He held his hand over his head without turning around. “I should thank you. I could use the damn company.”
Alice closed the bathroom door, locked it, then caught her reflection in the mirror. She looked horrible. Hair wet and stringy. Dark rings under both her eyes. Skin broken out from all the stress and lack of sleep and utter sadness. She forced her eyes away from the mirror and stared down at the shirt and pajama bottoms that Elton gave her. She unfolded the blue T-shirt. It was way too big and not the kind of shirt she would normally wear in a million years. On the back of the shirt, there was a graphic of a cartoon rat with a red circle and line through it. Below that, it said PARSON’S PEST CONTROL - SHALLOTTE, NC.
The T-shirt felt soft and dry, and smelled nice and clean. And Alice actually liked the picture of the cartoon rat. She set the shirt on the counter, then started to run the bathwater until it got good and hot.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
FEBRUARY 2011
TERRY’S CHEVY PICKUP truck hogged a couple of parking spaces, straddling the line between two spots, and one of them happened to be for handicapped patrons. Someone had left a nasty note on the windshield, but the entire vehicle stood covered with a few inches of soft snow and the note would never be read by the owner of the truck—Terry being dead and all.
Sinclair had his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets and watched Phillip slide a slim jim in through the passenger-side window. A blanket of heavy snow kept falling all around them, slow and easy, partially obscuring the Amtrak station in the background.
“How’d you know she would come here, anyways?” Phillip asked while he jiggled the thin piece of steel a few times.
Sinclair smirked like he was thinking dirty thoughts. “Well, driving a stolen truck isn’t very smart. It was either here or the airport, but it would be a little difficult to sneak what Alice stole from me onto an airplane.”
The big ox wore heavy gloves and kept wiggling the slim jim inside the door panel until click, the lock popped open.
Sinclair waited patiently as the large man slipped inside the cab and began to root around, opening the glove compartment, checking under the seats. Sinclair hummed to himself, the picture of calm. Big, white plumes of breath streamed out of his nostrils and dissipated into the gray morning air.
Phillip stepped out of the truck and shook his head at Sinclair. He locked the door, slammed it closed, and waited for Sinclair to tell him what to do next.
Sinclair stared at the big man for a moment. “You searched the entire truck?”
Phillip nodded. “Nothing.”
“I trust you looked everywhere?”
Again, Phillip nodded his thick neck. “Nothing.”
“Hmmm. I wonder,” Sinclair mused. He stepped forward and peered into the bed of the truck. “Phillip.”
Phillip lumbered forward and stepped beside Sinclair. Stared down into the bed of the truck as well. “Snow.”
“Yes, Phillip. Snow. What else? What might be under the snow?”
Phillip buried his fist into the white powder and pulled out a pillowcase full of dirty sheets and dropped it to the pavement. He shook out all the linens and kicked them with his boot for good measure. “Dirty laundry.”
“Indeed. Keep searching,” Sinclair said.
Phillip reached into the snow one last time and yanked out a red suitcase from the bed of the truck, crusted with frozen chunks of ice. The big man peered down at Sinclair like he wasn’t sure what to do.
“Well? Open it,” Sinclair said.
Phillip squatted down and unzipped the red suitcase. He pulled out all the clothes, tossed them over his shoulder one by one, picked through some toiletries—a tube of toothpaste, a toothbrush, tampons, a hairbrush. He checked the side pockets, ripped out the lining, and even shook the suitcase upside down for good measure. He stared up at Sinclair. “Nothing.”
Sinclair sighed. “One must be more thorough, Phillip.” He leaned down and picked up one of Alice’s shirts off the pavement. A blue one. Looked like a man’s T-shirt. Well-worn. Tiny holes around the collar.
“Just an old shirt,” Phillip said.
Sinclair smiled. Lips pulled back over his tiny teeth. “I beg to differ.” He turned the T-shirt around. The print on the back, faded and worn, but still very legible. Parson’s Pest Control – Shallotte, NC.
