“I’ve walked past it—”
He smiled at her, his best panty-melting smile, and tilted his head. “It’s like a secret garden. A beautiful place to drink coffee.”
He opened the door for her. The day was as hot as any late summer day. One of the nice things about Wyoming was how dry it was. The day’s hundred degrees felt closer to eighty. He walked past a couple of cafe tables out front on his way into the sitting garden on the side. He heard her behind him and was relieved she’d followed him.
An iron fence, covered with climbing roses, separated the garden from the sidewalk. Inside the arched entryway was a large patio paved with red bricks. Flowering plants of dozens of different colors and textures, in-ground and in pots, softened the hard edges of the buildings that the garden sat between.
Val picked a small table and set his tray down. He looked over at Ace. She wore an odd mixture of curiosity and ambivalence. She put her purse on the ground and draped her apron over the back of her chair, then moved her chair around the table, letting her sit with a view to the entry gate. She fingered the cardboard band around her coffee.
Val sat and pushed the plate with one of the croissants toward her. “Eat.”
“Don’t want it.”
“I didn’t buy them both for me.”
“You’re a big guy. They’re probably just an appetizer for you.”
“You’re a skinny girl. You could probably eat a dozen of these.”
Her lips thinned.
“I’ll eat one if you eat one,” he suggested.
She drew the thick china plate toward her. “I don’t usually do this.”
“Do what? Have coffee with a new friend? Have coffee outside?”
“Yeah. All of that.” She took a bite of the croissant. He watched, hoping for a sight of her angled canines. Her bite was too careful to show her teeth. She held the croissant in her long-fingered hands. Her nails were short and painted black. They were neatly trimmed, but the paint job was a selfie.
“Been here long?” Val asked after swallowing his bite.
“No.” She lifted the croissant to her mouth, then lowered it as she glared at him. “Look, we don’t have to talk.”
“Prickly little thing, aren’t you?”
“Who the fuck cares?”
Val grinned. “Fine. We’ll just speak with our eyes.” He tried to quit smiling. Christ, it was fun to meet a female who challenged him. Maybe that was what he’d liked best about Selena.
Ace’s eyes narrowed. Val’s widened. She cracked a grin. “Are you always this noisy?”
Val sighed. “So my friends tell me. You gonna tell me to shut up, too?” The wind fingered her hair, agitating the ragged locks. They looked soft. He imagined them slipping between his fingers.
“You don’t seem like you’re from around here,” she observed aloud.
“I’m not.”
“So, what are you doing here?”
“Fishing. Corporate retreat. Team building or some such shit.”
“You don’t like it here?”
“It’s quieter than I’m used to.”
She finished her last bite, then got to her feet. “Sorry to eat and run”—she held up her apron—“but I really do need to get to work.”
He stood up. “You work at Ivy’s?”
“Yeah. You know her?”
“Doesn’t everyone know everyone in a little town like this?”
She made a tense smile that was gone as soon as it appeared. She held up her coffee cup. “Well, glad you ran into me!”
Val laughed. He stopped her as she was about to step through the metal arch. “Hey—I don’t know your name…”
She looked back at him. Pain. He sucked in a breath, trying to mentally unwind the thorny vine climbing through his ribs, reaching for his heart. “It’s Ace. Ace Myers.”
“I’m Val.” He grinned. “Val Parker.”
She didn’t mirror his humor. She only nodded, then slipped away.
*
Greer frowned at the screen. It was as if Remi had appeared out of thin air seventeen years ago, the summer before she started high school in northern Colorado. She’d been homeschooled through middle school. No records existed from her primary school years. She flunked three out of five classes her freshman year of high school. She did summer school that year, then managed to carry a 3.5 grade average the rest of her high school years.
Her social security number was issued the summer before high school. Her dental and medical records began that year as well. He couldn’t find records for her prior to that summer seventeen years ago.
Her mom’s tax returns showed they’d been living in the same house from Remi’s birth until she left for college. The whole package had fit so neatly until that detail; the house listed on her tax returns hadn’t been built until Remi was ten.
He looked up her mother’s employers over the years. All were small businesses that had existed for less than three years. He called up her driver’s license. It was issued the year they showed up in northern Colorado.
He blew the picture up and stared into the eyes of Remi’s mom. Joan Chase. A chill scraped his spine. Eerie how much she looked like her daughter—he recognized the fear in her eyes. The photo was seventeen years old. She was, in this pic, only a little older than her daughter was now.
What happened to her? She disappeared from all records when Remi graduated from high school.
Remi was as much an enigma as her mom. She moved on to Colorado State University after high school, graduating with a Bachelor of Arts in Sociology. She took her masters degree in Sociology from Stanford and her Ph.D. in Sociology from Princeton.
Why sociology? Who the hell picked sociology if they hoped to support themselves after school? Maybe her goal all along was to be a professor. She certainly was passionate about her field.