First Girl Gone(20)
“Great! Would you mind taking a look at this picture of her?”
She brought up a photo of Kara on her phone and held it out to him.
He leaned in, wrinkling his nose. The way he kept squeezing his eyes down to slits made Charlie think he needed glasses, which probably didn’t bode well for asking whether he’d seen anyone hanging around in the park on Wednesday.
While he studied the photo, Charlie took a good look at the TV screen behind the counter, displaying the store’s security camera feed. The top two quadrants showed the gas pumps out front. The bottom two were interior shots—one positioned at the far end of the store, the other focused on the cash register. Charlie blinked at her own tiny likeness. Too bad none of the exterior cameras offered an angle wide enough to see the park.
The cashier gave the photo of Kara a thorough examination before shaking his head.
“Nope, sorry. Doesn’t look familiar to me,” he said, handing over her change.
“And you didn’t happen to notice anything unusual that day, did you?”
“Nah. To be honest, every day in here bleeds into the next.”
“OK,” Charlie said, depositing her wallet and the Snickers into her bag. “Thanks, anyway.”
As she walked to the door, Charlie checked the view of the park through the windows of the gas station. Most of the glass was blocked by merchandise—motor oil on one wall and two-liters of Faygo on the other. Even if the guy’s eyesight was fine, he wouldn’t have been able to see Kara from here.
Charlie spent the next few hours canvassing the area around the park, showing Kara’s photo to employees in the other businesses on the block. She hit the copy shop, café, and salon, and then she moved on to houses, rousing retirees and housewives in the hopes they’d seen something. No one remembered seeing Kara in the neighborhood.
Her breath came out in plumes as she walked back to where she’d parked outside of the school. A fresh dusting of snow crunched underfoot.
When she reached her car, she climbed inside and sat in the quiet for a moment. The frustration was starting to build again. She knew she should focus on the positive. It hadn’t been an entirely fruitless morning.
Charlie’s notebook sat open in her lap, and when she looked down, her gaze snapped to the line in her notes where she’d written, “Secret job?” She considered what Maggie had said about her brother being paid off the books. It didn’t surprise her at all—she recalled it being somewhat of an open secret that the bar paid a lot of high school kids under the table. But she didn’t remember anyone being particularly tight-lipped about working there.
Also, dishwashing didn’t pay much, and Kara’s stepsister had said Kara had some scheme to get off the island for good. Charlie couldn’t imagine a minimum-wage job fitting the bill. Maybe a waitressing job, but the Lakeside Tavern served alcohol, which meant the servers had to be eighteen.
Allie chimed in then.
“Maggie said that when she got to the park, and Kara wasn’t there, her first thought was that Kara had gone to buy cigarettes.”
Charlie picked up her meaning right away.
“She would need a fake ID.”
“Exactly.”
Charlie felt a momentary surge of triumph, but it faded just as quickly. It was something, sure. If Kara used the ID to get a waitressing gig at the Lakeside, that might be a reason to be secretive about it. To hide it from her parents.
“It’s wafer-thin,” Charlie said out loud, more to herself than anything, but Allie never passed up an opportunity to butt in.
“I’m afraid it’s all you’ve got.”
The only way to know for sure would be to go to the Lakeside and ask around for herself.
Chapter Twelve
Charlie had hoped to beat the dinner crowd to the Lakeside Tavern, but after taking Frank to and from another chemo treatment, it was early evening by the time she arrived. The sprawling building overlooked Lake St. Clair and the marina, and Charlie admired the way the setting sun turned the lake metallic orange as she approached the door.
The place had started as a small bar, but the owners had built it up over the years, putting in restaurant seating, an area with pool tables and a small stage, and a roof deck with a tiki bar. Charlie visualized Kara working here, sporting the green polo that most of the servers seemed to wear, a tray loaded with giant steins of beer balanced on her palm. She asked herself if it fit, if that picture seemed likely. Maybe.
It was warm inside, and Charlie undid her jacket as she passed a gangly teen wiping a rag over a four-top. The place looked about the same as she remembered it. The walls were dark wood paneling lined with local memorabilia and framed newspaper clippings of notable events chronicling the island’s past. Beside the large, U-shaped bar, there were four pool tables and an old-school jukebox with neon lights aglow. Overall, it had a rustic, homey feel.
Charlie edged closer to the bar and ordered a Negroni. The bartender was young and shockingly tall—over six and a half feet, she’d guess. He probably spent most of his free time getting asking by strangers if he played basketball. Despite his size, his movements as he mixed the drink were fluid, and he was surprisingly gentle about setting her drink on a cocktail napkin and sliding it over to her.
“Can I ask you a quick question?” she asked.