Page 67 of The Smart Killer
Between the time it took him to get a coffee from the vending machine and return, Mia was gone.
“Where’s Mia?” he asked casually.
“I think she said she was going home,” Gretchen said, glancing away.
Noah slumped into a chair, his thoughts too full of worry and preoccupied with Ethan to even give a second thought to Mia. He was glad Hugh was there and not holed up at home.
At seventeen,Mia had already tasted a small amount of independence. She’d successfully obtained her driver’s licenseand, with the help of her grandfather, scooped up a 2014 faded yellow VW Beetle. It was old, but it was paid in full and hers.
No one could put a value on that.
The newfound freedom had been a lifeline at a time when she’d had to rely on her father for rides and found herself suffocated by evenings at Gretchen’s.
When she was younger, she didn’t mind, but with her mother dead and her father working all manner of ungodly hours, there was no way she was going to settle.
The VW had been her ticket out, and right now, it was delivering.
As she left the medical center behind in her rearview mirror, heading back to High Peaks, anger roiled inside her. She couldn’t just sit there for hours and do nothing. While her father wanted to keep her out of harm’s way and treated her like she wasn’t old enough to understand, she knew better. It didn’t take rocket science to connect the dots. The call from her uncle Ray, the focus on Big G’s bowling alley, and Ethan asking her to cover for him while he hung out with Richy Davis. She’d never liked the kid. He was a troublemaker who only hung around Ethan because he had money. Much like her, Ethan had worked for it — a paper route he did in the mornings. A job that their mother had got him through her career with theAdirondack Daily Enterprise.
Still, if anyone knew what had happened to him, it was Richy.
With the night draped over High Peaks, casting a shadowy veil across the town, its streets were illuminated by the occasional flickering streetlamp. As Mia pulled her VW Beetle into the parking lot of Big G’s bowling alley, the neon sign outside stuttered, casting a vibrant, eerie glow on the pavement below.
A group of teens lingered near their cars, their silhouettes dancing beneath the neon lights. As she drove around, lookingfor a place to park, the air filtering through her vents was acrid with the scent of cigarette smoke, intermingled with the distant aroma of fried food from a nearby fast-food joint. Laughter and chatter filled the night, creating a backdrop of teenage revelry.
Mia stepped out of the car, her footsteps echoing in the space between vehicles. The summer warmth wrapped around her, the gentle breeze carrying the scene of pine trees from the nearby forest. Determination was etched on her face as she approached a group of teens, her eyes scanning each face. “You seen Richy Davis?” she asked.
A girl from the group, her eyes glazed from the night’s indulgence, pointed lazily toward the bowling alley entrance. “I saw him inside,” she slurred, her words punctuated by a hiccup.
Mia offered a curt nod and made her way towards the entrance.
Inside, she was enveloped by a cacophony of sound. The clattering of bowling pins, the electronic beeps and bloops from arcade games, and the low rumble of conversation merged into a vibrant symphony of nightlife. The air was tinged by the aroma of freshly baked pizza, the sharp tang of spilled beer, and the lingering scent of cigarettes from those who had come in from smoking outside.
She scanned the faces in the dimly lit room, her eyes searching for the familiar features of Richy Davis. Amidst the crowd, she spotted him, engrossed in a video game, near the arcade area. Richy was a lanky boy with unruly hair, his clothes slightly disheveled as if he had hurriedly put himself together. Purpose fueled Mia’s steps as she headed toward him, her frustration bubbling to the surface.
She gave him a light shove.
“What the fuck? You made me lose the game,” Richy protested, eyes wide with annoyance.
Mia’s eyes bore into him, her anger barely contained. “I need to talk to you.”
“Another time. I’m busy,” he said, turning back toward the machine and slotting in another token.
“It’s about Ethan.”
“Haven’t seen him.”
“That’s because he’s in the hospital.”
Richy stopped and glanced at her. “And?”
“I know you know.”
He glanced off toward the bar where Zeke was serving adults and teens. “Follow me,” Richy said, walking out the main doors into the night.
Richy’s words carried weight in the darkness around the corner of the bowling alley. His desperation was palpable as he blurted out his innocence, his eyes darting nervously in the dim light. “Look, I had nothing to do with it,” he protested, his voice shaky. “And I could get in trouble just for speaking to you.”
Mia studied his face, searching for any sign of deceit. His eyes, wide with fear, seemed genuine, his words laced with panic. “What happened?” she pressed, her voice low and intense.
