Behind The Veil: A Gina Harwood Novel

by Martin, Indi

  Snyder walked up to the counter and stood beside her. Gina looked at him and idly wondered if he'd heard the exchange. 'Bethel?' she thought, amused, before becoming fully cognizant of the ramifications of 'Bethel's' absence. “So, you don't know,” she confirmed.

  Bad-teeth shook his head and smiled at her. “I can help you with a car, if that's what you need?”

  Gina grimaced. “She may not even come in today. And no one else is coming in for her?” she asked leadingly, angling for final confirmation.

  “Sorry, ma'am. Don't know – I imagine Bud'll be in later, he works the afternoon shift, but he don't come in til two or so.”

  Snyder was smirking. Gina felt her cheeks heat up. “All my reward points are with Thrifty,” she complained, miserable. “Well, hey, you're here now. We can split a car,” she said, elbowing Snyder in the side.

  His smirk disappeared in a flash. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Bad-teeth looked ecstatic. “Great! We'll get you fixed up in a jiffy. And our rates are VERY reasonable.”

  She wasn't sure about that last statement, but at least he was efficient. They were bundling into the mid-size rental less than fifteen minutes later, and she handed the map over to Snyder to navigate. “Okay,” she said, checking the turn signals and turning the wipers on and off to familiarize herself with the controls. She clicked on the low-light headlamps, since it was still a dusky half-light outside. “Which way do I go?”

  “You've been staring at this map for hours! Don't you know?” he scoffed.

  Her answer was a solid glare.

  “Um, okay.” Snyder clicked on the overhead light, and turned the map to and fro in his hands. “Looks like you turn left up here on Airport Road,” he pointed vaguely ahead. “They really strained brain cells for that name. You're looking for Highway 12.”

  “Highway 12? Which way do I go when I see it?”

  “Yes, Highway 12. It's also called 'Snow Hill Road.' Like as in Snow Hill,” he said pointedly. “Go.”

  She grumbled but put the transmission into drive and started inching forward. “Will it be left or right?”

  “I'll tell you when we get there,” he said primly, and she felt like punching him in the face, except then she'd lose her navigator.

  “Did you decide to come just to annoy the living shit out of me?” she inquired under her breath.

  “No,” he answered jovially. “But it's a nice bonus.”

  16

  Snow Hill was, indeed, a lovely town, though Morgan would be loathe to actually use that word. As they drove into the sedate burg, giant old historical houses lined the streets behind immaculately kept gardens and pruned trees. Morgan craned his neck to get a better view of an animal topiary garden as they passed one lot.

  “I didn't print out anything on places to stay,” grumbled Gina, leaning up over the steering wheel like a stereotypical old-lady driver. Morgan grinned.

  “I'm sure there's a Best Western or something,” he assured her, rotating to look back out the window.

  As it turned out, there wasn't. There didn't appear to be any chain hotels or inns in the town, or really any chain restaurants. He didn't even see any golden arches. Rumbling in his stomach reminded him that the only food he'd had in the last twelve hours hadn't remained where it was supposed to. “What's our plan?” he asked, ignoring the hollowness in his belly.

  “I figure we'll go ahead and check into some hotel, reassemble my gun, and I want a shower,” she ticked these to-do items off on her fingers. “Maybe some food.”

  His stomach jumped in response, gleeful. “Yeah, I could eat,” he understated. A great rumble filled the car, and he saw her look at him, startled. “My stomach agrees,” he remarked.

  She shook her head and slowed the car. “There's a bed and breakfast,” she said, pointing to a sign that said, simply, “Snow Hill Bed & Breakfast.”

  “Breakfast sounds great,” Morgan replied. “But I think it's customary for it to come after bed. Wonder if they'd feed us now?”

  She shrugged and shook her head, urging the car further down the street. Morgan's belly whimpered as the promise of immediate breakfast disappeared behind them. “It looks tiny. We need two rooms. I'd rather have a big place where we can come and go without being noticed too much.”

  He glanced sidelong at her. “You said this place has two thousand people. I think two extra bodies are going to be noticed no matter what we do.”

