Updated: Nov 24, 2021
Hello. I’m Rebekkah Rosewood, and this is Thrice Cursed.
Just like last week, I’m coming to you with another heavy-hitting, truly devastating case out of my dream home state, Vermont. If you’re tuning into this at work, and you either aren’t working from home, are driving, or have to deal with people… maybe hold off until you can be somewhere private, or simply safe to cry. --Hey! Simply Safe! Sponsor me?-- Anyways. I hope you got a laugh from that, because there won’t be much laughing in this episode. Seriously, I had to stop writing like 8 times because I just kept crying. Since this is a long one, I’m going to cut the preamble short, and just get into it. So, sorry in advance.
Today’s tale starts off with 13-year-old Sherry Nastasia. Sherry’s parents had been divorced, and In July of that year, Sherry and her younger brother moved to Springfield, Vermont to live with their father. Their mother lived in Florida, and their father John Nastasia was a truck driver for an oil company. He was on the road most days, and couldn’t always arrange for someone to watch his children. Sometimes they would be with a neighbor or babysitter, but most often it seems that they were on their own. Police officers in Springfield became accustomed to seeing Sherry and her 11-year-old brother outside after dark. As time went on, she was seen with her brother less and less. On August 28th, 1979, 13-year-old Sherry Nastasia was shopping in the Springfield Shopping Plaza with her younger brother, before splitting off and going out on her own as usual. Just like most nights, she had no particular plan or destination. Tonight wasn’t like most nights, though. Sherry Nastasia of 43 River St, Springfield, Vermont didn’t come home. She was reported missing the very next day and an investigation began.
Police had become familiar with Nastasia. There were some seedier parts of town that the police had grown accustomed to keeping an eye on, and more and more frequently, they began seeing Sherry there during the Summer. Police spoke to some of the people that frequented those areas, and no one seemed to know where she went. Soon enough, their investigation turned up a vague clue. A man who had a room in the same home as Nastasia (I’m guessing a renter?) said he had seen Sherry walking along River Street sometime around midnight that Tuesday. They noted that a dark green car that resembled a Pontiac Firebird had slowed beside her, and after a few moments, the vehicle stopped and Sherry climbed in. This was the only lead the police force had to go on. An official police report was finally printed in local papers on September 5th. Sherry was described in the report as “female, Caucasian, age 13, 5 foot 2 inches tall, slender build, blue eyes, and long brown hair.” She was last seen wearing a blue sweatshirt and white shorts, getting into a 1970-1974 dark green Pontiac Firebird on River Street. It was unknown at the time if she knew the driver.
A clerk in the Springfield Police Department stated that authorities were concerned immediately about her disappearance, as Sherry “didn’t have it in her nature to do something like that.” Another source I found stated that this was exactly the type of behavior Sherry exhibited, however, so I’m not too certain what to believe here. I’ll err on the side of disbelief.
Unfortunately, their concern was not unfounded. On December 13th, 1979, 3 and a half months later, a body was found in the snow by a trucker in a pull-off area along Vermont Route 103 in Rockingham, a short distance from the state police barracks. Within days, the body was identified as that of Sherry Nastasia, using dental records. According to one officer, her body was in such a state of decomposition that there had been no other methods to identify her by. The officers did their best to clear the snow and thoroughly examine the area for any evidence, but aside from the body, none was found. According to State Medical Examiner Eleanor McQuillen, several of her bones had been broken including multiple ribs and a leg. She was unable to determine the official cause of death because parts of the body were missing. Though she did conclude that she had probably died of strangulation, as the hyoid bone --the one in the neck that tends to break when someone is strangled-- was missing. Sherry Nastasia’s death certificate stated that she met a “probable violent death.” At the time this statement was released in January of 1980, police detective Robert Hains said that investigators were still working the case, but so far had turned up no leads. They’d interviewed many of the people that frequented the same places as Nastasia, even going so far as to have them take polygraph tests. Many men who provided solid alibis didn’t pass them. It’s likely this was because they had other things in their past they wanted to remain hidden from the police. A majority of them were certainly guilty of crimes, but none of them involved the disappearance of Sherry Nastasia. One of the detectives recalled “Everything that could have gone wrong went wrong, right from the beginning of that case.” Police began to feel that the case would never be solved.
Even in August of 1981, when another young girl went missing, the thought that this could lead to the man who killed Sherry was the farthest thing from the minds of detectives. The 2 crimes didn’t appear to be connected. At least, not yet.
