by Laura Wolfe
Caroline turned toward me. “Where did you say he met her?”
“The Salted Olive. It’s a restaurant on Main Street.”
“And her name’s Sarah?”
“Yeah.” The mention of her name brought a new swell of emotion. I swallowed hard, forcing the tears to stay back.
“What do you say we go out to dinner at The Salted Olive tonight? Do a little detective work?” A sly grin crept onto Caroline’s lips.
My back sank into the couch. “I doubt he’d be stupid enough to be there with her.”
Caroline rolled her eyes. “I know that. But she might be there. It’s Thursday night. Maybe that’s where she picks up men. Or maybe she works there. You can confront her. Give her a piece of your mind.”
I lifted my head and studied my sister’s face. How had she become so savvy? Maybe she hadn’t done well in school, but her street smarts were off the charts.
“I don’t know if I’d be able to control myself if I saw her.” I closed my eyes, wondering what I’d do if Sarah stood in front of me, smirking and feeling sorry for me. Would I dump my drink on her? Or stab her with my steak knife? No. Getting arrested or thrown in jail wasn’t an option. I had the baby to think about now.
“How about this?” Caroline knelt in front of me and held my freezing hands. “If we find her, I’ll do all the talking?”
I blinked and nodded, thankful for my kick-ass sister.
“Let’s go.” Caroline lifted the remote and turned off the TV. “By the way, your hair looks great.”
An hour later, we stepped through the shadowy entrance of The Salted Olive. I’d eaten in this restaurant before, about a year ago with my friend Lydia, but the atmosphere seemed altered tonight. The lobby was dingier and more cramped than I remembered. Jazz music filtered through the speakers in the waiting area. The aroma of sautéed onions and garlic permeated the air. My heart pounded as I scanned the bar area beyond the hostess stand. An older couple sat at the midpoint of the counter sharing a plate of calamari and sipping wine. Two younger women occupied the far end of the bar. I couldn’t see their faces, but wavy blonde hair hung to the middle of one of their backs. Was it her?
My parched throat refused to swallow. A neon sign above the bar seared into my eyes. Every clink of a dish sounded as if bombs were exploding. I grasped Caroline’s arm to steady myself. This was where it had happened. It was one of the only solid pieces of information Jason had given me. This was where he’d met her.
“You okay?” Caroline turned toward me. A family stood with their backs to us, waiting for the hostess to lead them to their table.
“Yeah,” I said.
My sister followed my line of vision toward the women at the bar just as an olive-skinned hostess in a short black skirt and high-heeled boots stepped toward us.
“How many tonight?”
“Two,” Caroline said. “We’ll sit at the bar, please.”
“Of course.” The hostess waved her arm toward the back. “Seat yourself.”
I followed a half-step behind Caroline, bumping into her as she halted without warning. “Excuse me,” Caroline turned back toward the hostess, “do you know if anyone named Sarah works here?”
My body froze, my breath trapped inside. My sister wasn’t wasting any time.
“Sarah? Um, I don’t think so.” The hostess shook her head. “This is only my second week, though. I haven’t met everyone yet.”
Caroline nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” She glanced back at me and moved toward the bar. I let the air escape from my lungs.
“It doesn’t sound like she works here,” Caroline said in a loud whisper once we’d reached the bar. She began to pull out a stool directly next to the woman who might have been the skank who slept with my husband.
I tugged Caroline’s shirt and widened my eyes at her, mouthing the words, “Not so close.”
We shifted down a couple of spaces and raised ourselves onto the tall stools. I leaned forward trying to get a glimpse of the woman’s face, but she shifted toward her friend. They were laughing about something.
“Is it her?” Caroline asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t see her face.” My breath clung to my throat, thick and stubborn.
A muscled bartender with a tattoo of a lizard on his neck placed two plastic-coated menus in front of us. “Can I get you ladies something to drink?”
“Soda with lime,” Caroline said a little too quickly.