  Harwood seemed to consider this for a moment, and suddenly sat straight up, excitedly. She pulled over to the side of the road. Morgan saw a Burger King sign in the distance, it's orange and white sign gleaming in the morning twilight like a mirage in a desert.

  “Burger King,” he advised, hungrily nodding his head towards it.

  She shook her head. “No, no, what you said. I bet even an extra car might be noticed, too. I wouldn't bet this town gets a ton of traffic. Let me see those,” she pointed at the sheaf of papers on his lap, and he handed them over, not taking his eyes off of the promise of food glistening up the road.

  “I bet we can talk about this over a few breakfast sandwiches, what do you say?” he pleaded.

  “Yeah, okay, just a sec.” Rustling noises erupted. “Look! Driving directions from Tulsa. They'll probably pass right through Snow Hill, and they won't have gotten here quite yet. Maybe in an hour, or a few, and even then only if they drove straight through.”

  He peered at the papers, regretfully pulling his eyes away from the anachronistically modern sign. “Where did you get driving directions?”

  “Uh, the internet, of course,” she replied pointedly in a sing-song voice. “Not the point. Point is, we know we're looking for Jake's car, a peeling-red, late-80's model Camry with a few dents down the sides. There's only a few main roads through this town.” She leaned in further. “Well, just one, really. Church Street.” She screwed her mouth over to one side. “Unless they take the 113 business loop or whatever that is – it bypasses most of the town and spits out right to 113.”

  “That's what I'd probably do,” Morgan acknowledged. “Sounds easier.”

  Harwood nodded. “Yeah, you're probably right. Looks easier, too. Let's head to that junction and see what we see.”

  Stomach growling, a large part of Morgan wanted to beg for a drive-through trip first, but he forced his body to wait patiently. In a brilliant stroke of luck, the heavenly fast food sign ended up being right on the junction between 113 and Church St. “Let's stake out in there,” he recommended, delighted. “We can get some food, think things over, and watch both streets at the same time for the Camry. If that old thing made it this far, that is.”

  “Damnit,” she grumbled “I really wanted my shower.” She turned into the parking lot without further comment.

  ⇼ ⇼ ⇼ ⇼ ⇼

  The cities seemed to get smaller and smaller, to Marcus' eyes. He munched happily on his fries, having convinced Jake to drive through a McDonald's that had beckoned from just off the highway. He had ordered three double cheeseburgers and two large fries, and the largest coke they had to offer. The burgers disappeared down his gullet instantly, but the fries had lasted him for a while. He was on his last container, and still eating; not hungry anymore, but he was just happy for something to do. Plus, the food seemed to help warm his body. For the moment, even considering their circumstances, he was mostly content. It was a rare gift; he could generally find something to be happy about anywhere.

  He only hoped Jake would become more conversational again. It had happened once, just after their most recent gorge-fest on greasy food; he'd turned to Marcus and started chattering normally about the band, of all things. The band! Marcus had been ecstatic to have someone to talk to.

  Then, he'd made the mistake of asking how Jake knew where he was going.

  Jake had shut down entirely, refusing to answer that or any other queries. Marcus even apologized, and tried to strike a conversation back up about a new song they'd been working on when they left, but to no avail. Jake
was simply no longer available for discussion.

  When he was a kid, there was another boy at the daycare who was autistic. This new Jake reminded him a great deal of that boy; Marcus tried, but he couldn't remember his name. All the other kids, the normal kids, they learned to avoid him. He'd act normal sometimes, talking and playing; but then sometimes he'd just scream for no reason, or sweep his arm back and punch whoever was nearby as hard as a six-year-old could. He'd hit girls and boys, it didn't matter. Sometimes he'd just sit in the corner and sit, glassy-eyed and vacant.

  Marcus wondered whatever happened to him. 'Do autistic kids get better?' he wondered. Or was that kid now a twenty-something sitting in the corner, glassy-eyed and staring, nothing having changed but his age?

  He shuddered. The visual wasn't welcome, especially when the grown-up kid looked like Jake in his mind.

