by Amy Lillard
“I know. I would have liked to hear that,” Helen agreed.
“One thing’s certain,” Fern said. “There’s no love lost there.”
* * *
The Cattle Drive sat off the highway between Sugar Springs and neighboring Walnut. It was a typical, casual steak house with country music playing over the loudspeakers, peanuts on every table, and the smell of woodsmoke and yeast rolls in the air. Since Sam was going to Corinth for the day, she agreed to meet him at six. She was grateful, seeing as how she didn’t really know how to act, sitting side by side with him in his truck, just like old times. At least close enough to those long ago days to send her reminiscing and pondering over all the what-ifs of the last ten years.
She had no more than arrived at the hostess station when she saw him across the restaurant, waving to her.
“That’s my…party,” she said with a wavering smile. Why was this so awkward when it was supposed to be fun? And why was it so awkward when she hadn’t even said hi to him yet?
“Go on back,” the hostess replied.
Arlo gave the young girl a nod of thanks and started toward the table where Sam waited. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest as she made eye contact with him. This was going to be an enjoyable night, she promised herself. Two old friends catching up on the last few years. This had nothing to do with prom or Mads or anything that happened back in high school. What happens in high school stays in high school, right?
Her smile felt stiff on her lips as she neared him.
“Get down.” He clasped her arm and pulled her level to the top of the table.
“What’s wrong?” Her mouth went dry to match her pounding heart and shallow breathing. If she wasn’t careful, she would have a full-blown panic attack and all because she was on a date with her ex–high school sweetheart. Her second ex–high school sweetheart. Mads had always been the first.
“Camille,” he whispered, pointing to a table not far from where they were.
Arlo managed to ease into the chair opposite him, her breathing slowly returning to normal even as she kept her head as low as she could. But that made looking for someone impossible. She couldn’t see over the salt shakers, much less anyone’s head. “I can’t see.”
“That may be a good thing,” he quipped in return.
“Camille is here?” she asked.
“With a man.”
“She met him on the internet,” Arlo explained.
“That’s the guy from the dating site?”
“I’m pretty sure.” She tried peeking through the sea of bodies, tables, and various condiment dispensers to get a look at her elderly friend, but to no avail. “I can’t see him. But she’s only mentioned one man.”
“Did she say anything about him?”
“Only that he was sweet and thoughtful, and that she was in love. Why?”
Still keeping his head low, Sam pulled out his phone, prepared to type at a moment’s notice. “Do you remember his name?”
“Joe.”
“Joe what?”
“I don’t know. Just Joe.”
Sam sighed and put his phone on the table.
“Can I bring you something to drink?” The waitress bent low when she asked the question.
“Beer,” Sam said. “Arlo?”
“Same.”
“Got it.” The waitress straightened as if this was the proper way to order drinks and made her way to the bar.
“I can’t see down here,” Arlo protested. “And I’m starting to get a cramp.”
Sam leaned forward and placed one hand on the back of her neck. “Trust me. You do not want to see this.”
“Now I want to see it even more than before.” She shook off his hand, and keeping as low as possible while still able to see over the crowded restaurant, Arlo scanned the area.
“Oh. My. Stars!”
“Shhh…”
She ducked her head once again and stared at Sam across the table.
“We’ve been made,” he said through his smile as he waved to someone across the room, Camille and her Joe, Arlo was certain.
Arlo pasted on her own smile and turned back to the table where Camille sat.
She hadn’t had time to mull over many of the possibilities before she had actually looked at Camille and her dinner partner. She wasn’t sure what she had expected. A much younger man, a man of a different race, even a woman were all possibilities that ran through her head, but this man…
“Those are prison tats,” Sam said, still talking through his smile.
“Why are you talking like that? Camille doesn’t lip-read.” At least she hadn’t been able to the last time they had come to the steak house following Daisy James-Harrison, Wally’s widow. Then again, it had been a month or so since Daisy left town, and Camille had been on the internet a great deal. Who knew what all she had picked up?
Arlo waved at Camille and the creature seated opposite her. He was a large hulk of a man with a shaved head and numerous visible tattoos.
Camille smiled and waved back. She said something to the man. Joe, Arlo reminded herself, and he turned toward their table as well. Arlo and Sam waved again.
She could say one thing about the man. He had a nice smile. His teeth were white and even, and didn’t seem to go with this tough guy persona. Perhaps they were dentures.
“He’s not what I expected,” Sam said.
Give the man an award for understatement of the year.
“How do you know those tattoos came from prison?”
“Black ink, for starters.”
Arlo turned back to Sam. “Don’t all tattoos have black ink?”
“Well, no,” Sam said. “Most do, of course. But since there aren’t many places to get something to use for tat ink in a prison, they usually use ink from a pen, soot, or pencil lead. All black, so there’s no hint of color.”
Arlo stilled a shudder. “As Camille would say, that sounds simply ghastly.”
Sam nodded. “It kind of is, I suppose. Now, see that spiderweb on his elbow?”