Bottles of liquor lined the mahogany wall behind the bar. I straightened up, feeling ashamed. My sister was a recovering addict. I shouldn’t have put her in this situation. Mom and Dad had left a list of nearby Narcotics Anonymous meetings for her to attend. She should have been at one of those meetings right now, not sitting at a smoky bar with her pathetic sister. Still, we were already here, and it had been her idea.
“I’ll have the same,” I said.
“Two sodas with lime,” the bartender said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “Anything to eat?”
“We need a minute,” Caroline said.
The bartender turned away.
“I just realized you shouldn’t be hanging out a bar.” I placed my hand on top of hers. “Is this hard for you? Do you want to leave? We can drive straight to one of your meetings if you want.” My words tumbled out one on top of the other. I hoped she’d want to leave. Any excuse to get out of this room where the walls were closing in on me.
“No. It’s fine. Relax.” Her eyes darted to the rows of liquor and back to me. “Just between us, I don’t find the meetings that helpful. And I don’t crave alcohol, anyway. If this was a heroin bar, it might be another story.” She picked up the menu and studied it. “Should we order something before the bartender has an aneurysm?”
I steadied myself against the counter. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
The bartender returned, setting down two glasses of soda and wiping his hands on his jeans. “Ready to order?”
“We’ll split the veggie nachos.” Caroline handed the menus back to him.
“Anything else?”
“Nope.”
He grabbed the menus and walked away.
“He hates us,” Caroline said, smiling.
“We’re the worst bar patrons ever—a recovering addict and a pregnant woman with no appetite.”
Caroline giggled. The low din of conversation and clanking forks hummed around us. I swiveled in my seat, examining the spacious seating area in the dining room adjacent to the bar. A group of men dressed in suits huddled in a booth near the entryway. Cold sweat erupted across my skin as I wondered if that’s where Jason had been sitting with his investors when he’d met her. Or had he been up here at the bar?
Laughter howled from the seats next to us. Caroline nudged me with her elbow. “I’m going to lean back. You look over and see if you recognize her.”
My stomach lurched as Caroline angled her body backward, pretending to yawn. The woman with the blonde hair faced me, her smile fading as our eyes met. She looked away, but I couldn’t shift my gaze. I’d wanted it to be her so badly, to prove to myself that she was back at the bar picking up men, that whatever she had with Jason didn’t mean anything. I’d only glimpsed the woman in my bed for a second. She’d quickly hidden her face before running out and her features had blurred in my mind, but nothing about the person sitting a few seats down looked familiar. She had an angular nose, a blue streak in her hair, and her face was full and round. It wasn’t her. I glanced away.
Caroline rested on her elbows, staring at me. “Well?”
I gulped the air as if I’d just surfaced from a deep dive. “It’s not her.”
Caroline’s lips twisted into a frown. “Crap. I was all ready to tear into her.”
I took a sip of my soda, simultaneously disappointed and relieved.
An oblong plate rattled down in front of us. “Here’s your nachos, ladies.” The bartender peered down. “Anything else you need?”
“No,” I said.
“
Yes,” Caroline spoke over me. “Does anyone named Sarah work here?”
He angled his eyes at the ceiling for a second. “No.” He picked up a dishrag and wiped off the counter next to me. “I don’t think so.”
“How about any regulars?” Caroline leaned toward the bartender. “We’re looking for an old classmate. She has long blonde hair.”
The bartender’s lips twisted to the side before he shook his head. “Nope. Sorry.”
Caroline nodded. “Okay. Thanks anyway.” She turned toward me and shrugged.
I plucked a tortilla chip from the edge of the plate and nibbled the corner. It had been ridiculous to think we could randomly arrive at this restaurant and run into the woman who’d destroyed my life. I was no closer to finding answers than I’d been a week ago. Still, Caroline had gone all out for me and I didn’t want her to sense my disappointment.
“The nachos are good.” My teeth crunched into a loaded chip. I didn’t think I’d be able to eat anything in this tainted place, but the smell of the cumin and roasted vegetables had revived my appetite. My baby needed food.
While we devoured our food, a busboy loaded dirty glasses into a cart at the end of the bar. A crash of shattering glass pierced through the air, causing me to straighten in my seat. Caroline swallowed the chip in her mouth and turned toward the commotion. The buzz of conversation ceased as nearby patrons gawked in the direction of the bar.
