Page 48

FORTY-SEVEN

There wasn’t enough ibuprofen on the planet to stop the throbbing inside Josie’s sinus cavities. The Big Cry had made room in her brain for a more clinical approach to Noah’s abduction and the potential link to Lila’s past, but the pain it left in its wake was hard to think clearly through. In addition, her face was puffy and her eyes bloodshot. More reasons she detested crying. When she entered Gretchen’s living room at eight thirty in the morning she found Shannon, Christian, Patrick, Theo, and Laura gathered around the coffee table, dividing up the flyers Paula had made.

Laura took one look at her and said, “Getting drunk is not going to help bring my brother back.”

Josie hadn’t touched a drink in years.

In that moment, she desperately wanted a bottle of Wild Turkey. Not to drink but to bean Laura over the head with. She would have done it, too. There was no doubt, given the way the rage deep inside her woke screaming. A veritable war cry.

But Josie didn’t need a bottle.

Shannon saw red, lunging straight over the table for Laura, fists flying. Hundreds of flyers featuring Noah’s smiling face danced through the air, scattering. Shannon moved with impressive speed, but Christian and Patrick were faster, scurrying over the surface of the table and hauling her away before she made contact with Laura’s shocked face.

“Say one more word about my daughter,” Shannon snarled, fighting against the hold of her son and husband. “One more word! You will not like the consequences!”

Theo clamped his hands over Laura’s shoulders and dragged her toward the kitchen. “That’s enough. You need to stop!” he told her. “You’re making everything worse.”

“Shan, calm down,” Christian said.

“Let’s get some air, Mom,” Patrick suggested, turning her toward the front door.

It was only then that Josie noticed Trinity standing beside her. “Huh,” her sister said. “Looks like you got your temper from Mom. Who would have thought?”

Josie pressed her fingers into her aching forehead. “I need to get the hell out of here.”

“At least poor Trout didn’t have to see that,” Trinity said, jangling keys in Josie’s face. “I’ll text Paula to let her know what just went down and to apologize for the fact that we won’t be here to manage the aftermath.”

Josie snatched the keys and fled through the front door. The cool morning air calmed her nerves but did little to soothe her headache. Her parents and brother were at the far end of the porch, oblivious to Josie’s presence. Shannon paced between Christian and Patrick, her movements stiff and jerky.

“Shan,” Christian said. “You can’t lose your cool like that.”

Josie’s mother shoved at Christian’s chest, her normally sweet face contorted with rage. “I will defend my daughter in any way I see fit!”

“Mom,” Patrick said weakly.

When Shannon turned on him, he jumped back, as if worried she might push him too.

“Josie won’t engage with Laura out of respect for Noah,” Shannon said. “Because she’s a better person than that bitch, but I don’t have to stand by and listen to her insult my child. I won’t!”

Stunned by the ferocity of Shannon’s response to the situation, Josie felt new emotions flood into the place the Big Cry had left vacant. These ones weren’t so bad. Warmth. Gratitude. It reminded her of the way her grandmother, Lisette, had been—ruthless in her pursuit to protect Josie from any threats.

There had only ever been one threat. Lila.

Before her parents or brother noticed her, Josie jogged down the steps and toward the street, sliding into the driver’s seat of her SUV to wait for Trinity.

Twenty minutes later, they were on the road, headed to Williamsport to find Alec Slater.

Once they arrived, it took an hour to track him down. The address Trinity had found was an old one that led them to a beautiful four-bedroom house in the northern, wooded part of the city where he’d lived with his wife and daughter before he was charged with embezzlement. A neighbor delighted in telling them all about Slater’s fall from grace. How his wife had left him and moved on with a college professor. How Slater had somehow gotten nothing from the sale of their massive, fancy home—“wife took him to the cleaners, as she should”—and how he’d had to move into a small apartment in a part of town where all the criminals lived. That area was actually not a criminal hotbed at all, nor was it a place that disgraced ex-cons went to die alone, but Josie saw the point the neighbor had been trying to make.

The embezzlement scheme had resulted in a serious downgrade in Alec Slater’s quality of life.

Luckily, Slater’s landlord directed them to his current place of employment. Another serious downgrade.

A small, dilapidated building housed the eatery called Burgers. A creative name if Josie ever heard one.

It sat alone on a weed-strewn, cracked asphalt lot on the outskirts of Williamsport, miles from other establishments. A flat roof extended from the rectangular building, sagging over what looked like the remains of an old gas pump. Various paint colors vied for dominance on both the structure and the overhang. Only the neon Burgers sign seemed fairly new, and by new, Josie was thinking the late seventies.

