by Mary Stone
“A soda, huh? Just a regular, plain old soda, with no flavor in it? Or were you wanting a flavored one?” He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! How about...pickle flavor.”
Lucas made a gagging noise. “Gross. Why would anyone want pickle soda?”
“Hey now, have you ever tried pickle soda?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know it’s gross? Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”
Lucas pulled another face. “I don’t want to knock it or try it.” The indignant way he repeated the phrase provoked a surprised laugh from Clay, causing Lucas’s eyes to narrow as he studied him from across the table. “There’s no such thing as pickle soda, is there?”
Clay lifted his hand and grinned. “There really is. I’ve just never tried it before. Apparently, there’s also a dirt soda, and eel.”
“Eel soda?” When Clay nodded, Lucas’s mouth gaped in horror. “But…why?”
“Dunno and can’t say I ever plan to find out. Well, maybe the pickle juice soda. Definitely not eel.”
“Yeah, me either. Not even pickle. I hate pickles.” Lucas shuddered before scanning the other tables. “You don’t think any of them are drinking eel soda, do you?”
The suspicion-laced question made Clay laugh. “No. Pretty sure Bob’s Burger Barn sticks to boring old flavors. Orange, cola, lemon-lime, those types.”
“Good.” After another shudder, Lucas picked up the menu and scrutinized the options. Probably to double-check that Clay was telling the truth. “I’ll take a regular brown soda.”
“Sounds like a wise choice.”
A couple of seconds passed. “Are you sure you didn’t make those sodas up?”
“I swear. Here, I’ll prove it to you.” Clay typed “pickle soda” into his phone and showed Lucas the results.
The other man leaned on the table, peering at the screen. “Wow.”
Clay repeated the process with eel and dirt soda. “Trust me now?”
Clay meant the question as a joke, but when Lucas didn’t answer right away, he kicked himself for the teasing.
Before he could apologize, Lucas grinned. “I don’t know if I can trust anyone who thinks pickle soda sounds like a good idea.”
The force of the relief that swept through Clay surprised him. Until a second ago, he hadn’t realized how invested he was in gaining the other man’s confidence. “Fair enough.”
The waitress came, and as promised, Clay ordered for both of them. Once she left, their conversation switched to favorite beverages, but part of Clay’s mind dwelled on that unexpected surge of relief. He’d put the same friendly, joking technique to use countless times in the past in order to place both suspects and witnesses at ease.
This was different, though. Winning Lucas’s trust and high regard mattered, and he wasn’t sure why. No doubt part of the urgency was because of the man’s connection to Caraleigh, but there was more to it than that.
It was the way Lucas talked, his little mannerisms and interactions. They reminded Clay of his sister.
During a lull in the conversation, Clay risked bringing her up again. “Can you tell me anything else about Caraleigh when you two were together? Anything at all. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her that I’m scared I won’t even recognize her now that she’s all grown up.”
He grimaced when he voiced the fear out loud. He hadn’t meant to put a damper on their meal like that, but Lucas’s eyes lit up. “I read that babies are challenging for people to recognize later because their facial structures grow and change so much. Prepubescent faces lose fat but change at a much slower rate. Caraleigh wasn’t a baby.”
Clay knew all that already. As an FBI agent, he’d worked with facial progressions more than once. But somehow, Lucas’s steady, matter-of-fact recital drove the truth home. “Thank you, that makes me feel better.”
Lucas beamed, but by the time Clay finished sipping his water, the happiness dimmed. His shoulders rounded while he drew circles on his glass. “Sometimes, I believed the doctors when they said she was too good to be true. That she wasn’t real. They kept asking me how it was possible that, out in the mountains with barely any other people around, how I’d found a girl my own age who didn’t make the world noisier or more stressful? They didn’t believe the girl existed, and I started to think that maybe I did make the whole thing up.” His hand stilled. “But I didn’t, did I? Make her up?”
