered.
    â€œAt least it wasn’t a rat.”
    â€œRats don’t bother me. I’m more concerned about wild dogs.”
    â€œWhat’s next?” I cried. “Gators from the sewers? A killer-eyed cockatrice? You can’t scare me with these silly fear tactics. I’m not leaving this park until I find Molly and Jeremy.”
    Matt stopped me. “They’re not here, Clare. There’s no sign of them. And the police are back on the festival grounds with a search plan that makes sense. This doesn’t.”
    â€œCan’t you trust me?”
    â€œYes—if you tell me why you think they’re out here.”
    My dream
, I thought, but what I said was—
    â€œMother’s intuition.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?” Matt folded his arms. “Are you flashing back to some incident in Joy’s childhood you never mentioned?”
    Actually, there were plenty. When Joy was thirteen, she failed to come home from school. For hours, I knocked on doors in our Jersey neighborhood. I finally found my daughter in a tree house.
She wasn’t alone, and while Joy and her classmate Stewart weren’t exactly playing doctor, they were definitely in the waiting room.
    â€œI often wonder how many of Joy’s secrets you’ve kept from me,” Matt mused.
    Only one
, I thought.
And his name isn’t Stewart. It’s Emmanuel Franco.
But what I said was, “Not everything can be explained.” And I continued down the path, calling—
    â€œMolly! Jeremy!”
    Nothing.
    â€œClare!” Matt shouted, standing his ground. “Let’s turn around—”
    â€œWait, Matt! Look!”
    When he caught up to me, I passed the flashlight over two items lying on the dirt path: a cellophane wrapper and a piece of broken cookie. I picked them up and sniffed.
    â€œIt’s one of our frosted gingerbread sticks. Mike’s kids were here. I’m sure of it!”
    â€œYou gave hundreds of those away, Clare. Anyone could have dropped it here. You don’t expect me to believe—”
    â€œI expect you to back me up. That’s what good partners do. Now come on!”

F OURTEEN

    A FTER some fast walking, we came to a fork in the road. Just like my dream, the trail split into two paths. Each curved out of sight.
    â€œSo? Which way does your ‘mother’s intuition’ tell you to go now?”
    I closed my eyes and tried to conjure those dream images. I saw the giant oak tree, and the huge lighted sign hanging on its trunk.
    â€œThe blinking traffic sign was on a downward grade,” I said, opening my eyes. “So let’s follow the descending path.”
    â€œDid you say something about a
blinking
traffic
sign? In the
woods
?”
    Leading with the flashlight, I hurried down the trail.
    â€œClare?”
    I faced him. “I had a dream, okay?”
    â€œLast night?”
    â€œNo, I nodded off in your mother’s tent. I didn’t tell you because I
know
it’s not rational. But I can’t get it out of my mind,