Chapter Twelve

Sunday Afternoon

Vicky drove straight to the diner from Joan’s house. She needed lunch and wi-fi. The midday rush had eased, but several tables were still occupied, including the booth where Vicky had eavesdropped her first time here. She smiled at Volunteer Firefighter Don, who was sitting with a group of men. He grinned, waved, and said something to his table mates, who turned to look at her.

Vicky pretended not to notice. She headed toward a table, nodding to Sam, who again wore jeans, a sleeveless T-shirt, and no makeup. She’d colored her hair even blonder, the spiky tips almost white.

Vicky opened her laptop and got busy searching. Sam poured coffee. “Hi, how are you, Sam? Anything new?”

“No.” Sam gestured toward Don’s table. “The guys there with Don were out all night. No one’s talking about giving up the search, but Rose’s been missing for a week. People are getting pretty discouraged.”

“It seems worse that it happened in front of her house, doesn’t it? With two other people right there.” Presumably. There had to be more to it. “Feels like nowhere is safe.”

“Yeah. So, what can I get you?” Sam clearly wanted to change the subject. No doubt she’d had similar conversations with customers all day, every day. Her cafe was the best place in town to get caught up on whatever was happening.

Vicky was already a regular here. A temporary regular. She ordered tomato soup and half a turkey sandwich with avocado on toasted sourdough, mayo, no mustard.

By the time Sam returned with her order, Vicky’s online search had turned up four local vendors of handcrafted leather goods.

“Looks great,” Vicky said. “Sam, you are absolutely right. There aren’t a lot of scenic attractions here. I might need to focus more on the interesting people. Speaking of which, a couple of days ago, I noticed someone who looked familiar. I’ve been trying to place him. Older guy, tattoos on both arms? Wears a cap?”

“That could be half the guys in the county.”

“Ha. I was hoping he was one of your regulars. He was in that booth.” She pointed with her chin. “Talking with a younger guy who sounded like he’s from Minnesota.”

Sam shrugged, apparently uninterested in discussing other customers. She looked toward the door as Liz Ann, the librarian, entered and made a beeline toward Sam and Vicky.

“Hi, Liz Ann,” said Sam. “Your sandwich order’s almost ready.”

“Great, I’ll just sit a minute. Okay if I join you?” Liz Ann sat without waiting.

“Hi, of course. I was just telling Sam she’s right, it’s hard to find much to write about to appeal to tourists. Though the library is beautiful.”

“Why, thank you, darlin’. It does get a lot of love. What’ve you been up to?”

“I took Pete to get a rental car. He’s gone to Kentucky for a few days.” Vicky mentioned strolling along the levee that morning. Her visit with Joan Beck didn’t come up.

Sam lingered, standing with coffeepot in hand. “Vicky, the search teams said thanks for the food you had sent out to them last night.”

“Oh, good, glad they liked it. And thank you for making it. I’m sure it was delicious.”

Don walked over to stand next to Sam. “Hello, ladies.” He lifted his arm as though to put it around Sam, but at the last minute had enough sense not to. “And what are y’all up to?”

“Just talking.” Vicky didn’t want to encourage him.

“Hello, Don.” Liz Ann shook his hand.

Don launched into a description of the weather and how it was likely to change, then waited until it was clear they weren’t going to invite him to join them. “Well, I best move along. But first, I have a question, Sam. Should Walkers Corner have an apostrophe?”

“Not when I write it.”

“What do you ladies think?”

“It depends,” Vicky and Liz Ann said in unison.

“Walkers? No.” Sam refilled their mugs. “It wasn’t named for someone named Walker. It was a meeting place. For walkers.”

Vicky smiled. “I bet that joke’s been around as long as this place has had the name.”

Don managed to chuckle while glaring at Sam, apparently for stealing his line. He’d probably said it so many times it was considered public property. After he left, saying he had to get back to his table to help plan the search, Liz Ann said, “It does change how you think of the place, though, doesn’t it?”

After Liz Ann left with a tray of sandwiches for the Friends of the Library party, Vicky got to work on her laptop.

****

When Sara Willwood walked in, Vicky immediately recognized her because she’d seen her on television, the distraught aunt of the missing girl.

Plus, Sam greeted her with, “Hi, Sara. Anywhere’s fine.”

Sara glanced around, her eyes sliding slowly past Vicky. She appeared tough, like she could handle herself, and probably others, too. Tall, early thirties. A low-cut red T-shirt and a beat-up tan leather jacket topped worn jeans and boots. Clothes that might have once fit snugly now hung on her lanky frame. Straight hair fell halfway down her back, a shade between light brown and dark blonde. What some people used to call dirty blonde, and maybe still did. That always struck Vicky as mean, and she immediately regretted that the term had even occurred to her.

