Little Girl Gone

2



There were only two ways out of town—either north or south, both on the Pacific Coast Highway. North was the tourist direction, the scenic route. It went past Hearst Castle and then up a long, winding road through Big Sur to Monterey. It was a slow drive with few outlets for a hundred miles or more. The one to the south led to Morro Bay, then over to San Luis Obispo and the 101 Freeway. From there, the whole country opened up.

Logan barely paused at the red light before turning south. It was the only way Tooney’s attacker would have gone. Once on the highway, he jammed the accelerator to the floor, then pulled out his cell phone. But as hard as it was not to, he didn’t call the Sheriff or an ambulance.

“Jesus, Logan. What time is it?” his father asked, sounding half-asleep.

“Get over to Tooney’s café right away,” Logan told him. “Have Barney drive you. He used to be a doctor, right?”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“You’ll need a first aid kit.”

“Logan, what happened?” Whatever sleep had been in Harp’s voice was gone.

Logan hesitated. “Tooney’s had an accident.”

He could hear his father throwing back his covers. “My God. Is it bad?”

“He didn’t think he needed an ambulance.” Logan knew it wasn’t exactly answering the question, but it was the best answer he could give.

“I’ll call Barney…Wait. Aren’t you there?”

“Not any more.”

“Why not? Where are you?”

“Just hurry, Dad,” Logan said, then hung up.

Nearly four minutes passed before he spotted the Lexus’ taillights climbing up the other end of the valley past the tiny town of Harmony. At least he hoped it was the Lexus. It was about the right distance away, and he couldn’t see any other lights further along.

He did his best to close the gap, but the other guy was driving a late model sedan, while Logan was trying to get all he could out of Tooney’s old Bronco. Still, he was able to trim the sedan’s lead to less than a mile by the time the other car disappeared over the lip of the valley.

After that, they entered a stretch of the road that wound through the hills toward the ocean, making it almost impossible for Logan to keep track of the other car. Every once in a while he would catch a glimpse of lights ahead, but that was it.

As the miles passed, night began to finally lose its grip on the land. On most days he would welcome the dawn, but not today. The taillights that had been easy to spot in the darkness were becoming harder and harder to pick out. Then, as the hills on the right fell away to reveal the bay, there were no lights ahead at all. Logan knew the guy still had to be up there somewhere, so he kept going, driving through Morro Bay, then inland to San Luis Obispo.

But not once did he see the Lexus again.

A block from the entrance to the freeway, he reluctantly pulled to the side of the road. There were just too many directions the man could have gone from there.

Logan had lost him.

For several minutes, he sat motionless, feeling the weight of his failure in his chest. He’d done it again. No matter what his intentions had been, he’d failed.

Finally, he put the Bronco back in gear, turned around, and headed for home.

Just as he passed the San Luis Obispo city limits, his cell rang, the display screen simply reading: DAD.

“Where are you?” his father asked.

“SLO, but I’m heading back now.” SLO was local slang for San Luis Obispo.

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’re coming there.”

It wasn’t until that moment that Logan noticed the distinct hum of tires coming from the other end of the line.

“Why?”

“Barney talked Tooney into letting us take him to the hospital.” Cambria was too small for its own hospital. The closest was in SLO. “He’s worried Tooney might have some internal bleeding, and he doesn’t want to take a chance. Me, he says, I only need a few stitches.”

That last part was such a matter-of-fact add-on that Logan almost missed it, but the second it sunk in he hit the brakes and pulled to the side of the road. “What do you mean stitches?”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Over the line, he could hear Barney yell out. “He knocked his head against a storage rack when he tried to help Tooney stand up.”

“Dad! What the hell?”

“What the hell what?”

“What the hell were you doing trying to help him up? You’re eighty years old!”

“I’m not eighty for three more months!”

“Dad!”

“What was I supposed to do? He couldn’t get up on his own.”

Logan rubbed a hand across his eyes. “How many stitches?”

“None yet.”

“I mean, how many does Barney think you’ll need?”

“I have no idea.”

Logan knew there was no use arguing with him. “Which hospital?”