“Are you sure this place is a real place?” Trinity asked as Josie parked along the edge of the lot.

There were three other vehicles, one parked right near the front door. “Looks like people are here.”

Josie needed to talk to Alec Slater. She needed him to give her something she could use. The clues to Lila’s past were dwindling rapidly—he was potentially the only one left—and she’d been shut out of every other investigation that might lead to Noah.

It still felt like she was racing against a clock.

Sixty-three hours.

It was less than three days, but it felt like an eternity.

“Let’s do this then.” Trinity’s voice jarred Josie back to their present location. Her sister stepped out of the SUV, arching her back and stretching her arms overhead. Her nose wrinkled. “Are you sure the other people here aren’t dead? This looks like a place unsuspecting motorists go to get murdered.”

The smell of overused fry oil and burger grease hung so heavy in the air, Josie was afraid her clothes would be coated with it in a matter of minutes. Trudging toward the building, she muttered, “We’re not getting murdered today. No time for that.”

A bell jingled overhead when they entered the restaurant—or whatever Burgers was considered. The odor of grease and oil was even more overpowering inside. A few booths lined one wall, their vinyl seats cracked and mended with duct tape that peeled at the edges. A cleaner, newer-looking set of stools lined a countertop across from the booths. Behind that stood a dark-haired woman who could have been twenty-five or forty-five. She was dressed in all black, scrolling on her phone. As they approached, she nodded to the menu hanging on the wall behind her. This was perhaps the most modern accoutrement in the entire place, its glowing, clean white background peppered with an assortment of offerings. A dozen types of burgers, French fries, and for some reason Josie couldn’t wrap her mind around, lobster roll.

“Can I get you?” the woman asked, the first part of her question lost to distraction or maybe the chewing tobacco tucked inside her lower left cheek.

“We’re looking for Alec Slater,” said Trinity.

“Round back. Tell him his break’s almost over.”

“Sure,” said Josie. “We’ll let him know the lunch rush is in full swing.”

No reaction.

Trinity added, “After we rob him at gunpoint and steal his car.”

Nothing.

Josie was relieved to be back out in the slightly less oily air. Trinity shook her head as they trudged around to the rear of the building. “Do you think if we ordered the lobster roll, she’d just give us a burger? Like the menu is just a list of gentle suggestions but you get what you get because…Burgers?”

Despite the circumstances weighing heavily on Josie’s soul, she laughed. She’d never been so grateful for her sister’s company as she was now.

As they rounded the back of the building, an old, faded wooden picnic table came into view. Alec Slater sat on top, his booted feet resting on one of the benches. He pinched a cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, puffing away while using his other hand to hold a cell phone against his ear. They’d managed to find a few photos of him at the time of his sentencing. Back then, he’d been clean-shaven with fastidiously cut and styled blond hair. In every picture a neatly pressed suit hugged his slender, muscular frame. He’d looked younger than his thirty-nine years. Josie didn’t recognize the man before them at all.

A glance at Trinity told her that her sister was wondering the same thing: had they gotten the wrong Alec Slater?

A small, red paper hat sat on top of a messy, unkempt tangle of gray hair. An uneven gray beard covered his pudgy face but did nothing to hide the ruddiness in his complexion. If Josie had to guess, she’d say that Alec Slater drank a lot. Rolls of excess flesh strained against his stained white T-shirt. His stomach hung over the waist of his faded jeans.

As they drew closer, they could hear his side of the phone conversation. “You’re kidding me, right? That phone cost almost a thousand dollars. I’m not—I’m not—Jesus, just listen, would you? I don’t care about the phone, okay? Just tell me where you are.”

Silence as he listened to the person on the other end.

“Because what if you get kidnapped and I have to tell the police the last place you were! I haven’t heard from you in almost two weeks. Your mother is breathing down my neck. You know how she gets…What? What the hell are you doing down there?”

He rolled his eyes as he listened. “What kind of friends are these exactly, making you stay where? Sounds like a sex trafficking den. Just great. Uh-huh, uh-huh. How much money do you need? Okay, okay. I’ll see what I can do. Stay the hell in touch, okay?”

He hung up, muttering something under his breath. Josie caught part of it, wondering if she’d heard him correctly.

“Alec Slater?” Trinity said.

He looked over at them, blinking through the cigarette smoke that poured from his nostrils. “Fucking lawyers. Stop bothering me at my job, would you? I know you have my home address. You want to harass me? Do it there. I gotta get back to work but you know what? Since you’re already here, you can remind my bitch of an ex-wife that you can’t get blood from a stone.”