Free Devil's Playground by D. P. Lyle

her. “The kids. Why’d they wander away from school and meet up with Garrett in the first place?”
    “Kids don’t make sense sometimes,” Charlie said.
    “I suppose,” Sam said. “But, everyone, their teachers, their parents, said it wasn’t like them to do that. And they didn’t leave the school grounds together. Witnesses saw each of them walking alone. Yet, they ended up on the same corner at the same time.”
    “Yeah,” Charlie nodded.
    “And they got into Garrett’s car willingly. They weren’t forced or anything like that.”
    “That’s Paul Ruiz’s story anyway. And he was the only witness,” Lisa added.
    Sam nodded. “And he was a block away. And he was drinking as usual. And he didn’t think much of it until he heard the kids were missing. But, I believe he saw what happened. Even drunk, he would be able to tell the difference between kids climbing in a car and a kidnapping.”
    “What’s your point?” Charlie asked, eying Sam over his coffee cup.
    “With all the news stories and the programs we have at school, why would they get in a stranger’s car? It just doesn’t make sense.”
    “Kids do it all the time,” Lisa said. “Seems like it’s on the news every night.”
    “But, not here,” Sam said.
    “But, they did,” Charlie sighed.
    “Do you think they knew Garrett?” Lisa asked.
    Sam shook her head. “We asked their parents and teachers. They all said no. That it wasn’t possible.”
    “I guess we’ll never know for sure,” Charlie said.
    Sam drained her coffee cup, then nudged Lisa. “Let me out. I’m going over to the hospital and see if Ralph Klingler has any news.”
    Lisa stood so Sam could slide out of the booth.
    “Want to go with me?” Sam asked.
    “I’d rather have a root canal than visit the morgue,” Lisa said.

 
Chapter 7
    After Thelma Billups finished typing four letters and filing three dozen reports, she sat behind her desk and attempted to sort out the morning's events. Her thoughts turned to Lupe Rodriguez and Maria and Juan and Carlos. How many times had she baby-sat them during their stays in Cell #2, which she called “The Rodriguez Suite.” It seemed to her that they were permanent fixtures. Had it really been five months since the boys were last here? She had missed them. Missed refereeing their card games, missed bringing their food from Red’s, either ribs or cheeseburgers, sometimes both, and missed their constant laughter. Tears gathered in her eyes, crawled to the corner, and slid down her cheeks.
    She wiped her eyes with a tissue, then gathered the stack of letters from her “out box,” slipped a rubber band around them, and dropped them in her purse. Glancing at her watch, she decided she had just enough time to walk to the post office, mail the letters, pick up today’s mail, grab a muffin and coffee at Starbucks, and get back before Sheriff Walker returned from breakfast. She snagged her jacket from the coat rack by the door, but as she pushed open the door, a sharp pain in her left temple jolted her.
    She leaned against the doorjamb and pressed her right thumb into the web of her left hand, an acupressure trick for migraines she learned from her neurologist. The pain subsided somewhat. She returned to her desk and sat down, hoping the headache would pass. Again, she pressed her thumb into the pressure point of her hand, no effect.
    She had not suffered a migraine in at least two years. Why now? Maybe the stress of the trial, which had doubled her usually hectic work schedule, or the cold weather or the strain of preparing for Christmas. Probably Juan and Carlos’ death. Whatever the reason, she didn’t have time to deal with it right now.
    She removed a pill bottle from her purse, shook a Vicodin into her hand, and swallowed it with a sip of water from the bottle she kept on her desk. She would call the doctor later, she promised herself.
    She closed her eyes and massaged her temples.
    When she opened her eyes, a swirl of