Early on the night of August 29th, 1981, Springfield local, 12-year-old Theresa Fenton asked her parents during a car ride home if she could go on a quick bike ride before dinner. She and her parents had multiple conversations about the murder of another 12-year-old girl, Melissa Walbridge, earlier that year, and adhered to a strict safety code. --I’m just going to quickly note that the murder of Melissa Walbridge doesn’t tie into this case beyond this point. I merely included this to explain the Fenton family’s level of precautions.-- Her parents knew where Theresa was at all times, so they discussed her bike route. Theresa wished to make a 4-mile round trip from the family’s home to the Cheshire County Toll Bridge that connected Charlestown, New Hampshire to Springfield. Her mother said no, that was too far. She could do a two-mile round trip bike ride that would take her along Old Connecticut River Road and back. By the time they arrived home, the family was in agreement.
After tying a bandana over her hair and getting her bike down from the barn, Theresa had a quick conversation with her father, Richard. Then, she headed down the driveway, off on her bike ride.
She pedaled down the U.S. 5, away from her home. Part of the safety code her family had devised included situations like this. Her bike rides were always timed. Theresa had 40 minutes to return home, and a 10 minute grace period. Her mother, Barbara Fenton said “We would challenge her to do a length in a certain amount of time. That was planned to help us pinpoint problems if things went awry. If she was late, we had made an agreement to go out looking for her within 10 minutes.”
Theresa missed her 6:30pm window that evening, and within 10 minutes, her parents were out searching. The Fentons didn’t find their daughter, and the police were called. While police began to organize a search party, the Fentons, joined by neighbor Richard Craig, started a more thorough search of their own. The Fentons went in one car, and Richard, joined by a companion, went in another. Richard ended up on the river road Theresa had agreed to stick to. As it got dark, he shone a flashlight into the areas at the edge of the road where the headlights didn’t illuminate. They had been searching for about 45 minutes when Richard’s flashlight hit something reflective. It was Theresa Fenton’s bike.
By 8:30, a full-scale search was organized and mounted. Family friends, police, neighbors, firefighters, and even volunteer off-duty police officers and firefighters joined in. When word got out that her bike had been found, the search became narrowed in on that area along the river road and route 5. The search continued until 2:30am. Theresa had not been found, but the search would continue again at 6am. This search consisted of many of the people from before, but also diving teams and men in wetsuits ready to search the river, a neighbor with a helicopter who flew overhead searching roads and clearings, as well as bloodhounds. By 1:00 the divers had searched a large area of the river, still with no sign of Theresa. Everyone was convinced that had Theresa fallen, as initially suspected, there would have been some sign of her.
Bloodhounds initially picked up Theresa’s scent where her bike had been found, but then became confused and couldn’t get a trail. This suggested that Theresa may have left the scene in a vehicle.
These intense searches yielded no results. Instead, about 20 hours after her disappearance, Theresa Fenton was found by a fisherman named Torrey Walters, and his two children. She had been in a wooded section off of Mile Hill Road. This area was a remote area 5 miles from the Fenton home. She had been unconscious and half-buried, with only an arm visible in the debris and brush that covered that area. Torrey said that she had been moaning softly. It was this sound that led to her discovery. Sadly, there would be no happy ending in this case. Her skull was badly indented and smeared with blood. She never regained consciousness, and succumbed to her injuries almost exactly 48 hours after her disappearance. After medical examinations, it was confirmed she'd been beaten, sexually assaulted and left there to die. According to the autopsy report by McQuillen, Theresa’s death was caused by a blow to the right side of the base of her skull with a blunt instrument. This blow was one of six that she had received to the head. In addition to the blows to the head, there were bruises on her right cheek and lower lip, as well as a broken tooth, suggesting one or more hits to the face. There was also a scrape on her face, and a bruise on the right side of her neck, paired with an abrasion on the left side of her neck that were likely caused by strangulation.
