Page 9 of Dark Roads
“You too.” I relaxed a little. He’d used my nickname, the one he’d given me after watching me ride my dirt bike at the track. Mason might be a retired logger and rumored to have been in a biker gang at one time—he rode a sweet Harley—but he was more like my favorite uncle. Salt-and-pepper hair, a beard streaked gray, and serious brown eyes that made me feel like he was really listening when I talked. When he bought the diner a couple of years ago, he asked Dad to tell him the history of each black-and-white photo on the walls. There was even a shot of the miner’s cabin. I thought it was cool that Mason didn’t rip out all the old décor.
“What’s this?” Mason pointed at the envelope I’d set on the counter.
“My résumé. I don’t have much experience, but I’m a quick learner.”
“I could use a hard worker for the summer.” He picked up the envelope and slid my résumé out. I was about to tell him that I was willing to take any position—dishwasher, cook, waitress—but he’d turned toward the door, his shoulders stiff, the friendly smile gone.
“Afternoon, Officers.”
I snapped my head around. Vaughn had walked in with another cop. Constable Thompson. Younger than Vaughn. Maybe thirty? Tall, with tidy dark hair, clean-shaven, and the only First Nations cop in town. He’d arrived at the beginning of last summer and a lot of people thought it was to ease tension because of the highway, but it just got worse after the lastvictim was discovered. Her mom was First Nations, their family well known and liked. Thompson seemed okay. He’d shown up at a few parties, even the racetrack once or twice, but he didn’t hassle anyone.
I got to my feet. Too late. Vaughn was already coming over while Thompson found a table. Vaughn glanced at the résumé in Mason’s hand.
“Looking for a job?”
“Yeah, but I should get going. Lana needs help.” I grabbed up my wallet, turned to Mason with a polite smile. “My cell number is on my résumé. I can start anytime.”
“Okay, kid. I’ll be in touch.”
“Awesome.” I began to move away, when Vaughn’s hand clamped down on my shoulder.
“It’s a hot day. I’ll give you a lift.”
“I’ve got my bike and—”
“We’ll put it in the back.” He turned to the other cop. “Coffee another time, Thompson?”
“No problem.” The cop gave me a polite smile. Amber was at his table, leaning against the side of the booth, her head dipping toward him as he asked about something on the menu. Mason had moved to the cash register. No one noticed that Vaughn’s hand was still on my shoulder, his thumb pressing against my neck as he guided me toward the front door.
Then I saw her—a girl from my school. Our eyes met. Her name slipped through. Emily. Black hair, pixie cut, lots of dark makeup, a ring in her lip. She’d left school early, something about drug dealing. Her gaze lifted from me to Vaughn, settled on his hand on my neck. Her eyes went blank and her mouth flattened like ice spreading across a lake.
She shifted toward the old couple at her table, hiding her face. I didn’t get a chance to see if Vaughn had noticed; we were already at the door, and he was pushing me through.
Now we were at the truck. He nodded at the passenger door, unlocking it with a remote key. I climbed in and sat stiff in the front seat while he threw my bike into the back.
The girl watched out the window as Vaughn drove away with me.
He hummed along with the radio, his hand loose on the wheel, sunglasses covering his eyes as he guided the truck through town. He wasactingcalm, but the air in the cab felt thick, even with the air-conditioning going full blast. Was he still pissed about picking me up Saturday night? He’d been working the last few days, so I only had to see him at dinner, when Lana was home.
I sat pressed against the door, waiting for another lecture and wondering if this was going to be my whole summer, riding around with Vaughn in his truck. As the minutes passed, I started to relax. Then he switched off the radio.
Vaughn glanced at his phone on the mount, tapped out something with one finger. “We have to make a run out to the lake. Possible squatter near the cabins.”
The lake was twenty minutes out of town. I’d be stuck with him for nearly anhourbefore we got back. “I was going to help Lana with chores.”
“You want to be an outdoor guide, right? Like your dad?”
I frowned. It wasn’t a secret—everyone knew I helped Dad—but I didn’t understand why Vaughn was bringing it up, and I didn’t like that hollow dizzy feeling I got when I remembered me and Dad talking about the future, designing our logo, imagining a website.
“You ever consider becoming a conservation officer? Better money. You’ll go on calls like this, catching poachers, off-season hunters. This will be good experience for you.”
“Lana is expecting me, and—”
“Text her.” He turned his head toward me, dark sunglasses covering his eyes. “Never mind, I’ll do it.” He lifted his phone, pressed the keypad with one hand. I wanted to call him out for breaking the distracted-driving laws, but the less we interacted, the better. The message whooshed. He was driving so fast we were already at the outskirts of town.
“Listen, Hailey. You can’t work at the diner.”
“Why not?”