Sara didn’t appear to respond when Sam poured coffee and squeezed her shoulder.

The circumstances might not be ideal, but Vicky might as well do some poking. No telling when she’d have another chance to talk to one of the witnesses to Rose’s disappearance. Maybe she would say something she hadn’t mentioned to the cops. It was possible. She stood up and approached Sara’s table, slowly so she would notice her coming.

“Hi, excuse me, sorry to interrupt. Do you have just a minute?”

Sara just looked at Vicky. Great, another one who clearly did not want to talk.

“I’m a travel writer, just chatting with people about the area. My name’s Vicky Robeson. Can I ask you a question?”

Up close, Sara’s skin was grayish, her eyes and nose red and runny. “I don’t have a minute.” She clearly had no interest whatsoever in speaking to the bozo in front of her.

Caught in the awkward position of preparing to sit down, Vicki straightened her posture. “Okay, sure, sorry to bother you. I’m sitting right over there if you change your mind. I just have a couple of general questions.”

Sara ignored her.

Don paused by Sara’s table on his way out, but they didn’t speak. Vicky studiously avoided his glance and tapped at her laptop. She took her sweet time finishing her lunch and another cup of coffee. If she tilted her head ever so slightly, she had a straight-on view of Sara, but she made a point of not looking. That seemed like the right strategy when, after several minutes, Sara got up and walked toward Vicky.

But Sara did not appear the least bit friendly. Her jaw clenched and unclenched as she approached. Vicky got the immediate impression Sara really wanted to hit her or do something equally aggressive and pain-inducing. Vicky sighed inside and smiled. “Oh, hi, great, please sit down.”

Sara stood a little too close and too tall for comfort. “You need to mind your own business and leave us alone.”

“Who’s ‘us’?” Vicky made sure she sounded curious, not aggressive or defensive.

Sam materialized with a lifted coffeepot. “Refill?”

Vicky nudged her mug forward. “Yes, please.”

“Is everything all right?” asked Sam.

Sara had to move to make room for the coffee refill. “I mean it. Leave us alone.”

Vicky put out her hand. “Nice meeting you. Let me know if you change your mind and would like to chat.”

Sara spun on her bootheel and left.

Vicky dropped her hand. “Whoa. She’s intense.”

Sam gave Vicky a steady look. “You know she’s the missing girl’s aunt.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“This is a small place. Everyone talks.”

“And I figured she might like to talk to me. Maybe she could use a distraction.” Vicky tried to seem like someone just about anybody would want to have a conversation with.

“You ask a lot of questions.” Sam made the statement calmly, just an observation.

“Yes, it’s one way I do research.”

“Some people don’t believe you’re writing a travel article.” Sam’s face did nothing to clarify the intent of her words.

“Well, that’s a bummer, because it’s true.”

And it was true, though it was also true she was intentionally stirring things up, creating some movement. She was still undecided whether there was anything wrong with doing that for personal reasons. Did the classic journalism rule about avoiding conflict of interest apply if she wasn’t actually working in news?

“Not everyone wants somebody writing about them.” Deadpan Sam was offering either help or a warning.

“It’s always like that. Anyone in particular, besides her? I’d really like to talk with her sister, Rita.”

Sam didn’t answer. She made a graceful pirouette with the coffeepot held high and hip-bumped her way through the door to the kitchen. Damn. Just when they were developing rapport.

When Sam returned, Vicky said, “Sam, can you take a quick break? Just for a minute.” Sam paused, then sat down. Vicky continued. “I know people are hurting. I don’t want to make anything worse, especially not for Rose’s family. Sara made it plenty clear she doesn’t want to talk to me. Okay. But I’d really like to talk with Rita, to offer support. Share some thoughts.”

“About what?”

“See if I can help in some way. Talk about a few things people have told me. See what she thinks. Anyway, will you do me a big favor? I’d rather not just show up. Will you call Rita, and tell her I’d like to meet with her? Please?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Thanks. Do you mind calling her now? I’d like to stop by her place in the morning.”

Sam huffed exasperation but picked up her phone. “You really are a piece of work.”

****

Thump.

What was that? Vicky threw back the covers, sat up, and swung her legs out of bed in one motion. She reached for her phone on her bedside table before realizing she wasn’t home, she was in the RV, and Pete was gone to Kentucky on one of his historical jaunts.