Very little evidence was found on the Connecticut River Road she had been abducted from. The only evidence left behind was Theresa’s bike. Also noted by a new profiler, John Philpin, was the presence of a leaf found in Theresa’a waistband. Whoever murdered her had removed her clothing, raped her, then replaced her clothing. From this, Philpin was able to ascertain that the killer wasn’t frenzied, but instead calm and in control. He was also likely experienced, and comfortable with what he’d been doing. Moreso, he couldn’t help but feel that based on the way her body had been carefully placed and partially buried, that she’d been almost anointed afterwards. From this, he hypothesized that they were looking for someone who was moved by religion, “touched by ritual, a churchgoer.” He then suspected that the killer likely would have changed his behavior following the murders, be it through increased drug or alcohol use, or throwing himself into work and church services. He surmised that someone close to him likely suspected his involvement, and went even further to say that the killer likely lived with his family, and had an immature personality. He also said if the killer was on the older range of the spectrum, he had likely left the area to go to school or join the military, and that he would kill during his returns to home. He was believed to have been coddled by his mother, and either entirely neglected or oppressed by his father through either intense criticism, or even some form of physical or sexual abuse. It would be of the utmost importance to this killer to impress other people. Whoever this monster was, he was a local. When his identity finally came out, Philpin believed that the entire town would know who he was, and it would be an eye opener. Anyone could be a murderer, even your neighbor.
At this point, the entirety of the police force was working tirelessly to find her killer. Philpin even compiled the case materials and sent them over to the FBI’s relatively new Behavioral Science Unit in Quantico, Virginia. For months, they received no response save for requests for more materials. He was eventually able to get an agent on the phone who informed him that they would not be creating a profile for the case. Instead, he offered alternate theories. One was that Theresa had been sideswiped by a vehicle and knocked from her bike. This didn’t match with the carefully placed bike, her change in location, or the fact that her bike was completely untouched. Another theory was that she’d had a casual encounter with a young man who wanted more than Theresa had been willing to give. The agent described someone between the ages of 17 to 19, slow in school, and probably casually acquainted with Theresa. The third and final interpretation found the facts of the case to be consistent with an assault intended to be sexual from the very beginning. This final theory helped Philpin confirm his suspicions. His initial suspect profile was of someone in their teenage years to early twenties, but this new information from the FBI pushed him to shift the age range upwards to the late 20s or older.
Aside from these various theories, including that of Philpin, little was known publicly about the case. According to Police Captain Richard Spear, head of the State Police Criminal Division, the police had a theory. He said, “Whoever stopped the girl was able to entice her into the car, so it was probably someone she knew. It was also probably someone with standing in the community. He made a pass at her, she wasn’t receptive, and she died. So it was someone who had a lot to lose.” He reasoned that a transient or someone she didn’t know would have had no reason to kill her merely because he was rebuffed. I have to wonder if he had a reason to assume the killer had been rebuffed at all. That seems like such a huge assumption to make with little to no information. And it’s not like an assumption like that would have no impact on the investigation. When operating on the belief that the victim knew their killer, your suspect pool shifts from the entire city of Springfield to the people she knew in Springfield. Also… can we just briefly talk about that wording? What do you mean “she wasn’t receptive and she died”? She didn’t just DIE. She was MURDERED. There’s a BIG fucking difference. Finally, I have qualms with the fact that Philpin’s profile seems the most fleshed out, but he seemed to gloss over that one, and glom onto the FBI agent’s profile, even though it had been pretty clear he didn’t look too closely at the information he’d been sent. Brief disclaimer here, hindsight is obviously 20/20, and criminal profiling was still extremely new at this point. So in a way it’s understandable that little regard was shown for them. Still, in hindsight land over here, I’m the girl screaming at the television that Spear is wrong to be doing what he’s doing. Side note, can we make hindsight land a tv station that is ONLY solved cases from the perspective of someone who knows how it ends and adds in “well, duhh” statements? Also… ™. I expect royalties. Thanks.
A few weeks after the press conference, a random stroke of luck brought another detail to the forefront. Bobby Johnson, someone who had earlier contributed to the timeline of Theresa’s disappearance, was arrested on charges of possessing and intending to sell drugs. In hopes of leniency, his recollection of that night became clearer. He had seen more than just the girl on her bicycle approaching the cross section of the road like he’d initially told police. This time, he informed them, he had actually looked at Theresa through his rear-view mirror and noticed a car. This car had slowed down, stopped, and eventually backed up towards the girl on her bike. He lost sight of both the girl and the car at that point, but he was able to tell them one important piece of information. The vehicle had been a Pontiac Sunbird, and it appeared to be a dull gray. He also informed police that the license plates appeared to be from New Hampshire. A polygraph test indicated that Bobby Johnson was telling the truth. This did cause a bit of a conundrum, however. Other witnesses who had seen a vehicle around the time of Theresa’s disappearance had indicated that the car was red. Regardless of the discrepancy, Philpin was now set in his profile. This was in fact an older man, and he’d likely killed before, and likely would again.
