Page 11 of StoryTeller's Tale

Swinging around, his eyes are wide. “You’re not on Facebook?”

“Not fuckin’ likely.”

It’s as if I’ve made a big joke. I don’t understand why. Why would I want to share with the world what I’m doing? I’ve enough dirty laundry to keep to myself. I don’t want anyone up in my business. And as far as what we do, going public is dangerous. “You got a profile?”

He shrugs. “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. You’d be surprised what people brag about. So yeah, being in the business I am, I have.” He glances at me and grins. “A fake profile, of course. Nothing that can be tracked back to me. On there, I’m a twenty-something nerd.”

In practice, he’s a thirty-something person of the same description, but far be it from me to tell him that.

A hefty slap to my back then, “Leave it with me. I’ll see what I can dig up. I’ve got it right, haven’t I? The mighty StoryTeller wants to find this mystery woman and give her her book back.”

Raising my chin, I confirm that’s it. But I smirk. “But not too fast. I haven’t quite finished it yet, and I want to know the ending.”

That seems to amuse him. As Legend walks off chuckling, I re-enter the clubhouse.

I might not spend much time here, but it’s enough so no one’s a stranger to me, nor me to them. I exchange a few tales and share a blunt with Pothead, then take up a brother on his offer of beating my ass at pool. Yeah. Right.

Fuck. It seems Weasel’s far better at potting balls than I remember. I’ve given up trying to regain the contents of my wallet that I’ve lost when Legend reappears. Glad of the excuse not to embarrass myself further, I replace my cue in the stand and step forward when it’s obvious he’s heading for me. It’s then I notice his customary smile is gone, and instead, he approaches me with brows drawn down.

“A word?” he speaks while still a few feet away.

“Sure. What’s up, Bro?”

He waves toward the bar. “I think we need a drink for this.”

A little unnerved by the expression on his face, I follow him over. Shitface, having spied us approaching, is ready to hand us two beers. When Legend asks for whisky chasers, he’s quick to get them.

Picking up his two glasses, Legend leads the way to a table, and again I’m right on his heels. I straddle my chair and place my drinks on the table.

This time it’s him who gets out his smokes. When we’ve lit up, he stares at the glowing tip held between his fingers, then sighs deeply. “Kind of wish you hadn’t asked me about that woman.”

My brows knit. “What have you found out?”

“A shitstorm, Bro.”

Without the faintest idea what he could be talking about, I make a gimme gesture with my hand as I instruct, “Tell me.”

After a raise and dip of his chin, he starts, “I was right. There is a Facebook group for the signing. And shit’s going down on that group right now.”

Confused, I look at him with narrowed eyes. “What kind of fuckin’ shit?”

“Your woman… this Sheri,” he corrects when he interprets my growl. “Well, she visited the signing alone, apparently. She drove down from Austin, but never returned. Her housemate reported her missing when she didn’t get back.”

“What?” That wasn’t what I expected him to say.

Legend nods. “The cops gave it their obligatory twenty-four hours before they even started to look. When they did, they found her car abandoned in a rest stop just outside Houston.”

My eyes crease as I stupidly repeat, “Houston?”

He shrugs. “That’s where her trail disappears.”

“Fuck.” I let his findings sink in for a moment, then observe, “I found the book in New Mexico.”

He gives a slow nod. “Yeah, not exactly on her route from Houston back to her hometown.”

I talk half to myself. “She went off with someone, or she was taken.”

“Latter seems more likely. There are loads of theories circulating, but the long and short of it is, no one has a clue what happened.”

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