Lucas’s soft plea was full of hope. The same hope that had been fueling Clay. “No, you didn’t. Good luck, karma, guardian angel, whatever you want to call it. I think some unexplained force helped the two of you find each other. And let’s hope that didn’t use up our quota of luck because we’re gonna need a helluva lot more of it.”
The waitress waltzed up with a tray and placed their plates on the table. “You need anything else, just holler.”
Clay thanked her and turned back in time to catch Lucas lifting up the top bun and peeking underneath. “They got it right. No ketchup…or pickles.”
That made Clay laugh again while Lucas picked up his burger and nibbled off the tiniest of bites.
“What, you afraid it might be poisoned or something?”
Lucas swallowed before shaking his head. “Not poisoned, but why take a big bite if I’m not sure I’ll like it yet?”
Hard as Clay tried, he couldn’t come up with a good answer for that. “Valid point. So, how is it?”
Lucas had already bitten off a much larger chunk and mumbled around a mouthful. “Delicious.”
Even so, damned if Clay didn’t try a smaller bite to start with than usual, just in case, but the instant the burger hit his taste buds, he had to concede. He waited until he swallowed to gloat. “What did I tell you? Hole-in-the-wall joints make the best burgers.”
Lucas was too busy gobbling down another bite to speak, so he nodded. He polished off the burger in half the time Clay took with his and started in on the fries. They talked for the remainder of the meal, with Clay sharing a funny story about how Caraleigh had refused to leave the petting zoo when she was six or seven unless their parents agreed to let her bring a baby pig home.
The pig chased her around the enclosure, which was full of mud from a recent storm. His mom had ended up slipping right on her butt in the dirtiest part, and their dad had started laughing, and then Clay. Caraleigh had finally stopped throwing a giant hissy fit and laughed too.
They’d bought a stuffed animal pig on the way out, which Caraleigh had aptly named Baby.
Lucas smiled. “She always loved all the animals. Sometimes, she’d climb the big tree near the cabin or go to the sunning rock and sit there for hours, just watching the animals go by. There weren’t any pigs, though, but I told her that some places do have wild pigs, called javelinas. She said she wanted to go there one day and see them.”
Clay could almost picture her begging Lucas to take her to see the wild pigs. “That sounds like Caraleigh.”
Lucas pushed a French fry around on his plate. “When we find her, can we take her there sometime? To see the javelinas?”
When…not if.
A lump formed in Clay’s throat. “Yeah. I’d like that a lot.” And it was true.
Lucas visibly brightened at the reassurance, and the lump in Clay’s throat grew. After spending the day with the other man, it was impossible not to like him. He hoped, for both of their sakes, that Lucas’s optimism wasn’t misplaced and that they’d find Caraleigh alive and well.
Or they’d find her body and find closure in knowing her fate.
Somehow.
“Thanks for coming with me today, Lucas. I really appreciate your help.”
Lucas shrugged. “I wanted to come.” He pushed the last fry around his plate once more before peeking up at Clay. “And you can call me Luke.”
After they both finished eating, Clay grabbed the check and followed Lucas…Luke…past the other diners to the cash register. The waitress was gone, replaced behind the counter by a young man in a plaid shirt and overall
s with a gray bandana wrapped around his neck.
“How was everything this evening?”
Clay passed him the bill and a credit card. “Delicious, thanks. Could you recommend any local places to stay the night? We were thinking of doing a little more hiking in the morning.”
“Sure, no problem. There are a couple of decent hotels less than a mile—”
“Gah!”
The high-pitched exclamation cut the cashier off. Clay whirled to check on Luke, who’d gone stiff as a pole. His mouth moved like he was trying to speak, but no sounds came out, and his gaze was fixed to a spot to the right of the cashier’s head.
“Is he okay?”
Clay wished he knew. “Not sure. Luke, what’s wrong?” He traced the trajectory of Luke’s stare to the corkboard. The picture of the cartoon hamburger was still front and center, but how did that make sense? They’d laughed about the stupid thing earlier. Nothing else was there but a bunch of customer and employee photos. “What is it?”
