And Now She's Gone(68)
“Nothing.”
“Grayson.”
“Just Percocet.”
“Because?”
“I have a bellyache.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t—”
“I’m fine. Let’s go.” She flashed him a smile.
His frown didn’t turn upside down.
She licked her finger and stuck it in his ear.
He laughed and batted her hand.
The drive was not an exotic one—Interstate 10 to Palm Springs had never been the public highway that tantalized you with California poppies, ocean views, charming cottages, or even cows, horses, and sheep. No one ever fell in love on the 10 or said, “Ooh, let’s take the Ten—we have time.” It simply bored you to death with its meth-town Denny’s and Del Tacos, places where colored people dared not pee. Better to risk urinary tract and bladder infections than to pee beneath a Confederate flag next to someone with Aryan Brotherhood tats on his bicep or her stretch-marked boob. Gray and Nick did all their peeing at Indian casinos.
Idyllwild sat in the San Jacinto Mountains, forty-six miles from Palm Springs, five and a half thousand feet above sea level. With no lake around, the town’s main attractions were the pine and cedar forests and the trails cut between them. Little cabins, a diner, and a fake Bigfoot—that’s all there was to see in Idyllwild.
Nick said, “We should come up here this winter. Do some cross-country skiing.”
“Never done that. I’m down for a new adventure.”
“Not that we have to wait until the winter.”
“Don’t we need snow for cross-country skiing?”
“Well, we wouldn’t ski. We’d hike.”
“How about October? After Clarissa’s wedding?”
“I’ll find a cabin.”
They rolled past Tea Christopher’s A-frame. “When you do find a cabin,” Gray said, “just make sure it’s bigger than that.”
Nick cut off the truck’s headlamps. “It looks bigger in the pictures.” He was comparing the internet results with the dollhouse nestled within a grove of cedars.
A black Ford F-10 truck was parked in the driveway.
Gray rolled down the window and sap-smelling night air rolled past her. The soft rustling of treetops was the only sound, and except for the lights glowing in the cabin, the forest was a glistening black. In the cabin, a shadow moved across the room. Violet-colored light from a television joined golden light from the lamps.
“You see that truck, right?” Gray asked.
“Yep.” Nick was already scribbling the license plate number into her notebook. “You bring your laptop?”
Gray’s mouth opened, then popped closed. “Oops.”
Nick sighed. “Run it back in the office.”
Face burning, she said, “The neighbor told me that Isabel left in a black truck.”
“She give you the truck’s plate number?”
“No.”
He offered her the Baby Ruth. “She give you a make and model?”
She took a bite from the candy bar. “No.”
“She—”
“I got it, Nick. I didn’t say this was the truck. I said the lady saw Isabel leave in a truck.”
But Gray knew in her gut—as sick as her gut was—that this truck was that truck.
37
Minutes later, Nick and Gray approached the cabin’s front porch. He carried a knapsack filled with a change of clothes and a waistband filled with Beretta. He wore Buddy Holly glasses and had parted his hair like a Silicon Beach tech nerd, which was closer to the truth than he wanted to believe. Gray carried the bag of snacks Nick had purchased for the drive. She’d tugged on an expensive honey-blonde wig she’d named the “Beyoncé” and had popped in green-colored contact lenses. She nodded after Nick whispered, “Ready?”
He knocked on the door.
A man as big and brown as a grizzly bear answered. Coarse black hair poked out and around his gray wife-beater. He smelled of weed and corn chips, and his scowl meant that he didn’t like that two strangers stood on his porch this close to midnight.
Nick gaped at him. “You’re not Andreas. You must be Eric, then.”
The man’s scowl cut deeper into his pockmarked face. “What the hell are you talking about?” His eyes left Nick’s and smacked into Gray’s.
She faked a startle. “We’re supposed to be Airbnb-ing with you and Dre. We’re the Miyamis. Hi.” She stuck out her hand. “Sorry we got here late—traffic.”
Big Man didn’t take her hand, just glared at her.
“I know, we should’ve been here hours ago.” Nick chuckled, then moved forward to enter the cabin.
“Where you think you going?” Big Man challenged.
“My bad, Eric. We’re just a little tired—”
“I’m not Eric,” Big Man growled, “and I’m not expecting no guests.”
“There must be a misunderstanding,” Nick said.
“Sir,” Gray said, now squeezing her knees together, “mind if I use the restroom? I’ve been holding it—I hate public restrooms. They scare me, actually, and—”
“Let me check.” Nick rustled around in his knapsack. “The reservation’s in here—”