Vanishing Girls (Detective Josie Quinn #1)(11)

Josie spun in a slow circle, taking in the scene.

“What the hell was she doing out here?” she muttered to herself.

There was nothing remarkable about the clearing at all. It was like a thousand other clearings in the Pennsylvania woods surrounding Denton and its neighboring towns. It wasn’t even necessarily a clearing so much as a slightly larger gap between trees. What had Isabelle been doing this deep in the woods? As Josie picked her way back toward the road, she wondered if the girl had been on the driveway and had run into the woods when she realized she was being pursued. Or perhaps there had been a struggle and she had escaped into the trees.

Josie didn’t have enough information. All she knew was what she could glean from Trinity Payne’s news reports. As far as anyone knew, Isabelle had been home alone when she disappeared. Nothing in her home was disturbed, and her cell phone had been missing.

At the driveway Josie waved a thank you at Noah, who looked considerably relieved to see her go. On the way back to her car, she fingered the wad of tissue holding the acrylic nail and wondered when the chief was going to call her to come back to work.





Chapter Eight





It took two slow circles through downtown Denton for Josie to find the restaurant she was looking for. Sandman’s Bar and Grill. She and Luke had eaten there once; it was one of the first places they had gone publicly. The inside was just as she remembered it—and just as it had appeared in the photo on Dirk Spencer’s fridge. It was dimly lit, with a long bar, its wood lacquered and shiny, taking up one wall. Across from it were two dozen tables for two, some of which had been pushed together for parties of four or more. The walls were red brick adorned with signs for beer that had long since been discontinued. Falstaff, Meister Brau, Rheingold.

It was after lunch but before happy hour, and the place only had a few patrons. Josie limped up to the bar, her leg pulsating steadily with pain in time with the ache in her back. She needed more ibuprofen. The bartender was young, probably just twenty-one, and his attention was riveted to one of the large televisions hanging on the wall behind the bar. It showed Trinity Payne—Josie couldn’t escape the woman—this time in front of the Stop and Go. There was no sound, but the bartender watched with intense concentration. Josie wondered if he was more interested in the shooting or Trinity.

The sound of her dragging her stool closer to the bar drew his attention. He gave her a fake, practiced smile and asked what he could get her. She was going to say nothing, but the pain in her body was getting so bad a shot of something sounded perfect right about then. “Two shots of Wild Turkey,” she said.

He looked behind her and then toward the door.

She smiled tightly. “They’re both for me. It’s been a long day.”

His smile faltered for a moment but he recovered quickly. “No problem.”

She waited until he had returned with the shot glasses and liquor before she asked, “Do you guys have anyone working here named Ramona? A waitress?”

There was no recognition. His pasted-on smile gave way to genuine confusion. “No one by that name,” he said. “What’s she look like?”

Josie pulled out her cell phone, located the photo she’d taken of Dirk Spencer and his ex-girlfriend, zoomed in on the woman and showed him.

“Oh, that’s Solange,” he said easily. “She’s on tonight. Should be here in about a half hour if you want to wait. I can—” he stopped speaking abruptly, as if just realizing that maybe he shouldn’t be giving out so much information without knowing who Josie was or what she wanted.

“Don’t worry. I’m a police officer,” Josie offered. “But that’s not really why I’m here. I’m off duty. She’s not in any trouble, I just need to talk to her about something.”

He looked doubtful, and she prayed he wouldn’t ask for her credentials. After a moment he shrugged and said, “Okay. Can I get you anything else?”

She smiled. “Just a soda.”

As promised, Solange arrived about twenty minutes later, following the bartender from the back and looking concerned. When she saw Josie, she smiled awkwardly. Her hands fidgeted with her green apron as she tied it around her waist. She came around the bar and offered her hand. “Hey, aren’t you the lady cop that was on the news—”

“Detective Josie Quinn, yes. I’m not working right now.”

“You’re suspended.”

“Yes.”

Solange’s face had closed off, her lips pressed into a straight line. “What is this about?”

“Do you know anyone named Ramona?”

No flicker of recognition at all. Solange’s expression didn’t change. “No.”

Josie sighed. “This morning there was a shooting on the interstate that ended when an Escalade crashed into the Stop and Go.”

Solange crossed her arms over her chest. “I saw it on the news. What’s it got to do with me?”

“No one from the police department has been by to speak with you yet?” Josie asked.

“No, why?”

“Dirk Spencer was a passenger in the Escalade,” Josie said.

Solange’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. Stumbling backward, she found a stool and half-sat, half-leaned on it. “Oh my God,” she said. “Is he—is he…?”