  This city, although he hesitated to call it that, was the smallest he'd seen yet on the drive. At least all the streets were paved, unlike some smaller Oklahoma towns. The sun was fully up now, and they were driving southeast now, which confused him. He had originally hoped the change in direction meant Jake had decided on a different destination altogether, but he saw signs that indicated they were now in Maryland, so he supposed that was a pipe dream. At least the sun wasn't in his face anymore, as it had been when it first cracked over the horizon, spilling golden streams of brightness into Marcus' unready eyes. Now, it was beaming directly into Jake's face, but he didn't seem to mind. Or notice. Marcus reached over and flipped the torn sun visor down, blocking most of the beams that were hitting his friend.

  “Thanks,” murmured Jake, which surprised Marcus. He didn't figure he'd notice that either.

  Pouncing on the opportunity, Marcus replied. “Want some fries, man? I have a few left.”

  “Nah, thanks anyway. I had enough.”

  “Cool.” Marcus took a deep breath. “Almost there, yeah? So, this is Maryland.” He looked away, feeling silly. “It's uh... pretty.”

  Jake turned his head and smiled at Marcus, a genuine smirk. “Pretty? Weak. Is that the best you can come up with?”

  Marcus turned to him, astonished. “Well, yeah, sort of,” he stammered. “When I have a wall for a conversation partner, I don't try real hard.” The stress of the last twenty-four hours was evident in his voice, and he snapped his words harsher than he had meant to. He watched Jake warily, expecting him to shut down again.

  “I'm sorry,” said Jake, bouncing his glance between the road and Marcus. “It's been crazy for me, too, you know. Your parents aren't dead. Your sister isn't dead.”

  Marcus frowned and sank deeper into his chair. The excuse, while undeniable, was getting old. “Yes, they are,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, they are, too. Your family was my family. My family threw me out on the street. Your family took me in. Harry treated me like her younger brother. Your dad cosigned on my apartment, Jake. And Susan,” he took a deep breath again and exhaled it, painfully. “She remembered every birthday. She always gave me a stocking every Christmas. When my mom came knocking and begging for money for her fucking crack habit, Susan was there for me. She was more of a mother to me than mine ever was.” Marcus closed his eyes against the sun, the yellow warmth of day radiating through the glass suddenly too much for his mind to process. “You were my brother, Jake.”

  “Were?” Jake laughed, but it was entirely devoid of merriment. “I'm still alive, Marcus.”

  “Yeah, okay, we both are. Which is why I don't get why you're driving us to where we shouldn't be going.”

  Marcus opened his eyes to see Jake gritting his teeth, jaw muscles throbbing. Jake’s eyes glistened with unspilled tears. “I have to,” he whispered, and his arms began shaking. “I have to,” he mouthed, with almost no voice at all.

  He reached out and touched his friend's arm, but Jake recoiled so fast that the car swerved into the oncoming lane for a moment before Jake was able to regain control. A semi blew its air horn, momentarily obliterating all other sounds. By the time the Camry settled back in its rightful lane, both inhabitants were pressed up against their respective doors. “Why?” demanded Marcus in a shaky voice, trying to refrain from hyperventilating at their near-collision. “What's up here? What do you expect to find?”

  Jake glanced at him, and his the whites of his eyes were showing all the way around his pupils; it reminded Marcus of a bolting horse he'd seen in a movie. He looked wild, wrong. “I don't know,” he said. “I have to stop it before it gets worse.”

  “Stop what? Before WHAT gets worse?” demanded Marcus, blood rushing to his head. “How did you know how to drive here, Jake? What is happening here?”

  His friend turned his head to look at him, full-face. His eyes still held that unsettling terror, but the rest of his face looked droopy, too-relaxed. He smiled, baring his teeth in a grimace that bothered Marcus terribly; it was like something else entirely had hooked into the edges of his mouth and lifted them. There was no meaning behind the smile. “You'll see,” he whispered between his teeth, before turning back to the road.

  It was many minutes before Marcus moved a muscle.

