The Box in the Woods (Truly Devious #4)(17)

“Get the rifle from the trunk,” he said to Don.

Once armed, the two men began to scan the area. There was nothing around to suggest a rendezvous spot.

“Todd!” the sheriff called. “Diane! Sabrina!”

There was no reply.

“Footprints this way,” Don said as he scanned the dirt. “Looks like they went in this direction.”





They tramped into the trees, pushing back branches, calling all the while. Birds scattered, but no one replied. They came upon a small clearing, with a blanket on the ground and the smoldering remains of a fire, now just a tiny smoking glow under a pile of smoked-out logs. There was a tape player sitting on one of the logs by the fire. The blanket was a sleeping bag that had been unzipped and spread out, and an open can of Coke sat on a log. Three unopened beers were on the ground nearby, along with a cafeteria tray that contained a McDonald’s bag, some small papers, and some kind of green substance.


“Marijuana,” the sheriff said, examining it. “They were here. I don’t know why they’d leave this behind if they weren’t in trouble.”

He scanned the ring of trees around them. In a clearing like this, you were vulnerable. There were ample places to hide, and someone could approach from any direction. In the dark, this place would have been terrifyingly easy to attack a group of teenagers.

He pulled his handgun from its holster.

“Todd Cooper is a big kid,” Don said, as if having the same thought. “He’d fight. So would Diane.”

But there was no sign of a fight. The area was neat. It was as if they had simply walked away from their camp, leaving the fire, the tape player, and a significant amount of grass spread out on a tray.

The sheriff and Don made a slow circuit of the area, looking at the spaces between the trees, examining the ground.





“Here,” the sheriff said. “Something’s been dragged here.”


They picked their way between the trees. Don reached for a branch with a piece of torn dark green fabric and a tuft of white filler clinging to it.

“Looks like it could have come from a sleeping bag,” Don said.

They continued on, and about a minute later came upon a sagging hunting blind. Beside it, neatly rolled, was the sleeping bag with a tear in the side. The woods were velvety quiet as they approached the box. The sheriff opened it slowly. The smell hit first, seconds before his brain could process the hideous jigsaw that was before his eyes.

“Oh god,” Don said. “What the hell . . . what . . .”

There was a single-word message, roughly painted on the inside of the lid in white paint. It read: SURPRISE.





4



IT APPEARED THAT CARSON HAD CORRECTLY READ THE ROOM WHEN HE returned with a stack of pizza boxes containing every possible kind of cheesy, meaty pizza. The traveling, the reunion joy, and the sweet woodland air seemed to have stimulated all their appetites, and the pies were soon torn apart and consumed. For his own meal, Carson brought a giant cup of thick blue juice and regarded the pizza carnage like someone watching a nature documentary.

“So you own a box service, right?” Nate asked innocently as he reached for his fifth slice of pizza. “One of those get-a-box-every-month things?”

“Box Box,” Carson said.

Nate knew all this already, which meant he was asking for entertainment, rather than information.

“What is it, though?”

“Every month you get a curated selection of boxes,” Carson replied.

“What’s in the boxes?”





“Boxes. It’s a box full of boxes. We have themes, like bathroom boxes, or closet boxes, or gift boxes, kitchen boxes, garden boxes. Everyone needs boxes. We’re starting a new thing in a few months. We’re either going to call it Bag Box or Bag Bag. You get reusable bags. See all those fabric samples over there? Those are for the bags. I was Think Jamming them.”


“Why?” Nate said.

“Why what?”

“Why would you want a bag full of bags? Or a box full of boxes?”

“It’s environmentally friendly,” Carson replied.

“How?”

“Because you get the boxes so you don’t have to buy them. Same as the bags.”

“Isn’t it worse to send people a bunch of boxes they don’t need and then have them get rid of some of them? Especially when you add all the packaging, and the transport and everything?”

“It’s about convenience as well,” Carson said.

“How is it convenient to get a bunch of boxes or bags?”

“People like it,” Carson said, though more quietly. “We have over four hundred thousand subscribers. Anyway . . . we should get started.”

Nate happily chomped off half a slice of pizza in one bite as Carson gestured them over to the beanbags and sofas in the center of the room. Stevie, Janelle, and Nate moved





over, Nate taking a pizza box with him. Carson picked up a remote control. The lights dimmed gently and there was a soft whirring noise as a massive screen unfurled from the ceiling.

A title slide appeared on the screen.

THE BOX IN THE WOODS MURDERS,

JULY 6–7, 1978