Rocky Road Murders

It all started when Carmen Darling went missing.

You see, we lived in a small town in rural Virginia. It was a normal hot summer evening in Martinsburg, with everyone trying to get cool. I’m a loner, see, so I hung out by myself just reading my book in the shade of my wrap-around porch. The swing swung back in forth, creating a low creaking sound with each movement. The mosquitoes buzzed around me like the annoying little pests they are. The neighbor’s kids were out catching fireflies with old preserve jars. It was a nice setting in which to read John Grisham.

“Lizzie?” my mom opened the screen door to talk to me. I didn’t see why. I could hear her perfectly fine without it letting in every fly and bug in the house within a two-hundred foot radius.

“Yes Mom,” I asked, annoyed. My eyes were still glued to the book. Did she not realize how necessary it was for me to pay attention?

“Can you please come back to earth for a minute and grace us with your presence? Even God has to bother with important matters.” She huffed. I made a big show of dog-earring the page and looking at her expectantly. “Thank you. Now we’ve got a slight problem.”

“You interrupted me for a slight problem?” I glared.

“Carmen’s body was just found. She’s dead. Or, they say she was murdered.” She glares back, but I see the weariness in her brown eyes. She was scared after Carmen was kidnapped because she was only a year older than me.

“I told them, and I told you. But everybody had to keep up their false hope. I bet you Mrs. Darling is now going to spiral into insanity and depression at the loss of her only daughter, and Mr. Darling will pretend to be fine and the strong one while all the while the sadness is pressing down on his shoulders and is eventually going to kill himself with his shotgun.” I said bluntly. I wasn’t one for dancing around the edges or softening the truth. This made people hate me, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to change for other people. I’ll be on death row, and tell the judge how stupid he sounds. And I could honestly care less.

“ Elizabeth!” she snapped, shocked. “That is so cold hearted. Don’t you ever say anything like that again!” she stormed back into the house. I rolled my eyes at my melodramatic mother. She didn’t understand me.



In a period of twelve months, three more children - females-, all around my age, went missing and were found murdered. None of the bodies were attempted to be hidden, and there were no leads, no clues, no anything; Mrs. Darling was admitted to an asylum, Mr. Darling committed suicide with his double barrel shotgun, and my mother ignored me.

Once again, it was summer, only now I read Stephen King novels instead of last summer’s John Grisham. I got excited when I heard the ice cream man’s jingle coming down the street. I grab my five bucks and run out in the street to stop him. He pulls over and smiles at me.

Let me explain something about my ice cream man: he was 24 with awesome, thick ginger hair and those sad dark eyes that girls’ stomachs flip for. My heart raced and I went light headed at the thought of him. I was an idiot- a.k.a. a girl with a crush. And I’m pretty sure he knew it.

“Hey, Donald,” I smiled at him.

“Hey, Lizzie; You want the usual?” he asked, grinning.

“Please,” I handed me the cash and he handed me my rocky road. I should probably mention I’m a chocoholic.

“You hear anything about those murders, by any chance?” he asked, leaning against the counter as I licked my sweet treat. I had been eating ice cream a lot more lately…

“No, besides that Margret is still missing.” I said, and then added at a mumble, “No surprise there.”

“She’s dead, I’m betting.” He shook his head in disgust.

“At least somebody else calls it as it is.” I said in relief. He just laughed.

“I’m realistic, and I’m not going to sugar coat reality for you, babe.” He shrugged. I chuckle at how he was the only one who understood me; the only one who acted the same. “I’ve got to go, Lizzie, but I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked with a little hope and amusement creeping into his voice. I just shrug my shoulders and wink at him. We both know the answer. Hey, sue me.



Later that night I was looking for a clue in all the cases, besides the gender. Similarities, difference, background histories; anything helped. I had gathered information from friends, family, school files, and police records. And no, I didn’t have ‘permission’ in the sense that I asked the police before I hacked their site, or asked my principle to sneak into the office at four in the morning, but it was for a good cause.

I had given up any hope (if there had been any to begin with) that the police would solve this case. They were too ignorant to see what could possibly be right in front of them. And I suddenly realized that possibly was an indubitably.

“I can’t believe this!” I yelled, slamming my evidence down in front of my mom on the kitchen table. She jumped, nearly spilling her iced- tea.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, staring at me, then the files, then me again.



“I looked over the case files and-“

“Lizzie, I told you not to bother. If the police officers haven’t found anything, you won’t.” she sighed.