While the intensity of the investigation dwindled due to a lack of new leads, investigator Joseph Estey stated, “I do something in the case at least every day that I’m working. I still feel very strongly that we will find out what happened. I have some doubts about a criminal conviction at this point.”
Flyers with Theresa Fenton’s picture and an offer of a reward for the capture and conviction of her murderer were placed around and inside of local shops and markets. A $10,000 reward had been put together with pledges and contributions by hundreds of people. By August of 1982, however, Bruce Lawlor, the Springfield lawyer and state legislator who handled the reward fund, said that there had been talk of withdrawing the offer and donating the money to a charity instead. He was quoted as saying, “I think there’s still a lot of intense feeling, but I think it’s under the surface a little bit. It’s not as apparent as it was following the killing. The primary purpose of a reward is to produce information that might lead police down the right path. The chance of that type of information surfacing after a year decreases substantially. If anybody was going to come forward, they would have done so by now.” --I take issue with this line of reasoning. Obviously this was a different time, but nowadays we hear about so many cases where someone who was terrified to come forward eventually does so, 5, 10, 15 years later. I would hope that if my child were to go missing, people wouldn’t renege their donations because the sense of urgency and pain became distant to them.
Speaking of distance, you’re all SO exhausting. I’m going to take a quick break and I’ll be right back!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Alright, my social bar has been restored. I feel like a Sim character, only instead of a social bar, I have an antisocial bar. Like I can only socialize so much before I have to retreat. It's like a recluse recovery. Anyways...
Fear was likely renewed in November of 1982. At the time, Deana R. Buxton, also referred to as Dana Thurston in “The Shadow of Death: The Hunt for a Serial Killer,” by Philip E. Ginsburg (which is where I get the majority of my detailed information from in regards to Deana’s experience), didn’t think twice about hitchhiking. She did it often enough, and she had places to be. On November 12th, she was hitchhiking again. She had hoped to visit her boyfriend, Jerry Twitchell, at the prison in Rutland. The prison was about 50 miles from where she lived in Battleboro, and too far for a walk. She headed out to get a ride midmorning, and figured she could be back by dark if all went according to plan. It did not.
Her ride began when she was picked up by a man in a green van. He took her the first stretch of the way, north up Route 5 to Putney, putting her close to an interstate along the Connecticut River. She walked to the interstate and waited. She didn’t wait long though, within 5 minutes, a man in a blue Nova picked her up and brought her to Rockingham where Route 103 led toward Rutland. Rockingham was just south of Springfield. She waited for her next ride. It came along within about 15 minutes. A man in a red car with Vermont plates welcomed her into his vehicle. He appeared to be of average height, maybe five-foot-eight. He wore a checkered flannel shirt, and had short, brown hair with that old-person side part. --I’m looking at you gen-z tiktokers. I heard what you said.-- He wore wire-framed glasses and appeared to be in his early 40s. He’d asked her questions about herself, learning that she was a ward of the state. She said that all of her problems were behind her now that she was 17, and didn’t go into much detail. Which was fine. He was comfortable filling in the silence. He told her he’d been divorced and had 3 daughters. He also told her he’d been in the navy, and was shot in the shoulder, ankle, and left hand. He didn’t elaborate on this. He also told her that his name was Stan.
Less than an hour into their drive they passed the highway sign Rutland, 13 miles. A little past this, Stan pulled off to a rest stop, saying he needed to use the restroom. After getting out of the car, however, he didn’t head toward the restroom. Instead, he reached behind the driver’s seat and pulled out a shotgun. He then pointed the two barrels directly at her, saying “Don’t try to run away or scream or I’ll kill you.” He then got back into the driver seat and opened the bolt, showing her that the gun was in fact loaded with 2 green shells. “You know I’m not fooling around,” he said. “It only takes one trigger and you’ll be dead. So do what I say or I’ll kill you.” Deana was convinced that he meant every word of what he’d said.
Quick trigger warning here, we’re about to take a turn towards the rapey material. It’s definitely uncomfortable, so if you need to skip this part I’ll definitely understand.
