Page 46 of Dark Roads
“Tomorrow I’m sitting in on some client meetings.”
“That’s a big step. You deserve it.” Her mom sounded so pleased Beth had to grit her teeth at the twist of shame in her belly. She just needed more time. Then she’d come up with a good explanation. They never had to know about this trip.
Beth reached over to the night table for the prescription bottle resting conveniently next to her graduation photo with Amber. She’d tucked the photo into her visor when she drove from Vancouver. Sisters on a road trip. She covered the speaker of the phone and shook out a pill.
“I should go. I have to order takeout.”
Whispers in the background, something about her working late. Her mother was relaying their conversation. “Your father wants to talk to you.” Silence as the phone was passed over.
“Is there anything you need? The car running okay?”
“It’s fine.” She tucked the pill under her tongue. The car. The stupid fucking car.Well, Dad, it’s actually stuffed with everything I own, but I’m guessing you don’t want to hear that.
“Good. Good.” More whispering in the background.
“Get some rest, honey.” Her mom this time, her voice distant and echoing. They’d put her on speakerphone. “Will we see you in church Sunday?”
“I have to work.”
“We’ll pray for you.”
“Thanks.” Beth hoped she sounded sincere. Or at the very least, sober. “I’ll call you in a few days, okay?” She made a kissing sound and ended the call without saying goodbye.
CHAPTER 18
Beth’s phone alarm pierced her skull, joined in on the party with her thudding headache, the dancing pulse behind her eyes. She rolled into a sitting position on the side of the bed. The coffee maker in the room made coffee that tasted like burned plastic, but she added double packs of sugar and creamers, and downed three cups in a row.
She stumbled to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and scraped her hair into a high ponytail. Makeup—but not too much. Lip gloss, a bit of bronzer, and a sweep of mascara. She wiggled into jeans shorts and a white T-shirt. Breakfast was a protein bar, two Advils, and a final mouthful of cold coffee. Then she grabbed her purse and hurried across the road to the diner.
The cook was prepping for the morning rush and the air smelled of bacon, maple syrup, and sausage. Her stomach growled and she remembered her dismal dinner the night before. On her break she’d order something cheap. She tied her apron around her waist, tucked the order pad into the pocket. Mason came out of the storage room with a package of napkins.
“Morning, Beth.”
She returned the greeting and set up her station. Her hands shook as she reached for the coffeepot. She hoped Mason didn’t notice. He’d given her a chance. She didn’t want to blow it.
They’d been open for about a half hour when two cops walked in, bulky with their bulletproof vests and uniforms. Beth recognized them instantly. Thompson, the clean-cut onewho’d come to the funeral, and theother. Hailey’s uncle. His head swiveled to scan the room, one hand on the radio at the top of his vest. Their gazes met and he gave her a nod.
Thompson stopped to talk to a First Nations family sitting at one of the tables, smiled at the baby, tickled his foot. Vaughn kept walking and slid into a booth. Thompson joined him a moment later. The diner was getting busy, loud male voices filling the air, the clomp of heavy work boots. She grabbed menus and made her way over to the cops.
“Morning, Officers.”
“Beth. Nice to see you again.” Thompson. He didn’t seem surprised that she was at the diner. Word had spread fast. She’d been getting curious stares all week.
He gestured across the table. “This is Sergeant Vaughn.”
The older man gave her an assessing look. “You’re Amber Chevalier’s sister?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Most people around here call me Vaughn.” He held out his hand, she gave it a quick shake, feeling awkward about the formality. “I was sorry to see you left the memorial early.”
All those people, but he’d still noticed her. Why? “It was overwhelming.”
“I’m sure it was. If you have questions, come into the station anytime.”
“Thanks.” But she didn’t see the point. The sympathy in his face didn’t matter. He didn’t have any more answers than they had a year before.
“Is your family here?”