In response, Luke darted forward, straight for the cartoon burger. He curled his hand and clawed at the pictures, as if trying to rake them off the board.
“Uh, he can’t do that. Should I call 911 or something?”
“No! Don’t call, and for god sakes, don’t touch him. He’ll be fine. It’s probably just sensory overload.” Clay rushed forward, kicking himself the entire time. He should have known better when they’d walked in. This place was too crowded and too damned noisy by far.
When he reached Luke, the man was smacking his palm against one specific picture, making deep, guttural noises in his throat. Clay lifted a hand to touch him before dropping it again, remembering how physical contact would sometimes make Caraleigh’s meltdowns worse.
Think, dammit! What used to help Caraleigh?
Clay relaxed on an exhale and allowed his body and voice to fill with calm. Before he could help, he first needed to identify the problem.
“Hey, Luke. Everything’s going to be okay. Can you help me understand what’s going on? Is it too noisy in here? Because it’s nice and quiet outside. We can get some fresh air or hop in the car and turn the radio on to any channel you like.”
Luke cried out and gave his head a violent shake.
“No, you don’t want to go outside? What is it, then? The photo? Is there something in that photo that’s upsetting you?”
That question prompted Luke to reach for the photo with both hands like he might tear it off the wall.
“Hang on, we need to leave that up there for now. Here, let me take a look too. You can show me what’s so exciting.” Clay leaned forward and peered at the photo, wondering what in the hell had upset Luke so much. The big man with the trucker hat, who was smiling into the camera over an empty plate? Or the pretty blonde waitress who stood behind him with her hand on his shoulder, wearing a checkered shirt and a phony why-do-I-have-to-be-in-this-picture smile?
Frustrated, Clay scanned the rest of the frame, seeking a clue as to what set Luke off. He reached the far left corner, and his heart stuttered to a stop before starting again at triple speed. He rubbed his eyes and leaned in closer to ensure the dim lighting wasn’t playing tricks on him.
The checkered shirt and denim overalls marked the woman in the frame as a waitress, but it was the face that rendered Clay unable to move.
Half a face. That was all that showed, like she’d turned away from the camera a fraction too late to avoid being in the shot entirely.
Still, half a face was enough for Clay to recognize his sister.
Caraleigh.
Pressing a hand to his trembling lips, Clay read the handwritten numbers at the bottom.
The photo had been snapped an entire year after Luke was fished out of the river.
18
That morning when I opened my eyes, my mind was already abuzz with the coming day’s festivities. The soft, green glow of the digital clock confirmed that I’d woken up one minute early, per usual.
Good. Punctuality was a must when planning.
I tapped off the alarm on my way out of bed and headed straight for the shower. The warm spray soothed me a little too much, so I turned the lever down until the water turned icy cold. The shock on my bare skin reinvigorated me enough to dry off and go in search of clothes. After sparing a few moments to peruse the closet’s offerings, I selected a pair of gray slacks and a gray, blue, and white pinstriped shirt. Even with no public appearance on the agenda for this morning, there was no excuse for a shabby appearance.
Headmistress Letitia had taught me that.
The walk down the hall and through the living room was silent and shrouded in shadows, with only a few stripes of weak early morning sunlight creeping in through gaps in the boards. Instead of heading to the kitchen for breakfast as my usual routine dictated, I went to the door and used the key in my pocket to turn the lock. A click later, and I was outside, rubbing my arms against the frigid morning air as I strolled past the winter-brown grass, intent on the tiny structure squatting on the far side of the yard.
The lawn triggered a rush of memories. Once upon a time, I’d been a little boy, content to dig in the dirt for worms and roll my thrift-store trucks around the postage-stamp yard of the house my mother and I had shared. In those early days, I’d still had a mother who’d loved me. We’d struggled to make ends meet and been poor in possessions, but we’d had each other, and I’d believed that was enough.
And love very well may have carried us through life, if not for the foolish man who’d swooped in and bedazzled my mother with wealth and material objects. She’d transformed before my eyes. Her love for me hollowed out and rotted, a casualty of her new husband’s disapproval.
