Since She Went Away(90)

“What are you doing here?” Jenna asked. “Why do you keep writing me and saying those things about Celia?”

He blinked a couple of times. “Because I’m like anyone else on those boards. I want to help.”

“If you want to help, go to the police. If you know something, call the tip line.”

Rick looked wounded, as if she’d reached out with the keys and poked him in his soft belly. “Do you think they listen to a guy like me? Hundreds of people, maybe thousands, call those tip lines. Some of them are nuts. They don’t get taken seriously. And I live in northern Indiana, a few hundred miles away from here. I can’t just talk in person to the detective investigating the case. Naomi Poole, right?”

“She’s here in town. And now so are you. Go talk to her. Go right to the station. They’re open twenty-four hours, I hear.”

He lifted his hands, as though he were surrendering. “I wanted to talk to you first. You know Celia better than anyone. I want your opinion before I go to the police.” He lowered his hands and sounded resigned. “I wanted to show you something. It’s something you’re going to want to see.”

Jenna wavered. She looked to the house where Jared was still peeking out through the front window. It would be so easy just to dash inside and call the police, have Rick taken away, off her lawn and out of her life.

But what if he really did know something? What if he was one of those amateur online sleuths who managed to piece something together? Could she stand to turn him away?

“Where’s your car?” she asked.

He nodded toward the street. A dark-colored Prius sat at the curb. In the glow of the streetlight, she saw the Indiana plate.

“Did you come here through downtown?” she asked.

“Yes. On Highway Fifty-nine.”

“Go back the way you came.”

“Wait a minute—”

“Downtown there’s a place called Webb’s Diner. It’s also open twenty-four hours. Go there. Get a table. It’s usually fairly crowded . . . and it’s a block from the police station. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

He smiled, his teeth straight and white. “Okay. Do you want me to order you something?”

“No. Just go.”

He nodded and started off across the lawn. Before he crossed the street to his car, he turned back. “You really are going to want to see this. It’s a picture. I think I found her.”

Jenna watched him go and then she entered the house.

Jared waited for her in the living room, his phone in his hand. “Should I call the police?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“Where’s he going? Are you just letting him get away?”

“Relax,” Jenna said. She kept her coat on. “I’m going to meet him at Webb’s.”

“What for?” Jared asked.

“He claims he has information about Celia. And before you tell me the cops should be involved, I know. I’ve already covered this with him, okay?” She came forward and placed her hands on his upper arms. “You need to trust me on this one. I’m not going to endanger myself. We’re going to be right by the police station, in a public place.”

“Let me go with you.”

“No. Stay here.”

“Mom—”

“No. Stay here. I’m going to text you every fifteen minutes. If I miss one, call the cops. Okay? I need to know what he knows. He says he knows where Celia is.”

Jared’s mouth opened a little. “Do you believe him?”

Jenna hugged him, pulling him close. When she let him go, she looked him right in the eye. “I desperately want to. Don’t you?”





CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE


Jenna walked into Webb’s, a greasy spoon that had been serving the residents of Hawks Mill since shortly after World War II. Several different families had owned the place, and Jenna remembered going there as a kid, her dad buying her a milk shake and a plate of french fries. She and Celia went there after school for hamburgers at least once a month, and Jenna had never imagined that the smell of fried food and coffee could summon so much nostalgia. The smells and the nostalgia washed over her in waves.

Rick smiled at her from a booth near the back. He faced the door, his lopsided grin almost sliding off one side of his face. The diner was about a quarter full, a mix of high school kids and families and elderly couples just marking time. Jenna walked through them to the back and sat down across from Rick.

“I ordered coffee and a sandwich,” he said. “Do you want something?”

“No.”

“My treat.”

“What do you have to show me?” Jenna asked.

Rick looked hurt, but he recovered quickly. “Can I just shake your hand?”

“Come again?”

“I’d like to shake your hand.” He held his out over the table, his sleeve just above the ceramic mug of coffee.

“Why do you want to do that?” Jenna asked.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he said. He took his hand down when he saw Jenna wasn’t going to shake. Again hurt passed across his face, and again it left quickly. “You see, I live in a little town up in Indiana. It’s called Leesburg. Nothing really ever happens there. My dad farmed, but I worked in a factory. I’m retired now.”