Phillip read the back of the T-shirt a few times. “So?”
“So, Phillip, it could very well be a link to our friend, Alice. A distinct possibility.” Sinclair grabbed another shirt and spread it across the ice, then knelt down on top of the material so that his pants wouldn’t get wet from the snow. He poked amongst the clothing with an extended index finger, half-curious, half-repulsed to be doing so.
“Whatcha lookin’ for?” Phillip asked.
“More, Phillip. More.” He kept digging through the articles of clothing, then reached into the back pocket of a pair of blue jeans. He withdrew a tattered piece of paper, carefully folded a few times. “Ah.” Sinclair held the piece of paper in front of him and slowly uncreased and opened the flier. He stared at the note, smiled, then carefully refolded it and slipped it into his breast pocket.
“Anything?” Phillip queried.
Sinclair stood back up and inspected his knees to see if his trousers had gotten soiled or wet. They had not. “Gather everything. Do it now, please.”
Phillip knelt down and began to stuff everything back into the suitcase.
Flurries of snow began to tumble harder from the gray sky above. The wind picked up and blew across the parking lot. Sinclair watched Phillip scrabble around on the ground, then took out his pack of Salems. He cupped his hand against the wind, and it took a few flicks of his lighter, but finally, he managed to light up his cigarette.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“HOW MUCH MONEY is in your bag, anyway?” Delilah asked.
“Why are you carrying a pistol in yours?” Alice asked right back.
Both girls sat pressed together at the back of the bus even though only a half dozen other passengers rode on board. The sky outside swirled a mix of cotton candy pink and Carolina blue, the sun still easing its way above the skyline. On a normal day, it would be the kind of sky to be appreciated and grateful to be a part of. But for Alice and Delilah, the sky happened to be the furthest thing from their minds.
Since Alice didn’t answer the first question, Delilah moved onto the next one. “Why Wilmington?”
“Wilmington’s just a pit stop. Going to a small town just south of it. Shallotte.”
“Shallotte? And what’s there?”
“You really want to stay here in Charlotte?” Alice snapped, growing weary of the girl’s constant questions. Her side felt like she was lying on shattered glass, the bruised rib sparking hot every time she breathed. She tried to hold it in, but a little moan escaped from between her lips.
“You okay?” Delilah asked.
“What do you think? I might have a broken rib, my ear hurts like hell, and my neck will be black and blue in a few hours. So, no, I’m not okay.”
“Sorry.”
“Me, too.”
“Should you go to the hospital?”
Alice stared at the girl. “Sure. Right after I go to the police station and report that junkie for assault.”
Delilah chewed on a piece of gum for a minute. “Anything I can do?”
“Got any vodka? Motrin?”
“No.”
“Then, no. There’s nothing you can do.”
Delilah glanced out the window as the bus rumbled down Tryon Street through light early morning traffic. Delivery trucks, city buses filled with morning commuters, a handful of cabs.
They rode in silence for a few minutes, each replaying the showdown with the junkie in their minds.
“He was going to kill you. You know that, right?” Delilah finally said.
“You want to say that any louder?” But no one else heard the girl’s statement. The rest of the passengers sat in the front of the bus, most dozing off or lo
st in their own set of worries.
“You think he’s gonna die?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Do you really care?”
“I had to do it. You know? I didn’t have any choice. I didn’t.”
Alice didn’t say anything. Didn’t offer any comforting words to make the girl feel better or relieve her conscience.
Delilah’s distinctive mewing started up again, threatening to get louder and gaining a lot of unwanted attention.
Alice rubbed hard at her throbbing temples, the Crown not even close to being out of her system. “Look. You did what you had to do, I guess.” That was as close to a thank-you as Alice could offer in her current condition.
Delilah nodded and the mewing grew softer.
“It’s not easy pulling the trigger on someone. I’m thinking that you’ve used the pistol before,” Alice stated.
More mewing.
“Your mom’s boyfriend? Leon?”
