Dead Girl Moon Read Online Free

feet in his snow boots and that made him think of his sneakers. He found them behind his door as he heard the car start. The home phone started ringing.
    “Leave it!”
    That reminded Mick of his cell. He found it in his shirt pocket on the chair by his bed, pulled the charger out of the wall plug and shoved it and the shirt in the shopping bag. He was sticking the cell in his jeans when he heard the garage door go up.
    “Now!”
    That was always the last warning. Sure enough, a car door slammed. If his dad left him … he made it to the passenger side as the car started to roll. They were out of the driveway when his damn phone rang.
    “They must have gotten your number,” his dad said, holding out one hand and steering with the other, taking the corner too fast, fishtailing.
    Mick put his phone in the outstretched hand and his dad threw it as far as he could out the driver’s-side window. The man felt on the seat beside him, came up with a paper sack. Pushed it at Mick. “Sandwich,” he said.
    The cell phone. The only tie Mick had to the kids he’d met here. For a minute it felt like his father had ripped off Mick’s arm. If they’d been going slower Mick might have jumped from the car to look for it.
    The boy wasn’t sure what time it was but the lack of neighborhood lights and the absence of traffic made early morning a good bet. He didn’t feel like eating. His stomach was rumbling like it did when he thought his dad might be arrested. Mick put the sack back on the seat, belted up, zipped his jacket all the way to the neck, and closed his eyes. Crap! He felt in his pockets. No idea where his gloves were. He sat hating himself. Stupid. The last thing he remembered was leaning against the cold window glass looking out at winking ranch lights in the meadows near the turnoff to Riggins.
    *   *   *
    Not such good things happen when your dad is a thief. Your mom might leave. Mick’s did. You might move way too much. Might not have any friends. You might be afraid a lot. Nervous. Like something bad could happen anytime. Like cops. And if they take your dad, then what? Where do you go? Think they could still find your mom after six or seven years? His mom hadn’t even called. Might not have kept the same name. Might be remarried. Might have a new family. A new son.
    *   *   *
    Mick awoke after dawn to the memory of his dad hustling them out of McCall in the dead of night. Same old thing. Something had gone wrong or somebody had ratted and the cops were onto him. So far he’d stayed a jump ahead. After a few minutes Mick caught a road sign. They were driving up Montana 135 heading toward Plains. His dad noticed him looking.
    “Going to Portage,” the man said. “Couple more hours.”
    To their right a dark river slid along the canyon, to their left, rocky bluffs climbed skyward. His dad said pay attention, they might spot a bighorn sheep. The man drove with both hands on the wheel, kept a constant check on the rearview mirror, didn’t break the speed limit. Couldn’t afford to be pulled over. “It’s going to be different this time,” he told Mick. “Swear.”
    His father didn’t look at him but Mick thought it was kind of an apology. His dad told him he was tired of hustling, tired of nomading around. He thought he had a good job waiting for him at the Conoco in Portage. Said he’d called and set it up the week before when he’d been worried a local investigation was getting too close. He told Mick he was done “finding” things. Caused too much trouble. Never made that much money with it anyway.
    Mick listened, kept looking out the window.
    The past twelve months Mick had gone to three different high schools. His dad said Portage had a good one, two or three hundred kids. Mick knew something his father didn’t and Mick wasn’t going to tell. This time Mick was going to make a close friend, somebody he could stay with if his dad got in trouble again. Mick was going to have a whole