Page 20 of Treasured By Them
At least now I know I didn’t imagine being at camp with her. This photo is proof.
I continue through the scrapbook, hoping to find another photo of her. There’s nothing. I mutter a curse under my breath.
Giving up on the scrapbook, I snag my phone and do a search for Britney. More of those images of her smiling face. She died at twenty-one, a couple years younger than I am now. It’s not fucking fair.
I click over to the Wikipedia entry on her disappearance. It’s since been updated with news of the remains, but I’m more interested in the story told by the article.
Under the heading “Search and Investigation,” it goes into how her brother, Brendan Gardner, was under suspicion. This part of her disappearance is coming back to me now. Even though I was young and my parents tried to shelter me from the news, everyone was talking about how her brother was in love with her. It was twisted—allegations of incest, grotesque narratives. The article says he left San Esteban a few months after she disappeared—he left the country as soon as the police gave him the go-ahead. Apparently, many people saw that as “proof” he’d killed her and hidden her body.
I didn’t know exactly what was going on at the time. I was eight. But I do remember thinking Brendan did it. Even when the police shared that he had an alibi for the night she disappeared.
Damn, this is fucked up. I wonder where he is now.
I drop my phone on the bed and pick up my scrapbook again. Looking through a second time tells me nothing, unfortunately. I should probably toss the whole thing. My chest feels tight. I don’t like thinking about any of this shit, so why should I bother? It isn’t going to bring Britney back. Fifteen years have gone by. Whoever killed her is probably in prison for an unrelated offense. Remembering more details now will only hurt me; no good will come of it.
The scrapbook goes back into my dresser and I slam the drawer shut.
Edmund
Gary, the manager of Finch and Fox, orders me a scotch and Troy a water. He slides into the booth across from the two of us. “Glad you’re here, Mr. Layton. Mr. Manchester. As you can see, the restaurant’s doing well. Thriving, even!”
I glance around us at the crowded dining room. The private room was booked, so we’re out in the open tonight. Not how I prefer to do business, but as I don’t have to issue any threats tonight, I can deal.
The option to visit after the kitchen closed was available, but I don’t want to be out that late. I’d rather get home sooner, spend more time with Danica.
And not just to fuck her, either—although fucking her is a transcendent experience. I want to hold her, too. I want to say something amusing and watch her smile. I want to hear her shrieking as Troy lifts her up and tosses her into the pool fully clothed.
And then, yeah, I want to hear her screaming as we fuck her against the side of the pool.
It often comes back around to fucking, but that isn’t the only thing I want to do with her.
“Here are your drinks.” A female server drops off my scotch and Troy’s water. Her blond hair is so light, it reminds me of Danica’s. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Thanks, Kara, but we’re all right.” Gary waves her off. “You have plenty of other tables to take care of. I think table thirty-two is ready for their check.”
Kara nods and hurries away. We get to work as the restaurant slowly empties of its patrons. Gary opens an app on his tablet and proudly shows off the recent strides Finch and Fox has been making. He outlines further plans for improvement. I nod and sip my scotch, wondering how much longer we have to sit here. I want to get home to Danica.
The restaurant is almost empty. The diners are gone, and Kara and a bartender busy themselves with closing tasks. Pretty soon, Kara finishes and gives the bartender a quick hug before leaving through the kitchen.
“I don’t know how you would feel about this,” Gary says, “but if we continue on this trajectory, we could potentially open up a second restaurant, maybe in Fair Heights.”
He goes on about the potential benefits while my eyes glaze over. A shriek from the kitchen interrupts his monologue. I’m almost grateful for the interruption.
Troy jumps to his feet and I follow. The bartender freezes, his gaze locked on the back door through the kitchen. Then he drops the rag he was using and races toward it.
Kara, the server, crouches against the doorway leading to the alley. She covers her face, sobbing. I hate seeing her cry, particularly because she reminds me so much of Danica. Stop feeling so much, Edmund.
“Hey, what is it?” The bartender wraps his arms around her. “What happened?”
Kara shakes her head and sucks in great, huge gasps. “There’s a—there’s a body out there. It’s—it’s horrible.”
8
Edmund
Troy, already alert after the scream, tenses even further.
“I’ll call the police.” Gary reaches for his pocket.