And more mewing. A little louder.
“Okay.” Alice stopped there. She didn’t want to tell the girl that she was screwed. “The junkie’s probably gonna be okay. They’re like cockroaches.”
“You think—” Delilah choked and struggled for air—“You think someone heard the gunshot?”
“Yeah. I think someone heard the gunshot.”
The girl moaned. “The cops?”
“Take a breath and listen to me. The motel clerk is a junkie, too, and he’s the one that gave the guy our room key. He’s not going to say anything. And it’s not like the sound of gunfire is anything new in that area. We’ve got a few hours. Maybe more.”
Alice felt Delilah’s hand reach for hers. The young girl squeezed it hard, and Alice let it linger for a moment before pulling away and resumed massaging her throbbing temples.
“You know somebody in Shallotte?” Delilah asked.
“Yeah, I know somebody.”
“Are they gonna be able to help us out?”
“Us?” Alice asked a little too sharply.
The girl’s face collapsed and the annoying mewing cranked back up.
“Look. I’ve got my own problems.”
Delilah nodded. The girl sure had that mannerism down to a science. “I know. But the thing with the guy … in the room … if he lives, he knows what we look like.”
“When we get to Shallotte, we’ll figure something out.”
Delilah stared out the window as the bus took an on-ramp for the 74 South.
“Your mom is going to be looking for you, you know,” Alice said.
Delilah’s body tensed up at the mention of her mother. “I doubt it.”
Alice stared at her and waited for the young girl to look her back in the eye. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“She was out of it when it happened. With Leon.”
“Leon. What exactly happened with Leon?”
Delilah tried to answer the question, but the words just wouldn’t come.
“What did you do to Leon?”
“I did what I had to.”
“Can we stop with the riddles? Is Leon dead?”
“He had it coming,” the girl whispered.
“Jesus.”
“Nobody saw me. Not my mama. Nobody.”
“So? Who’s she going to think did it? Your little brother? The youngest one?” Alice didn’t have to say the one with Down’s syndrome.
“Leon had it coming,” Delilah spat out.
“You already said that. And it’s not the point. The cops will be looking for you. Probably already are. Doesn’t matter what the asshole did to you.”
“And nobody’s looking for you?”
“People are looking.”
“Who are they?”
“I don’t know. I guess if they catch up with me, I’ll find out.”
Delilah stared at Alice’s neck. The bruising had started. Light crimson with five slightly darker marks left by the junkie’s fingers. “You ever kill anybody?”
“No, Delilah, I’ve never killed anybody. And how about we stop with the twenty questions? Better off for the both of us.”
“Okay.” The girl gazed out the window at the passing traffic. “I’m hungry.”
“I gave you a hundred bucks. You can buy yourself something at the next stop.”
“Okay.”
Alice closed her eyes and let her head fall back. She tried to take small, easy breaths, but it still felt like her side was on fire. “And you should lose the gun. Sooner rather than later.”
Delilah didn’t nod this time. She just clutched her purse tighter and kept gazing out the window.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SINCLAIR WAITED PATIENTLY for his turn in line at the ticket counter. In front of him, an elderly couple paid for their train tickets with a handful of crumpled five-dollar bills and stacks of quarters. As the old man counted out the money on the counter, his wife double-checked his math quite carefully. The process proved to be long and agonizing, but Sinclair neither rolled his eyes nor exhaled loudly to demonstrate his impatience. He simply waited and clutched Alice’s blue T-shirt in both hands.
Phillip lingered over next to the vending machines where he had been instructed to remain. The big man stared forward, eyes focused on nothing in particular, hands dangling restlessly at his sides as if eager to use them on something.
Sinclair continued to wait, and when the elderly couple finally passed over their wad of bills and stack of coins in exchange for their tickets, he smiled at them both. “Safe travels.”
The elderly woman returned his smile. The elderly man did not.
He stepped forward and greeted the ticket clerk with the same frozen grin. “Good morning, my dear.”