The drive continued, with the barrel of the shotgun remaining trained on her head. The topic took a shift from the previous small talk. Now, he had sex on the mind. He grabbed a bottle of Colt 45 malt liquor and ordered her to drink it, saying “We’ll get drunk and then we’ll have some fun.” He then ordered her to remove her under garments, then put her shirt and jeans back on. She complied, all the while begging him not to hurt her. He replied, “As long as you do what I say, there won’t be any problem.” Her under garments as well as her vest were thrown into the back seat. He continued to talk to her about things like masturbation, oral sex, and intercourse. He was sure to use the more vulgar terms for all of these things. Through all of this, he continued to insist she drink. He intended for her to be drunk.
With one hand on the wheel, he began reaching over and groping her. When he tried to force a hand into her pants, she shoved his hand away. He immediately switched the subject to war. Not so much the subject of war itself, but what happens when men are off to war. More specifically, when fighting men have women at their mercy, raping them at will. He then informed her that he liked raping girls and he wouldn’t have any qualms about doing the same to her, or killing her if she refused to cooperate. He also told her that she wasn’t his first. He’d done this to others, and had been forced to kill 2 of them.
Now just 20 miles north of where he’d picked her up, he pulled the car over once more. The amount of fear coursing through Deana’s veins must have been paralyzing. She was ordered to take over driving. With him no longer focusing on the road, his hands were free to do what they wished to her. --I have to take a second to applaud this girl. Hands down, I would have been so messed up in this situation that I would have immediately crashed the car. And not even on purpose. Deana didn’t crash the car, though. Instead, she continued driving as his hands, and even his mouth, violated her. By this point, they were almost out of the malt liquor, as Stan had been drinking it as well. He directed Deana to take the White River Junction exit, and take him to a liquor store.
The two entered the liquor store together, Stan keeping Deana close to his side. While he was making his selection, Deana did her best to get help from a store clerk. She managed to mouth “please help me,” while gesturing to the man beside her. The clerk didn’t understand, even when Deana continued. Before she could come up with another plan, Deana found herself back in the vehicle with the man, with Stan behind the wheel. It was now that she realized, if she didn’t do something fast, she was going to be his third victim. He would rape her, then he would kill her.
Thinking fast, Deana said she was feeling unwell, like she was going to be sick. Not wanting her to vomit in his car, he stopped at the curb in front of a small store in the business district of White River Junction. He told her to run in and get herself some Rolaids. He would be right there. Watching. And then he reminded her that he had a gun. --As if she could forget. Whether Stan was convinced she was too afraid to disobey him, or he’d actually convinced himself she was enjoying his company is unknown, but he didn’t accompany her into the store.
In the store, Deana counted the customers. There were 3 men, and 1 woman, as well as the woman behind the counter. In the store, she cried, “Help me, he’s going to kill me.” One man had heard her as he was paying for his items, and walked out the door. Deana felt the hopelessness of her situation, until the man at the door waved to her, trying to signal her to come over. She did, grabbing the man and begging him to help get her away from Stan, whom she pointed to. The man -- my fucking hero, honestly-- just glared angrily down at Stan and yelled “What the fuck are you doing to her?”
Ever the liar, Stan replied “I don’t even know her.” Not hearing a word he’d said, Deana ran back into the store and told the clerk to call 9-1-1, there was a man with a gun, and he was going to shoot her. Officer John Halpin was called to the Progressive Market. He’d been told by dispatch that a girl had become hysterical, claiming a man with a gun was trying to kidnap her. --I’d just like to say fuck you to that dispatcher. I understand “Thems was the times” or whatever, but no.
In the 3 minutes it took Officer Halpin to get there, her captor had driven away. The only man who had believed Deana, and even defended her against him, had also disappeared. She and this man were the only 2 people to get a good look at Stan. It quickly became clear to Officer Halpin that Deana wasn’t “delirious” but terrified, and she had in fact been kidnapped. She was brought into the station to give a statement.
She turned out to be an extremely observant witness, giving officers a thorough description of the man, down to the moles on his face.
After the parking lot fiasco, a very inebriated Stan continued to drive the roads he knew so well until the alcohol really began to hit. Then, he pulled off to the side of a road for a nap. The nap didn’t seem to help, however. When he awoke, he continued driving and came up on a curve too fast. His car went off the road and ended wheels up. And before you get all happy about it, he lived. I know. Despite not wearing a seatbelt, Stan survived the crash. He flagged down a passing woman and asked her to call the police.