Another cold gust cut through my shirt, rousing me from my sordid past and planting me firmly in the present. That was all ancient history and of no consequence now. I’d procured a suitable replacement for my distant mother, at least for a while.
I stomped a dried leaf on the pathway and savored the satisfying crunch beneath my shoe, delighting in the reminder of how a finger felt when snapped beneath my hands, or a wrist. I continued on to the wooden shed, humming as I unlocked the door and ducked inside to reach the refrigerator. Two eggs, a slice of ham, and a piece of bread went onto one of the clean plates stacked on the collapsible metal table. Mission complete, I locked the door behind me and carried the plate back to the house to cook.
The eggs sizzled as I added them to the hot pan, but it was the sweet-savory aroma of ham that brought me back to that morning at the academy…
My eyes drank her in from across the crowded cafeteria. Her hair gleamed like a freshly polished shoe when those burnished copper waves caught the light, all sleek and tidy, without a single strand out of place. As always, her outfit was immaculate too. Crisp, with no wrinkles or creases, like she’d come straight from the dry cleaners, with the overall effect somehow both reserved from the buttoned-up collar and yet also enticing with the way the fabric skimmed her curves.
I pressed the lever to fill the cup with orange juice while my stomach did that funny flip it liked to perform whenever she was around. Not that I blamed my body for the reaction. She was the perfect representation of femininity, her appearance a how-to guide for the way women should look.
She played the little game we’d been forced to adopt in public. Ignoring me completely or letting her gaze skim over me as though I wasn’t there. But as I carried my tray into the dining area, her blue eyes connected with mine. Once, and excruciatingly brief. Just long enough to send the message, loud and clear.
I kept walking, my heart swelling to twice its normal size.
Tonight. Our training would continue tonight.
On my way to the usual spot at a table near the back wall, I approached three boys from my year. They elbowed each other as I drew closer, and the two seated closest to me sneered.
I ignored them. Impudent idiots. They were so far beneath me that they weren’t worth the bother.
That thought
vanished when one of them muttered something under his breath as I passed, his eyes narrowed with malice.
I stopped and slowly turned in their direction. “Excuse me, I didn’t quite catch that. Can you say it again?”
Two of the boys exchanged uneasy glances, but the loudmouth only sat up taller. “You heard me. Freak. Perv. Everyone knows you’ve got a boner for the headmaster’s wife.” He practically spit the word out this time, his mouth twisted into a cruel smile.
Heat blazed through me, and my hands gripped the tray so hard, the plastic rattled with my anger. A hand curled around my shoulder before I could react. “Whatever is going on here, gentlemen?”
All three of the other boys’ gazes flew to Headmistress Letitia, who’d managed to creep up behind me without my knowledge. Fear widened their eyes before two of them stared at the floor. Only the one who’d insulted me was brazen enough to maintain eye contact. “Uh, nothing, Headmistress.”
“Mr. Kingsley, is that true?”
Her perfume reached my nose, musky and sweet, and the hand still resting on my shoulder infused my entire body with warmth. I wanted to tremble, but years of practice and control held me steady. “No, Headmistress Letitia. I’m afraid they weren’t behaving in accordance to academy rules.”
“That…that’s not true!” the boy sitting in the middle yelped before turning to glare at his loudmouthed companion. “Tell her, Freddy!”
Freddy’s skin paled beneath its usual tan, the latter a result of his frequent trips to Key West and the Bahamas, thanks to his parents’ vacation homes there. “He’s right. Nothing happened. Kingsley here is lying, to get us in tr—”
“Enough.” Headmistress Letitia silenced him with a single word. Seconds ticked by while she played on their growing fear, enjoying their squirming and twisting their dread into yet another weapon in her arsenal.
My pulse thundered. Genius. Our headmistress was a genius.
When the tension drew out enough to meet her satisfaction, the headmistress tapped a glossy, manicured nail to her chin. “I know, why don’t you three come meditate on this situation in my office once the school day is complete?”