Those Girls

No doubt she was long gone by now. I thought about her using my laptop, reading all my e-mails, going through my documents. I’d been so stupid.

“Oh, that’s good. I wanted to make sure she got her ride.” I smiled. Thankfully there was still a muffin in the basket and a couple of apples. I grabbed one of each, still smiling at the lady. “Have a great day!”

Back in the room I emptied everything out of my packsack, stuffed it with a spare blanket and a pillow I found in the closet, then took it out to the car. I came back in and packed the rest of my stuff. She had my license plate number, but hopefully they wouldn’t notice the missing items right away, or care enough to make a police report. I also took one of the towels and put a do-not-disturb sign on the door.

I drove to the parking lot behind the pub and waited until eleven when I figured it would open. A waitress came out and threw a bag in the Dumpster. I pushed open the back door and walked through, blinking in the dark.

Country music was playing on the jukebox in the corner. The floor was wood, looked old, but it had been painted. Beer coasters were stapled all over the walls and the air smelled of stale booze and cigarettes. Two men at a corner table gave me curious looks. I averted my eyes, wishing I hadn’t worn a tank top.

A heavyset woman with short brown hair that had a purple streak in the front and a black T-shirt stretched across her breasts was pouring beer behind the counter. She glanced up at me. “There’s no way you’re of age.”

“I’m just looking for my aunt.” I held out the photo of Crystal. “She has brown hair now. Has she been in recently?”

The woman wiped her hands on a towel, took the photo. “I think she was here a couple nights this week.”

I felt a little leap in my stomach. Before I could ask anything else, Owen, the good-looking guy with the Harley, walked behind the bar. He narrowed his eyes when he noticed me. The bartender turned to him, showing him the photo.

“This woman was in here this week, right?”

He examined the photo, taking his time. I wondered if he might recognize Crystal from when he was a teenager—if he was the same guy who helped them—but I couldn’t read his expression.

“She have dark hair now?” he said.

“Yeah.”

He passed me back the photo. “Why are you looking for her?”

“She’s my aunt,” I said. “She’s fighting with my mom and took off. I’m trying to find her.”

“You go to the police?”

“No, it’s not like that. She just disappears sometimes—she likes to party.” I shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal but inside I felt a nauseating rush of fear. What if he told the cops about my visit?

The bartender turned back. “I remember now. She was sitting in the corner with the boys from the ranch on Tuesday—beer and wing night.” She laughed.

“Boys from the ranch?”

“Gavin, and a couple of the hands from the cattle ranch. They might be back tonight if you want to talk to them.” She’d met Gavin, had even sat and talked with him. It couldn’t be the same guy. But maybe he didn’t recognize her now with dark hair?

“Did she leave with them?”

“Not sure. Gavin paid for her drinks, I remember that now.”

It didn’t sound like anyone had seen her since. Did she go home with him? Then I realized this woman might tell Gavin or somebody from the ranch that I was looking for Crystal. That might screw things up—for me and for her.

“She’s probably already back home,” I said with a nervous laugh. The woman went back to pouring beer, but she was giving me a strange look, like she didn’t believe my story. Owen, leaning on the bar, was also staring at me.

“If she comes in again,” I said, “can you tell her that her niece is looking for her?”

“Sure. What’s your name?”

“Skylar.”

“Good luck, Skylar,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said, turning away.

I felt them watching me from behind the bar as I walked through the pub and back out into the sunlight.





CHAPTER TWENTY

I drove down to the grocery store and bought some bottles of water and a stale sandwich, ate some of my trail mix. I had to throw out my fruit, which had already turned bad in the hot car, making it smell like rotting sweet apples and bananas. I didn’t know what to do now. Where could Crystal be?

I drove around town, looking for her car—even checked at the motel outside town, just in case. I noticed another, more modern gas station with several pumps, and a strip mall with some big-name stores, but no sign of Crystal’s car. I showed her photo at the gas station but no one had seen her.

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