Gone. Shirlee McCoy

on your journey,

       Shirlee McCoy

      To Jude, Caleb, Seth, Emma and Qian. You are my heart, and I am exceedingly proud of the people you have become.

      Contents

       Cover

       Back Cover Text

       About the Author

       Booklist

       Title Page

       Copyright

       Introduction

       Bible Verse

       Dear Reader

       Dedication

       ONE

       TWO

       THREE

       FOUR

       FIVE

       SIX

       SEVEN

       EIGHT

       NINE

       TEN

       ELEVEN

       TWELVE

       THIRTEEN

       FOURTEEN

       EPILOGUE

       Extract

       About the Publisher

       ONE

      She woke to darkness so thick she thought she’d been buried alive. She shuddered, listening to the silence, trying to remember where she was, what had happened, who she was. Her mind was as dark as the place she lay.

      She shifted, trying to ease a throbbing ache in her shoulders. Movement was difficult; her wrists were bound behind her back, her ankles bound, too. She should be terrified. She realized that, but all she felt was a strange numbness and the need to close her eyes and sink back into oblivion. Frigid air seeped through her clothes and settled deep into her bones, making her teeth chatter and her body shake. She’d freeze if she didn’t move. Even that didn’t scare her like it should.

      If Ruby were here, she’d tell you to snap out of it.

      The thought flitted through her head, and a million memories flooded in. The late-night phone call from the Damariscotta police telling her that Ruby had died. The frantic trip to Maine to identify her cousin’s body. The hours spent praying desperately that the police were wrong. The realization that they weren’t.

      The grief that was still lodged beneath her sternum, throbbing in her heart.

      She’d buried Ruby in North Carolina, and then she’d driven back to Newcastle to clean out Ruby’s apartment. Two trips to Maine in two weeks, seeing the place her cousin had loved too late to share the experience with her.

       It’s inexpensive. Beautiful. Everything I’ve ever wanted. When are you coming to see it, Ella ?

      How many times had Ruby begged her to make the trip? Too many to count. Ella had always had an excuse. She’d always had a deadline to meet or research to do or some random obligation that kept her close to home.

      Ruby, on the other hand, had never missed an opportunity to visit Ella. Christmas, birthdays, random trips just because.

      She’d loved wholeheartedly and without reservation, and she’d never wanted Ella to feel alone. They’d been as close as sisters, the only living relative either had. Best friends, confidants and coconspirators in life.

      And now Ruby was gone.

      And Ella...

      She was here. Wherever here was. Trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Alone in a way she’d never been before. There’d be no one looking for her back at home. Her next article wasn’t due for several weeks. Her neighbors barely knew her. Maybe, eventually, they’d notice her mailbox overflowing and contact the police for a well-check. If not, someone at church might wonder why she’d missed so many Sundays. By that time, Ella would be well and truly gone. A late-night docudrama—The Disappearance of Ella McIntire—watched by people all over the country.

      She pushed the thought away, forcing herself to move. Her knuckles scrapped cold metal as she shifted to a sitting position. She trailed nearly numb fingers over the cold smooth floor. Not cement or carpet. Metal? Her brain was working sluggishly, but it was working again, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, taking in shadowy details of her prison. Silver-gray walls. No windows. No door. Just a dark alcove across from her that could have led to a hallway or an exit.

      She needed to get up and get out, because someone had brought her here. Whoever it was could return. Probably would return. She’d been asking too many questions. She’d been talking to too many people. She’d been trying to find the truth, because she hadn’t believed the coroner’s report—that Ruby had died of an accidental drug overdose.

      Ruby didn’t take illegal drugs. She hated to take prescribed ones. She preferred holistic approaches to illness—meditation, healthy living, exercise. She rarely took an aspirin for pain and, as far as Ella knew, hadn’t been sick with more than a cold in years. Her mother had died of a drug overdose when she was fourteen, and Ruby had vowed never to follow in her footsteps.

      Ella had told the police that. She’d told the coroner that. They hadn’t listened because Ruby had