Once the woman had left, he realized that there was a lot of evidence in his car that could get him into trouble. He set to work quickly grabbing anything he could get his hands on. He didn’t stop to think about what he could keep versus what he couldn’t and just grabbed anything he could. Once his hands were full, he went deeper into the woods. Approximately 200 yards from his car he created a very shallow hole and dumped the gun and other items into it before covering it with some dirt and leaves.
A few moments after returning to his car. State Troopers Dan Lavoie and Warner responded near the end of their shift. They took down the information about his accident. The name on his driver’s license read “Gary L. Schaefer.” The car was a 4 yr old Pontiac Sunbird, a sporty red one with a white top. The car had been essentially totaled. Now if you’ll remember, the car used in Theresa Fenton’s murder was described as red by some witnesses, but grey by Bobby Johnson. Regardless, the two officers who were now eating into their free time as their shift had ended, didn’t put the pieces together. Lavoie finished filling out the accident report and threw it in a basket before heading home.
So with a police report, you would think that the case was close to being solved, right? Wrong. The Vermont police department, at the time, had their troopers working long hours when they were on duty, as well as being on call even when they were off for 5-7 days. Then, they would take 3-4 days off. This shift was Lavoie and Warner’s last before a long weekend. Over the next few days, while these two officers were off duty, dispatchers sent out broadcasts about “Stan.” Printed notices were put up on station bulletin boards with a description of the man, as well as the vehicle he’d been driving. Deana was so observant, she was even able to tell police that his vehicle had a pink inspection sticker dated July 24th, 1982. There was a Playboy bunny sticker on one of the windows, and a sheepskin cover on the driver’s seat. Even with all of this information, she wasn’t sure on the make of car. She described it as small and sporty with a white top, like a Mustang, maybe. Now, all local law enforcement was looking out for a vehicle that matched this description. That Saturday, newspapers printed a report stating that “police were on the lookout for an armed man driving a red Mustang car.” Now, police were searching for a red car with a white top, while the public searched for a red Mustang. Police were now searching for a vehicle that had just been totaled, and now sat behind a Sunoco station near the junction of the interstate and Route 103, which was approximately 10 miles South of Springfield.
By the time officers Lavoie and Warner returned from their time away, the bulletin had become one of the “less-urgent” matters and was no longer at the top of everyone’s to-do list. And if you’re wondering why the accident report didn’t capture anyone’s notice, there was no place on accident reports for writing down the color of the vehicle. Should anyone have happened upon it, it would have just appeared to have been a pontiac sunbird.
Despite the attempted abduction and all of the information Deana was able to give police, as well as the continued focus on Theresa Fenton’s case, the final ground-breaking clue wouldn’t come until 19 months after Theresa’s murder, and 5 months after the attempted abduction of Deana Buxton.
Unfortunately, this clue came at the price of one more young girl’s life.
On Saturday, April 9th, 1983, Caty Richards went across town to spend time with her friend, Rachel Zeitz. The pair of best friends were both 11-years-old, and had made it through 2 dance rehearsals that day for an upcoming recital. Now they had time to enjoy themselves and maybe relax a little. The 2 girls begged Rachel’s mother, Judy Zeitz, for permission to go to Athens Pizza III to play an arcade game. Initially, Mrs. Zeitz said no, but later acquiesced. Like Theresa Fenton’s mother, and many other mothers in Springfield, her hesitation came from the recent murders of multiple young girls in the area. Still, the arcade was only a 10 minute walk down Plain Hill Road from the Zeitz home. I’m sure there was likely some false comfort felt due to the close proximity. We all tend to fall victim to the “not in my neighborhood,” trap. Home is safe.
Rachel’s father checked his watch as the girls went out the front door. It was 4:47pm when they left for the arcade. The girls arrived at their destination just before 5, hoping to have some fun. They had wanted to play Ms. Pacman, but some of their friends from school refused to give the 2 newcomers a turn. Instead, they grabbed 2 small bags of Doritos and headed for home. One girl wouldn’t make it home.
As they were walking, Rachel noticed that one particular car had gone past them 4 or 5 times. That car was a J-2000 Pontiac. They continued on though, and were rounding a curve in the road on Pedden Road. This area wasn’t visible from the main road, Vermont 106, or the nearby Pedden Acres development. It was here that the car stopped alongside them at around 5:15pm.