Don't Look for Me(25)

They were back at the inn. Nic reached for the door handle, then stopped.

“You really think she was in Hastings? That she was with someone here the night before the storm, before she left for home?”

Reyes shrugged. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Then, a thought that made her gasp.

“What is it?” Reyes asked.

Nic shook her head slowly, putting the pieces in place. “What if she saw my mother because she was involved in her disappearance? Maybe someone from Hastings is involved as well—with her. It could be anything—maybe they helped her get to Laguna but don’t want to be implicated. Or maybe something else … there’s money at stake even if she’s not found alive—five hundred thousand dollars. And the note—what if it really is a forgery?”

“Okay, stop right there.”

“What if they hurt her?” Nic’s voice started to tremble.

Reyes tried to talk her down, off this ledge.

“Listen—there’s a reason she doesn’t want to come clean about why she was here, but it doesn’t have to be something like that. People lie for all kinds of reasons.”

Reyes placed his hands squarely on her shoulders. “This is about the money. Nothing else. Edith Moore saw your mother and now she wants to play her lottery ticket. Look, we have new leads now—not just the truck, but the taillight and the reason Edith Moore lied.”

“And you’ll follow them?”

Reyes shrugged. “I’ll do my best. The chief, well, I may have some convincing to do there.”

“Then I should stay,” Nic said. “Maybe the second I leave is the second the search for Molly Clarke dies a second death.”

Another shrug. Then, “That’s up to you.”

Nic had planned on staying a day at most, just long enough to meet Edith Moore. But Reyes was right. Now there were new leads.

She turned back to the inn and the diner next to it. Something caught her eye in the side-view mirror.

“You should get going,” she said. “You probably have work to do.”

She reached for the door.

Reyes stopped her long enough to hand her his card.

“I’ll follow up on the taillight. If you think of anything, call me.”

Nic studied the card as the question formed in her head. She didn’t want to say it out loud, but she needed to know.

“Do you think she’s dead?”

“No,” he said. “I don’t. Do you really want to know what I think?”

“Of course.”

“I think she’s somewhere safe trying to get through whatever it is she needs to get through. I’ve seen it before. The stats support it. Her story supports it. The evidence supports it. But I also think we can find her. And I will help you any way I can.”

Reyes reached right into those hollow spaces and filled them up, just a little. A little dose of intoxication.

She waited for him to drive off, taking a few steps toward the diner. When he was gone, she turned and looked across the street.

At the bar.

And the bartender who was opening the door.





9


Day two





Alice watches me from the window as I walk down the driveway. The packed dirt is dry in places from the morning sun, but also littered with potholes that overflow with water from the storm. I scuffle more than walk because the boots slip down when I lift each foot. I make tracks in the dirt. I get stuck in the mud. I move quickly in spite of everything.

The driveway is no longer than a sixth of a mile. I counted the seconds as we drove it last night, the odometer just under thirty miles per hour. I pray I’m right.

The house sits on a sloping hill and when I reach the top and begin to descend, I turn to wave at Alice, to reassure her that I am just out for some air. I see her smile and wave back, and when she finally falls from sight, I take off the boots, holding them against my chest, and start to run.

I run down the driveway until I reach the gate. I pray that he forgot to replace the chain, or that he didn’t feel the need to. I tell myself that I am crazy and that he only locks the gate to protect Alice when she stays here alone. I delude myself just long enough to reach the chains, finding them locked. I pull on them furiously, knowing they won’t release. Knowing it’s futile.

I have to hold it together now. I have to be methodical. Time is precious.

I inspect the gates and the chain and the lock that holds them. I have scissors and a small kitchen knife. The gate is strong and the lock secure. I remind myself that this is the main point of entry. This is the place least likely to be vulnerable.

I look right and left. On both sides, the fence disappears into a dense tree line. I choose right because I remember turning left into the driveway. Somewhere to the right is the way back to town. This is all I have to work with. It’s entirely possible that he drove us in circles and that the town is closer to the left. It is possible we are nowhere near the town. We made so many turns.

Still, I have to decide. I have to move.

I step into the ungroomed woods and am thankful for the boots. I stop long enough to put them back onto my frozen feet. The ground harbors the sharp edges of fallen branches and protruding roots. It is uneven and soaking wet. The water is cold in spite of the sun.