Years of middle-of-the-night newsroom calls had prepared her to wake up with her mind in gear, especially when something newsworthy was imminent or already happening.

But now Vicky could barely shift out of park. She’d hardly slept. She wasn’t used to so many animal noises, and she much preferred her comfortable bed to camping, even camping in a recreational vehicle.

She was rattled. Her heart pounded. She cursed her imagination, which had been her life companion and narrator, a gift and an affliction. She didn’t hear anything now, but something had jump-started her awake. What was it?

Was something moving next to the RV? By now she was at the door to the hallway, holding her still-untested-in-real-life combo flashlight-stun gun. She tiptoed into the main cabin. Everything looked normal. Was she overreacting?

A scuff.

What the heck was that? When she was a kid, she would tell herself stories to explain what she saw. That man’s probably mad because he’s getting divorced. I bet someone threw out a cigarette and started the fire. She must be rich to live in such a big house.

Her imagination sometimes worked overtime. Her mind raced through a list of possibilities, a list built over a lifetime of news stories, thriller novels, and scary movies. She waited in silence.

Someone knocked, three firm raps on the metal door. “It’s Sara Willwood, Rose’s aunt.”

Sara? What’s she doing here? It’s almost three in the morning.

“Vicky?” This time louder. “It’s Sara.”

Vicky leaned over the counter to lift a single slat of the blinds and peer out the window. Sara stood off to the side of the step, hands on hips, shifting from foot to foot. Their last encounter had not ended on a friendly note. Based on Sara’s posture, this one was not likely to, either.

“Vicky?” Another knock, fast and insistent, and a whisper. “Come on, I know you’re in there.”

“What’s up?” Vicky spoke in a normal tone from behind the blinds. Sara’s head whipped toward the window.

“I couldn’t talk to you at the diner, because of who was there.”

Intriguing. “Just a sec.” Vicky opened the door. She used her stun gun to gesture toward the camp chairs under the awning. Sara didn’t move.

“Who are you talking about?” Vicky stayed on the step with one hand on the door handle.

“You don’t know anything.” Sara was taut, her hands balled into fists. She looked hostile and jittery, clenching her jaw between words. “You’re poking at people and getting things stirred up that should be left alone.”

“You seem a little stirred up yourself. But I get it, you must be so stressed and worried, with your little niece gone missing.” Vicky opened the door wider and waved Sara in. “Come on in. We can talk about her. Or anything you like.”

“You idiot. You don’t know what you’re doing. That old guy? Don? You need to watch out for him. I don’t want him seeing me chit-chatty with you. Stay away from me.”

“Wait. You woke me up at three in the morning for that?” Vicky was already talking to Sara’s back. “We should talk. Come in for a minute. Have some tea.”

Sara kept going. Vicky followed her around the RV toward a car parked a couple of spots away.

“Come on, Sara. You didn’t come all the way out here just to tell me to leave you alone. You did that at the diner. Let’s talk. What do you mean about Don? I’ve been wondering about him, too.”

It was true. There was more to the old firefighter than he let on.

“Leave us the hell alone.”

“I’m just curious about a couple of history things. I’m doing research.”

Sara stopped. “What history things?” She scratched her shoulder under her jacket, then abruptly crossed her arms and glared.

Vicky paused. She hadn’t planned this out, but it might be her only chance. “About when the girl was found on the levee a few years ago.”

Sara was clearly jittery-high on something, hopefully nothing that would ramp up any violent tendencies. “What? I just moved here.”

“Right, but you know about it, right? Your sister’s ex—Bill Beck, Junior, right?” Vicky silently thanked Ramblin’ Don and the chatty Wagners for the tidbit. “His family was from here, weren’t they?”

By now Sara’s tightened fists were back on her hips. “How do you know that? Why do you know that?”

“It’s no big deal. I’ve been researching the area.”

“He didn’t live here then, either.”

“Oh, yeah, I know. But he did go to high school here. Before he left for Colorado.”

Sara scowled. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Just happened to remember that. Why’d you say that about Don?”

“He’s the one you should be nosing around. Talk to him. Leave me alone.”

“C’mon, Sara, relax. I want to help. You can talk to me about anything.” Vicky was certain Sara had something to say and she wanted to hear it. “Come inside and let’s talk.”

Sara hesitated. She had an anguished look on her face. “Leave me alone.”

Sara spun away and strode to the car. When she closed her car door, Vicky recognized it as the sound that had awakened her, only louder. She doubted she’d be able to go back to sleep.