Just beyond our seats, a beer mug had smashed in pieces across the tile floor. With no change in his demeanor, the busboy removed the tray from the cart and placed it next to the mess, as if this happened to him every night. Using a dishrag, he scooped up the shards and emptied them into the bin. The conversation around us resumed as people forgot about the broken mug and remembered what they’d been talking about a minute before. Only Caroline and I stayed quiet, me biting into another nacho and Caroline fixated on the busboy.
“Sorry about that, ladies.” The busboy looked up at us, but his eyes stuck on Caroline a moment too long.
Caroline glanced away, but then cleared her throat and leaned toward him, “Excuse me,” she said.
“Caroline.” I poked her arm. “She doesn’t work here!”
My sister ignored me, repositioning herself toward the busboy. “This might sound weird, but were you at Hazelwood a couple of years ago?”
I stopped chewing, balancing my weight on the stool. Hazelwood was the rehab facility she’d been in and out of over the last four years. My eyes zeroed in on the busboy who now appeared paler and wirier than he had moments ago. His sinewy arm held the tray of broken dishes and his dark hair was shaved close to his head.
“Yeah,” he said. “I thought you looked familiar. I’m Josh.”
“I’m Caroline.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember you now.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at her, “Group therapy.”
Caroline chuckled. “Right. You live in Royal Oak?”
“Yeah. Moved over to this side of the state last year. Share a house with some buddies.” He adjusted the tray on his hip. “You?”
“I’m just here for a couple of weeks.” Caroline waved toward me. “This is my sister, Liz. I’m staying with her.”
“What’s up?” he said, tilting his head at me, but his eyes remained on Caroline.
Caroline shifted in her seat. “Well. It’s nice to see you again.” She flipped back her hair and smiled.
“You, too. Hope to see you around.” He grinned back at her, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and exposing a jagged row of circular scars. They were the same scarred-over track marks that lined my sister’s arms.
A prickling sweat covered me, my equilibrium thrown off as I almost toppled off the bar stool. I couldn’t let this happen. My parents had entrusted me to protect Caroline while they enjoyed a long-overdue vacation. Instead, she was lounging at a bar flirting with a fellow addict under my watch. Maybe he was clean, but maybe he wasn’t. Maybe, like Caroline, he was looking for any excuse to turn back to drugs.
“Bye.” I pulled Caroline toward me as Josh sauntered away with his tray of broken dishes. “Let’s go.” My hand slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. More than enough to cover the nachos. The bartender probably didn’t deserve the extra tip, but all I cared about was leaving the restaurant.
“What’s the rush?” Caroline tilted her head, her face flushed.
I slid from the stool, grasping her arm more tightly than I intended. A sense of foreboding flooded through me. The nachos had turned to acid and swirled higher in my stomach. My feet stumbled toward the door as my sister skittered after me. I leaned close, making sure she saw the warning in my eyes. “We shouldn’t have come here. This was a mistake.”
Nineteen
Gloria
Now
The sun soothed the knots in my back as I plunged the shovel into the earth and scooped away as much dirt as I could manage. The hole was almost wide enough for the young tomato plant resting nearby. It was the warmest day of the year so far, and I hoped the nice weather would hold out for Ethan’s arrival.
I hadn’t seen Beth since she’d returned from the police station yesterday, but I’d heard a reassuring report on the news. According to the newscaster, the vast majority of adult missing person cases were false alarms. With the information Beth was providing, I was hopeful it was only a matter of time before Amanda resurfaced.
A scratching noise grabbed my attention. “Rascal! No!” I yelled.
His paws rifled through the pile of dirt, spraying debris into the air behind him. I laughed out loud, despite the mess. It was difficult to stay mad when he was having so much fun. I’d mistakenly imagined the fenced-in garden would be an ideal place to contain the wild puppy. The moment I planted a seedling, he immediately dug it up, tail wagging and with a proud look on his face.
“Morning, Gloria.”