“No,” Arlo exclaimed, then lowered her voice to a more inside-voice level. “I was too busy looking at the spiderweb on top of his head.”
“Yeah.” Sam cleared his throat. “Spiderwebs signify being trapped. One on the elbow usually means time spent in prison.”
“So, you’re telling me that he’s an ex-con?”
“Without a doubt.”
“What about the spiderweb on his head?” Arlo asked.
Sam shrugged. “Trapped.”
Or imprisoned.
“Can’t it be that he just likes spiders?”
Sam pressed his lips together but didn’t answer.
Arlo started to rise, but he placed a hand on her arm to stop her. “Slow down there, partner. Marching over there like you’re her mother isn’t going to help anything.”
“I don’t think she should be dating him.”
“Sit, mother hen.” Sam said with a small chuckle.
Arlo plopped back into her chair. “It’s just—”
“I know.” Sam stopped as the waitress brought their beers. “Ready to order?” she asked, not making one comment about the way they had been sitting earlier.
Sam looked to Arlo; she waved a hand in his direction. “Whatever you think.” She wasn’t sure she had much of an appetite now.
Sam ordered them steaks with sides and salads. Arlo barely registered that he had remembered she liked blue cheese dressing over ranch and didn’t eat butter on her baked potato. The thought would have warmed her, had it not been for her friend and that friend’s new ex-con boyfriend sitting right across the restaurant from them.
“Should I go introduce myself? I should go introduce myself.” She started to stand once again, and once again, Sam stopped her.
“Let the
m alone.”
Arlo looked back. Camille and Prison Tat Joe were gazing deeply into one another’s eyes. From here, the sentiment looked genuine, but like most steak houses, the Cattle Drive was dim and shadowy, like someone forgot to pay the electric bill.
“Are you—”
“I’m sure.”
“But if he’s an ex-con.”
“Anyone can go to prison, Arlo.”
She knew that, and she wasn’t trying to be prejudiced against the man. Though she was. But in the past few months, Camille had become more than one of her almost-grandmother’s friends; she had become like a second grandmother to Arlo, and she would hate to see her hurt.
Arlo released a deep breath, but her shoulders remained tight, her stomach clenched. “You’re right, of course.” But there was something else bothering her about the man as well. Though in her current agitated state, she couldn’t remember what it was.
“Relax,” Sam said.
She tried again, with a little more success.
“Find out his last name,” Sam said. “I’ll run a background check on him, see what comes up. Then, once we know what we’re dealing with, we can go to Camille and have a talk.”
“An intervention.” A dating intervention. That was exactly what they needed. She had to do something to protect these crazy old women from themselves.
“A talk,” Sam firmly repeated.
“A talk,” she echoed.
The rest of the evening went by in a flash. Arlo seemed unable to look away from the elderly pair across from them but did her best to listen to Sam talk about his business in Corinth that day and his mother’s recovery.
But in the end, she knew it was a poor attempt at best.
“I’m sorry,” she said as he walked her out to her car. The tiny Rabbit convertible sat on the opposite side of the parking lot from his large man’s man truck. She was pretty sure her car would fit into the bed of his pickup.
“For what?”
“I wasn’t very good company tonight. Seeing Camille and Joe like that.” She shook her head. “It just threw me.”
“It’s okay. But you owe me.”
She stopped by her door and turned to face him in the dimly lit parking lot. “I owe you what?”
He smiled. That sweet Sam smile she had known since she was sixteen. “Another dinner.”
“Deal,” she said. Maybe that one wouldn’t have so many distractions, and she could find out really and truly why Sam had asked her out. They hadn’t once talked about the incident from ten years before.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said.
“What?”
“Ten years ago. I was a fool. Young and stupid.”
“We all do stupid things when we’re young.” She finished with a forgiving smile. “All of us.”
“I suppose.” Sam nodded.
And she waited. Was he going to kiss her good night? Maybe on the cheek even?
Instead, he smiled and turned away. Three steps later, he spun and walked backward toward his truck. “I’ll follow you home,” he said.
“No need.” She waved away his concern.
“Drive safe.” He opened the door of his truck. And that, as they say, was that.
Arlo sighed, more confused than ever. She got into her car and put the key in the ignition, suddenly remembering what it was that had been bothering her during dinner. Joe. She thought she had seen him before. At Lillyfield. The day Haley was murdered.
Chapter 6
Saturday morning dawned in true Mississippi-in-the-early-summer glory. Temperature eighty-five degrees, and humidity already at 75 percent. A haze hung over the town, an omen of a steaming hot day full of sun and sweat.
For Arlo it was the end of her work week but also the busiest day. Main Street had more foot traffic on the weekend than during the week, and since they were closed on Sunday, that left one day for shopping.