“But, Mom! I can do this! All the evidence I need is right here.” I placed my hand on the manila envelopes.

“All that is here,” she said with a hard, angry, grief- stricken face. “Is proof of wasted time. Really, Lizzie, did you really think you were better than the professionals?”

“No, I knew I could. And I did! They said nothing else was alike, but they were wrong! I figured it out.” I said earnestly. It was the first time I wanted her to encourage me in sixteen years, and she obviously wasn’t going to.

“Just go, Lizzie. Just go,” she started crying. I left out the front door, just in time to see Donald walking down the street towards me.



         We were sitting alone in his ice cream truck. It was parked in the company’s parking lot. I was eating my usual, when Donald brought up the reason behind mine and mom’s argument.

“I think it might be one of your co-workers.” I broke the news to him.

“What?”

I took a bite of my ice cream. “Their friends and family said they were infatuated with the ice cream man, they all disappeared at the end of the ice cream deliverer’s shifts or in the middle of the night, and they all liked the same flavor.”

“What flavor?” Donald asked eerily.

“Rocky ro…” I gulped. “Rocky road.” And it was then that I realized something pivotal.

“It was you.”

“Now, Lizzie. Don’t jump to conclusions.” He warned, but I saw the danger in his eyes; the under-lying threat in his voice.

I suddenly didn’t feel so good. My ice cream dropped through my numb fingers. My heart raced; the adrenaline kicked in, but I couldn’t move. All those times I thought the victim in my stories or movies I watched was stupid for not running, I didn’t realize what pure undiluted terror felt like or what it could do to you. My mind was blank; I was in a cold sweat; I couldn’t get air in my lungs fast enough.

Donald moved to get up, and that’s when I ran.

I jumped out of the van and hurried through the empty parking lot of parked ice cream trucks.

“Lizzie, come back here!” Donald yelled as I turned the corner.

Ok, let me explain the benefits of a small town. If you have an emergency, everything and everyone is at your fingertips. This is horrible if you want privacy, but it’s wonderful in cases such as serial killer chases. If you can get to the places fast enough. And too bad I couldn’t.

Donald dove and tackled my legs. I fell to the concrete like a bag of bricks. My teeth vibrated. My elbows and hands were scraped and my chin was bleeding.

“Ow,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Don’t make me hurt you, Lizzie. I don’t want to hurt you.” Donald said. Too late for that I thought. I had trouble believing him.

“Let me go.” I sat up to face him. Hot tears were running down my cheeks and dirt and crushed asphalt was sticking to my face. My fear was still there, but I was angry now; angry that he killed my classmates; angry that I’d been lured into a trap; angry that the police were so ignorant; angry that I could like someone so… cruel.

“I can’t.” he sounded sorry. “You know too much.”

“The only other person,” I glared. “That could see it as it was, was the murderer himself. Either I’m too smart, or have an incredibly sick mind, too.”

“Don’t scream.” He warned, pulling me up and covering my mouth with his hand. I thought about the novels, the movies, everything. There were damsels in distress that waited to be saved, not fighting back. But I could, and I would.

I surprised Donald by biting his hand. He automatically yanked his hand back and I took my chance, pulling away and landing a kick to his ribs. Next I got his gut, shins, and I went for his throat.

He grabbed my hand and took the point of leverage. The next thing I knew, on the ground, my arm screaming in protest at the odd angle Donald had it bent. I had to bite my tongue to keep back the scream.

“Now I have to kill you.” He sighed. I heard the rustling of fabric, then something cool, round, and metal was pressed against my temple.

“Since you’re such a fan of murder mysteries, Lizzie, tell me how I won’t get caught.” He whispered dangerous in my ear.

“Easy,” I grunted. “My mom and I had a fight, and then I ran off. I’m a teenage runaway. That’ll buy you some time. Then by the time Martinsburg’s idiot cops find my body, the receipts for the guns you bought in a different state will be burned. Considering you’re not wearing gloves, I’m guessing the gun will be disassembled, doused in bleach, and will be in another state’s junkyard. The travel will be excused by you saying that you were going to see your sick mother, when really she’s in a Florida cemetery right now. No one will suspect that the man that gives their innocent children delicious treats could kill a child. You’ll get off with a clean slate, free to kill once again.” I finished bitterly. He was quite for a while.

“Too bad you aren’t willing to help me, Lizzie. You’re extremely intelligent.” He said. I think it was intended as a complement, but I didn’t take it that way. More tears were falling from my eyes.

“Just kill me.” I growled.

“As you wish,”

Bang.