  ⇼ ⇼ ⇼ ⇼ ⇼

  Coffee, even fast-food joint coffee, had a magical way of making things better. Gina sipped her third cup, feeling more alert and less shaky; though, she knew if she kept drinking it, she'd be shakier than ever. Her gun pressed against her ribs comfortably, like a tiny hug of safety; the holster was mostly hidden underneath her jacket. She had insisted that they prepare themselves and their firearms before acquiescing to Snyder's insistence on walking in and ordering food. She'd told him it would taste better if he suffered for it anyway.

  Her croissant sandwich was delicious. Snyder ate three, plus hash browns. Gina did her best to ignore his gluttony, and watched carefully out the window at the traffic approaching from the two directions. So far, she'd only seen a few cars and some work trucks pass by; this was evidently not a busy fairway, which she was thankful for. It increased their likelihood of spotting the two wayward souls in the small Camry.

  “Been a while, huh?”

  Gina didn't take her eyes off the window. “Only about an hour,” she corrected.

  “Nah, I mean it's been a while since we've done this.”

  She cocked an eyebrow, but didn't look away. “Done what?”

  “Since we've done a stakeout. It's been a while.”

  “Thank god,” she sighed, remembering their last one. She'd been ready to kill him herself.

  He chuckled. “I'm watching, too, you know. You can blink every once in a while.”

  “Mm,” she answered noncommittally, keeping her eyes glued to the scene outside.

  “Might even be a good idea, you know, not raise the suspicions of the employees,” he whispered conspiratorially.

  She looked around; not one of the two employees was even visible. She heard giggles coming from somewhere behind the counter, and frowned at Snyder. “I don't think they care much,” she noted, jerking her head in the direction of the backroom.

  Snyder shrugged. “Can't be too careful.” He resumed looking out the window, sipping his black coffee and smiling slightly.

  Gina stared at him for a moment before returning to her watch. She wanted to ask him why he had decided to come, again, but she was confused as to whether she wanted to hear the answer. What if it wasn't just because he was a protective partner? No, she decided. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.

  There had only been one other customer in the hour they had been sitting at the window, an ancient woman who ordered enough food for an army, and struggled out the door with several bags full of food. The employees – an acne-ridden teenage boy and a severe-looking young-twenties girl – had appeared as if by magic at the door chime, completed the order quickly and efficiently, and then disappeared as soon as the woman walked out the door. Gina bristled with misplaced envy at the giggling sounds. She didn't really want to flip burgers in a tiny Maryland town,
but she did wish she ever sounded, or felt, as carefree as that.

  “Car,” he announced, and her eyes focused on the oncoming vehicle; she hadn't even realized her vision had blurred.

  It was a new Mustang, and it roared by at speeds that may have exceeded the twenty mile-per-hour speed limit – but just barely. She sighed. “We're looking for a red Camry with dents,” she reminded him. “And Oklahoma plates.”

  “I know,” he said simply, and she saw him smile into his coffee again out of the corner of her eye.

  “Maybe this was a bad idea,” she started. “Maybe we should go find the place ourselves.”

  Snyder shrugged. “What's your purpose? To find the commune, or to make sure Marcus and Jake are alright?” He looked thoughtful. “Marcus, anyway. I'm not sure Jake's alright even if we do find him. Sounds like he has some questions to answer.”

  She didn't reply.

  “Because,” he continued, in his annoying lecture tone, “if your purpose is to find them, then we're in the right place. Or is it something else?”

  A small flinch on her part, and his eyes gleamed. She worked quickly to undo the damage. “No, I'm fine here. Just worried that, like you said, the car might not even have made it this far. Or maybe they sped the whole way and already passed here. Maybe they spent the night somewhere and won't even get here til tomorrow, assuming they don't change their mind. Or maybe there's some other route. I guess they might have taken a ferry or something.” It sounded ridiculous to her own ears, even as she said it. She knew they were coming, and knew they would be coming this way; it was the same absolute knowledge she had when knowing whether or not Peter had been lying, or Harry, or Marcus. Or Jake. Her mouth drew down into a frown. She'd never been wrong about that sort of thing before, so the new developments around Jake O'Malley concerned her immensely.