Page 47 of Dark Roads
She hesitated. “No.”
He glanced at Thompson, who was watching the conversation with a neutral half smile. She wondered if cops practiced them in the mirror. Or maybe he was just waiting for his coffee.
“You’re not returning to Vancouver?”
How was he making these simple questions sound like an interrogation? She was beginning to feel guilty for justbeinghere. No wonder Amber had called him controlling.
“My sister always talked about how beautiful this area was.” She forced her face into a cheerful smile. “I’ll get you some coffees.”
For the rest of the time they were in the diner, she stayed on the move, which wasn’t hard with the morning rush. When she took their orders, she jotted everything down, grabbed their menus, and kept their coffees full, but she never lingered, never gave Vaughn a chance to ask anything else.
Toward the end of the cops’ meal, a group of guys came in and sat at the counter. They had the local look, T-shirts, jeans, baseball caps with hair winging out, or a tightly shaved head. Judging by their slow steps and haggard faces, she guessed they’d probably woken up hungover. Welcome to the club. She’d bring them a carafe of coffee and glasses of water as soon as she could.
She was walking past them, carrying a tray for another table, when one of them turned and glanced at her. Brown hair under a red ball cap, blue eyes, good-looking in a farm-boy kind of way. White shirt, tanned, muscled arms. She could almost smell the hay and fresh air on him.
Her foot caught on the edge of a stool and she lurched to the side. The tray dipped, plates sliding to the edge. She tried helplessly to right it, but he was quicker. He reached up and balanced it for her, his fingers beside hers beneath the flat of the tray. Their eyes met, and they paused, both still holding the tray. A thud, the sharp ting of cutlery, like someone behind them had set a cup down too hard. He looked across the diner and his mouth twisted in a grimace.
She followed his gaze. Vaughn was staring at him—his faceflat and cold. Farm boy let go of the tray and got to his feet. He was tall, their bodies so close she had to tilt her head to look up at him. He met her gaze, his eyes hooded and his jaw shadowed. She stepped back. He grabbed his keys off the counter, said something to one of his friends, gave Beth another look with those baby blues, and pushed open the door. She continued on to the table waiting for their food.
Seconds later there was the noise of tires squealing, and an older-style silver truck tore out of the parking lot, exhaust billowing from behind. She turned to see if Vaughn would go after him, but he was drinking his coffee and talking to Thompson like nothing had happened.
The rush cleared out, and Thompson and Vaughn had left an hour earlier, leaving a healthy tip on the table. Mason was putting away glasses while Beth refilled ketchup bottles beside him.
“There was a guy who came in with some friends this morning. When he saw the cops, he split. He wasn’t even here for two minutes.”
“Jonny,” he said.
The same Jonny whom Amber had mentioned? Hailey’s best friend.I’ve been talking to Jonny a lot since she ran away. We’re helping each other through it.
“Is he in some kind of trouble?”
“Hailey was sneaking out to party with him at the lake when she disappeared.” He let out a sigh, gave a shake of his head. “That girl burned bright, a real free spirit, you know? Like your sister. This morning, when I saw you over there, I remembered Hailey and Amber standing in the same place last summer.” He pointed to the end of the counter. “I could see them clear as day, then I blinked and they were both gone.” He looked backat Beth. “Sorry, kid. You have your own memories to deal with. You don’t need to hear more from this old man.”
Mason moved off to help a woman standing by the cash register. Beth stared at the end of the counter, the empty stools. For a moment she could see the girls too, their shimmering shapes frozen in the molecules of the air, but then, just like Mason said, they were gone.
By the end of the week, Beth was being driven mad by the stagnant heat in her motel room, the constant murmur of other guests’ voices through the thin walls, toilets flushing, and the loud click of the ancient TV remote as she searched for a movie to watch. There had to be something happening on a Friday night. She put on a short sundress, lipstick, and walked across the street.
The pub was around the corner from the diner, a narrow building with dirty windows. Cigarette butts littered the sidewalk outside, and when she pushed open the door, her nose was assaulted with the smell of sour beer. Dark and seedy. Perfect.
She sat at the bar, ignored a group of men playing pool. One of them eyed her until it was his turn to take a shot. When the bartender came over—a gray-haired man who looked like he should be in a rocking chair somewhere, not slinging drinks—she ordered a glass of red wine and slid her ID across the bar. He barely looked at it before he slid it back.
The wine was dry and tasted like it might have been made in a bucket, but one glass turned into two as she scrolled her phone and watched a baseball game on the TV. She’d missed dinner and the drinks hit hard. She staggered down the hall to the women’s washroom, kicked the door closed behind her, almost losing her balance in the process. She tried to read allthe quotes and names carved into the back of the metal door, wondered about their lives.
Before going back to the bar, she ran water over her wrists, held her cool hands against her cheeks, and fluffed her hair. Another coating of lipstick. For whom? No one, but she liked the routine. The normalcy of these small moments, even if it did take her two times to get it right.
The man who’d stared at her while he was playing pool slid onto the seat next to her.Where you from, sweetie? Need some company?She ignored him until he muttered,Bitch, under his breath and left with the other guys. The bar was empty. So was her glass. She peered into the bottom.
“Now, where didyougo?”
She slumped over the bar, rested her forehead against the warm bare skin of her arm.
“Hey, are you falling asleep?”
She looked up. Vaughn, dressed in a blue shirt, dark jeans. She squinted at him.
“I’m of age.”
“I know.” He sat on the stool beside her, motioned for the bartender, and ordered a beer. When he turned, his knee bumped hers. She shifted away. “You all right? This is a rough place.”
