“I don’t want to,” I mutter.

  He doesn’t stop me climbing the stairs to my room. I shut the door and hide under the covers until morning.

  Zack is long gone by the time I come down to breakfast the next morning. I get my own coffee and eat a bowl of cereal while I wait for David to pick me up. He’s fifteen minutes late. “Sorry about that,” he tells me when we get on the road to the beach. “I had a long talk with the parole officer. He said he knew something was up with Javier. He just didn’t know what it was. He says Javier has been acting cagey ever since he quit working for Simone. It seems like Bret wasn’t a very good influence on Javier’s career as a law-abiding citizen.”

  “That’s interesting considering the tale Javier told us about changing jobs being a step up for him,” I reply. “I wonder if Bret had something to do with Javier going off the rails.”

  “If he did, I don’t see how we can prove it,” he counters. “He has an alibi for the time of the murder.”

  “Are you sure about that?” I ask. “Did you check with that buyer to make sure he really can confirm Bret’s story?”

  David’s head whips around. He gapes at me for a second before he remembers to watch the road. “I clean forgot about that.”

  “You forgot to corroborate Bret’s alibi?”

  “I put it completely out of my head. Most times when someone gives you a name and a phone number for the person who can confirm their whereabouts, it’s the truth. Ninety-nine percent of people wouldn’t bother to give you a name and number of a bogus alibi because they know you’re going to check it. That’s why I didn’t remember to do it. I heard ‘alibi’ and let it slip out of my mind.”

  “Maybe he was counting on that. Maybe he thought you wouldn’t check, or maybe he thought the delay would give him time to tell his buyer to make up a story.”

  “Maybe.” He surveys the countryside along the highway. “If he doesn’t have an alibi, that opens another can of worms.”

  “Unless he was telling the truth,” I point out. “He could have been with the buyer like he said in which case we’re stuck with Morton.”

  David pulls into the parking lot in front of the T-Shirt Hub. We can see through the front window from here. Morton works behind his counter serving two customers, a woman and a man.

  We watch Morton hand the man a package and take his credit card. He runs it through the machine and hands back the card and the receipt. The man smiles, waves, and leaves. So far, so good.

  Next comes the woman. She talks to Morton for a minute. Morton goes and checks something in the back near his screen-printing rig. When he speaks to the woman again, his expression changes. They have an exchange, and his features distort into a purple mask of suppressed fury.

  In a few seconds, they both start yelling. They wave their arms in wild gesticulations and their tinny voices float through the plate glass to the parking lot. We can hear them clearly now, but we can’t make out the words.

  “Jeez,” I remark. “Something set him off.”

  In front of our eyes, Morton storms the counter. He leans across it and shakes his fist at the woman. She responds in kind. I can see this turning into a disaster of epic proportions.

  “Do you think you ought to intervene?” I ask David.

  At that moment, Morton barges around the counter yelling bloody murder. He motions toward the door and herds the customer out of the store. She stomps outside still blasting off. Once they get outside, we can hear every word.

  “And don’t come back!” Morton rages. “Don’t ever set foot in my establishment again if you know what’s good for you. I’ll sic the law on you if you do!”

  “Don’t worry!” the woman roars back. “I’ll never grace your store again. I can get everything I need on the internet anyway. Good riddance!”

  She marches off down the street and vanishes.

  “It looks like Mr. Morton Malcolm has a little bit of an anger problem,” David mutters.

  “It looks to me like he’s not as mild-mannered or passive aggressive as Simone thinks,” I add.

  “You’re right.” He takes hold of the ignition key.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m taking you back to town. The stake-out is over.” He starts the motor and drives away.

  “I meant what are you going to do about Morton?”

  He angles onto the highway heading back to town. “I’m going to drop you off at the candy store and bring him in for questioning. He obviously has some issues we don’t know about.”

  “Why can’t I be there when you question him?” I try not to sound as petulant as I feel.

  He shoots me a crooked grin. “Because I only got permission from Zack for you to go on the stake-out. I didn’t get permission for you to sit in on a questioning.”

  “Come on,” I chide. “Don’t use Zack as an excuse.”

  “All right. The truth is I feel guilty about taking you away from the store when Zack and Patty are doing all the work, and I know you feel the same way. You have my word of honor I’ll tell you everything Morton says.”