Normally this was her favorite day. She loved the bustle of Saturdays, but this week had been something of a trial with the murder and Courtney being out. And then last night with Sam. He was upstairs in his office. She had heard him shuffling around a couple of times when she was up on the second level. Not that she had been listening or anything. But he hadn’t been in to even get a coffee. And that made her wonder if he was avoiding her after their date. After what he said. He was sorry that he had hurt her. Just as she was sorry she had hurt Mads. But was it a crime to want to be loved? No, she decided. She went about it the wrong way. Throwing Mads over for Sam, then having Sam throw her over for college out of state was karma at its finest. And she wished he had never brought it up. Let sleeping dogs lie, wasn’t that what Helen was always saying? Or maybe it was someone else. No matter. She had made him uncomfortable, and now he was avoiding her. Great. Just great.
Chloe was behind the coffee bar making drinks for the line of teens seated on the stools, and it seemed as if every reading area had at least one book enthusiast planted in it. Even Faulkner was getting into the mood, shouting out specials that didn’t really exist. Classics for $0.99, Shakespeare for $2.99, and new releases at a 100 percent discount. Thankfully, the town had grown used to the bird’s antics, and no one took his advertisements seriously.
The bell over the door rang, and another group of young moms and their toddlers entered the Books and More. Maybe she should start a story time on Saturday morning. It might be good for the young readers. She would have to give that more thought. It sure couldn’t turn out any weirder than her Friday night book club.
“Arlo.” Helen waved her over to the couch in the front reading area, where she and Fern had gathered for their Saturday morning meeting.
“What’s up?” she asked, wondering what strange question she would get this time. She hadn’t been listening much this morning and had no idea if the ladies were talking about Missing Girl or the missing piano teacher.
“Camille’s not here.”
“I can see that,” she said, waiting patiently for Helen to get to the point.
“We’ve tried to call her all morning, but there’s no answer,” Fern said.
“Goes straight to voicemail,” Helen continued.
“Okay.”
“Well, she went out that with man she met last night, and no one has heard from her since then. You don’t think something bad happened…” Fern trailed off.
Arlo’s stomach fell. After seeing this Joe person last night and watching Camille interact with him, that was exactly what she was thinking. And to think that he might have been at Lillyfield when Haley was killed. She mentally pulled herself together. “I’m sure she’s okay,” she said with convincing certainty, even when certain might be the last word she would use to describe herself. “You say you’ve tried calling her.”
“Several times.” Helen nodded.
“And neither one of you has met this man?”
They shook their heads.
“We messed up, didn’t we?” Fern smacked Helen on the arm. “I told you we shouldn’t have let her go out with this fella.”
“I told you,” Helen countered.
“We both did and let her anyway. Now she’s probably dead. Or worse.”
Arlo wasn’t sure what exactly was worse than dead, but now was not the time to ask. “I’m sure she’s okay.” But the image of Joe and his tattoos kept floating through her mind. She pushed the thought away. So he was a little scary looking, and he had obviously spent a little time behind bars. And he might or might not have been at Lillyfield when a young girl was killed. That didn’t mean he was a danger to Camille or anyone for that matter. This was the twenty-first century. A time when people weren’t judged by their appearance alone.
But she knew that wasn’t true.
Can’t judge a book by its cover, she reminded herself. But it was so easy to fall into that habit.
“Do either of you know his name?” she asked.
“Joe,” they said in unison.
“His last name.”
“Foster maybe. Joe Foster.” Fern turned to Helen for confirmation.
Helen shrugged. “Did she even say?”
Fern nodded. “We’re terrible friends.” She thought about it for another moment, then turned back to Arlo. “Foster,” she said. “Pretty sure.”
“Is that your final answer?” Arlo quipped.
“Arlo Jane!” Helen exclaimed. “Be serious about this. Our friend is missing.”
“Sorry.” But she needed something to lighten the mood. Helen and Fern were bad enough, and then when she added in her own knowledge of Joe Maybe Foster…
“What should we do?” Fern asked.
Arlo thought a moment. “Does she have Find My iPhone enabled?”
“I don’t even know if she has an iPhone,” Helen wailed.
“She does,” Arlo assured her.
“If she’s been abducted, I’m sure this Joe person has already removed any tracker in her phone.” Fern was in full spy mode.
“Why don’t you just go over to her house and check on her?”
The two ladies stopped, turned to her as if they couldn’t believe their ears, then nodded. “Okay,” Helen said. “Let’s go.” She stood. “Arlo, are you coming?”
“We’ll have to take your car, Arlo,” Fern said. “Me and Helen drove together.”
Helen drove a tiny Smart Car, the only one in Sugar Springs. Cute and economical, but only room for the driver plus one.
“We can take my car. Sure thing.” And she would have to stop and get gas. Why did every part of her life seem to be so complicated? Arlo checked her watch. It was not even noon. “I thought you guys were meeting for lunch.”
“Well, we thought we’d get an earlier start today.”
“And did you tell Camille?”
“Of course.”
There went that theory.
“Why don’t you give her a few more minutes?” Arlo suggested. “Maybe she just overslept.”
“This is Camille we’re talking about here.”
Fern was right. The thought of Clockwork Camille oversleeping was akin to winter in hell.