I jumped back, startled by the raspy sound of Joe’s voice.
“Cute puppy.” Joe wore a faded hooded sweatshirt, patchwork shorts, and flip-flops. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail and looked less greasy than normal. I suspected he’d taken a shower. But when he turned to the side I gasped, my eyes snagging on the three red scratches marring his cheek.
I glanced down and pulled off my muddy gloves. “I brought him home yesterday. He’s a handful.”
Joe held out his hand. Rascal trotted over to him and sniffed. “What’s his name?”
“Rascal,” I said, my eyes darting back to the gruesome slashes on Joe’s face.
“Hi, Rascal.”
Rascal halted and crouched low. He growled, his ears pinned back, muzzle crinkled, and all his razor-sharp puppy teeth showing. I stood taller, never having seen such an unfriendly reaction from my little dog before.
“I’m your neighbor, buddy.” Joe knelt down. Rascal backed off and sniffed the fence.
I rolled back my shoulders and cleared my throat, an image of Amanda’s photo on the news popping into my head. “What happened to your face?”
Joe’s hand raised to his cheek, “Oh, this? The brambles got me.” He waved toward the woods. “I wandered down a bad path.” He lowered his hand and squeezed three of his enormous fingers through the fence and attempted to rub Rascal’s head. My puppy jumped backward and yipped, still leery of Joe’s sudden movements.
I weighed the plausibility of Joe’s explanation. The scratches could have come from thorns, but they could also have been caused by fingernails. With Amanda missing, everyone was a potential suspect. I wondered if the walk-in closet in the garage apartment was big enough to hold a woman captive and I shuddered at the thought.
“Puppies are a lot of work,” Joe said.
“I’m starting to realize that,” I said, blinking away my wild thoughts.
My first night with Rascal had been a challenge, to say the least. Between his howling and outdoor potty breaks, I’d barely slept three hours last night. Joe’s SUV had arrived in the driveway sometime between Rascal’s 1 a.m. outi
ng and his 3:30 a.m. romp.
“How was your art fair?” I asked, digging for more information.
“Eh,” he shrugged. “I didn’t sell anything, but a few people took my card.”
“That’s something.” I glanced away, wondering why he’d returned to his apartment in the middle of the night two days after the art fair ended.
Scratching an imaginary itch on my arm, I remembered my conversation with Beth. I was supposed to ask him about why he’d been in the woods the other night, but an overwhelming heaviness expanded in my gut, warning me not to intrude.
Joe lounged on the ground waving his hand until Rascal tried to pounce on it through the fence. “Oh. You got me!” he yelled, before starting the game over with the other hand.
“Looks like you made a new friend.”
A crooked grin spread across Joe’s face. “In Dog We Trust.”
I pressed my lips together and stepped toward him. “My son, Ethan, is visiting from San Francisco. He’s arriving later today, so you’ll see him around.”
“Cool. Thanks for the heads-up.” Joe popped up and brushed the grass from his shorts. He raised his hand in the air, turned abruptly, and strode back toward his apartment.
Rascal yipped, trying his darnedest to dig a tunnel under the garden fence.
“Bye,” I said, perplexed by the man’s sudden departure. He was an unusual fellow. His behavior was suspicious, but I had no proof that his explanations weren’t true. I’d read dogs were excellent judges of character. Rascal had growled at Joe but then accepted him. I wondered what that meant. I plunged my shovel into the dirt, determined to keep a closer eye on my tenant.
“Where do you want this, Mom?” Ethan held up a bowl filled with steaming rolls.
“Anywhere on the table, dear.”
I stepped back from the counter, admiring my son. He’d grown since I’d seen him last. Not taller, but sturdier. He’d become more of a man. His movements, the tone of his voice, and the shape of his jaw all resembled Charlie. The sandy-brown hair that used to fall over his eyes was shorter and lighter. I wondered if he’d dyed it or if it was the result of the California sun. A few things were just as I remembered, though. His smell—a scent that reminded me of wood chips and cotton T-shirts. Then there were his lively blue eyes that sparkled like a swimming pool on the Fourth of July.