The ticket clerk couldn’t help but grin back at him. “Good morning to you.” The woman was completely gray and had a soft face on which she applied too much rouge upon loose cheeks. Her lips were fire engine red, painted and repainted perfectly. She may have been sixty, but she looked much older. “Can I help you?”
“I sure hope so. I’ve been having a very rough day. Very rough, indeed. But I must say, that smile of yours is helping matters tremendously.”
The ticket clerk blushed, causing her cheeks to blossom redder, and glanced away for a second. “Well, thank you, sweetheart. And what can I do for you?”
Sinclair glanced at her name tag: Dolores. “My, my. Dolores. That is a delightful name. Such an old-fashioned ring to it.”
Dolores settled into her seat, eating up the compliments like grapes.
“My sixth-grade music teacher’s name was Dolores. Sweetest woman. Of course, we called her Miss LaFrance at the time. Students certainly didn’t refer to their teachers by their first names back then.”
“It was my grandmother’s name. Passed it down to me.”
“Perfect fit for you. It truly is.” Sinclair took a moment to look down at his shoes. He lowered his shoulders to exhibit utter despondency, then peered back toward Dolores with doleful eyes. “I have a situation that I hope you can help me with, Dolores. I’m at quite a loss.”
Dolores perked up. “Oh?”
“Yes. Well, to get the ball rolling, I was wondering if you work this desk every day.”
Dolores nodded. “Monday through Friday. From eight until four.”
“Good. So, you worked here yesterday?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“And, if I can be so forward, do you have any children?”
Dolores edged closer to the tiny man. “Two boys and a girl. All grown now, of course. Why do you ask?”
“Because I am hoping for some empathy. I, unfortunately, do not have children, but my brother does. A daughter. Or at least he did. Alice is her name. And Alice is in some trouble.”
“Oh, my.”
Sinclair leaned in closer and spoke softly as if in great confidence. “My niece has gotten herself into drugs. The serious kind. She is an addict and she has chosen to run away from her problems.”
Dolores just shook her head.
“And to complicate the matter, Alice has a little baby girl that she left behind. A six-month-old angel with the bluest eyes you’ll ever see.”
“That’s awful. Drugs and all that nonsense.”
“Yes. Drugs are the devil’s candy.” He paused a moment before continuing. “Alice needs help. And she belongs at home with her baby.”
“Yes, yes.”
“And this is where you come in, Dolores. We need to find her before she hurts herself or does something even worse. I need you to help me find her.”
Dolores clutched at her bosom. “What can I do?”
“I believe she came here yesterday afternoon. I believe she took the train or the bus somewhere.”
“So many people come through here every day. So many.”
“I know. But I think perhaps she was headed toward a place called Shallotte, North Carolina, but I can’t be sure. And until I know exactly where she’s headed, I’m facing a needle in a haystack.”
“Yesterday?”
“Yes. Probably in the late afternoon.”
“And you’re sure she came through here?”
“Yes. Of that, I am quite positive.”
“What about the police? Can’t they help you find her?”
Sinclair shook his head solemnly. “Alice is an adult. A drug addict running from her problems is not placed high on their priority list.”
“I see.” Dolores glanced at her computer screen for a moment. “What does your niece look like?”
“Tall. Athletic. Brown hair. Freckles. A slight Southern accent.” Sinclair retrieved the folded piece of paper from his breast pocket. He unfolded it and slid the slip of paper across the counter. “Perhaps this will help.”
Dolores looked down at the paper—a photo of a fourteen-year-old Alice under the caption RUNAWAY. HAVE YOU SEEN ME? There was a phone number listed as well.
“Taken a few years ago. Just a child here,” Sinclair stated with an echo of melancholy.
“I remember her. I do. She looks older now, of course. A little bit rough around the edges. Seemed to be in a hurry.”
“That would be poor Alice.”
“We don’t register customers’ names, but I can check the manifest for destinations from yesterday.”
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