  My heart sinks. “You’re right. I do feel guilty about it.”

  We ride in silence for a while until he breaks in on my thoughts. “What’s bothering you?”

  “Even if Morton has anger issues,” I venture, “I still don’t believe he killed Christopher. I don’t see that he had any motive to do it, much less opportunity. It would be asking a lot for him to leave his precious store to come to town just for that. His MO says he would keep pecking at Simone trying to wear down her resolve.”

  “If Javier didn’t do it and you don’t suspect Morton,” he asks, “then who’s left?”

  “Bret,” I reply. “You have to follow up with the buyer.”

  “I will. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  He drops me off in front of the candy store. I wave to him from the sidewalk until he passes out of sight. I wish I could sit in on his second interview with Morton, but I have my own business to tend to right now.

  When I turn around, I see another sea of people crammed into the candy store. No way am I getting in that way. I walk around the building to the back alley, but when I put out my hand for the doorknob, a crushing weight hits me in the head and the world goes black.

  12

  I wake up to a stab of sunlight drilling a hole in my skull. I wince and press my hand to my temple before I can bring myself to pry my eyelids apart.

  I find myself staring at a vertical field of gravel. When I manage to haul myself upright, I look around at an empty parking lot. There’s the sign over the barn roof, Woody’s Roadhouse.

  The place looks so different in daylight. No cars line the parking lot. No hedonistic characters lurk around the door. No raucous music floats on the breeze. The building looks more like a barn than ever without the riffraff cluttering up the area.

  The same long-haired, tattooed bouncer leans on the railing, but he doesn’t pay any attention to me or anything else. He appears to be gazing off into the distance.

  I struggle clear my head. What am I doing here? I piece together the events of the morning. The sun is far past the zenith, so it must be afternoon now. Someone hit me over the head behind the candy store. Who would do something like that?

  I drag myself to my feet cradling my splitting cranium. I have got to stop getting hit over the head like this every time I investigate a murder. I won’t have any brain cells left if this keeps up.

  When I get to my feet, I feel a lump in my pocket. My phone. I tug it out. It’s got two bars of reception. Hallelujah. I send David a text. I’m outside Woody’s Roadhouse. I have no idea how I got here. Can you come pick me up? Send.

  He answers in two seconds flat. I’m on my way.

  I take a few steps toward the door in the hope of getting something to drink, but my stomach turns. I feel like I’m going to throw up. I steady myself against the building, but I eventually have to sit down on some empty plastic crates. My vision blurs and my skull feels like it weighs a ton.

  I close my eyes and rest my head against the rough wooden siding. Waves of heat and chill alternate washing through me until someone touches my forehead. “Margaret! Are you all right?”

  I don’t dare open my eyes, but I know that voice. “Thanks for coming.”

  “I was worried sick about you.” David strokes my sweaty cheek. “After I finished questioning Morton, I went to the candy store to tell you about it. Zack said you never returned from the stake-out. I’ve been searching all over town trying to find you.”

  “Here I am.” I do my best to sound cheerful, but I still can’t raise my head.

  “Let’s get you into the car,” he breathes. “I think we should take you to the hospital in Peterborough.”

  “I don’t need a hospital.” I try to pull myself together, but when he helps me to my feet, I almost keel over again.

  “You’ve gotten hit over the head too many times, Margaret,” he informs me. “You need to get checked out to make sure there’s no permanent damage. I’m worried about you.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  To prove my point, I crack my eyes open against the painful light. When I do, I see a familiar stick figure striding across the parking lot. I freeze in my tracks and blink. Am I hallucinating now?

  David moves into my light of sight. “Margaret? Are you feeling light-headed again?”

  “Look, David,” I whisper. “Do you see what I see?”

  He glances over his shoulder and tenses. “Simone! What’s she doing here?”

  We watch her walk up to the bouncer and enter the building. We’re both too stunned by this development to do anything.

  All at once, David snaps out of his trance. “Come on. I’ll help you to the car and then I’m going in there to find out what she’s up to.”

  “No way, Mister,” I fire back. “I’m going with you.”

  “You’re not going anywhere in your condition,” he argues. “You need to sit down. Maybe you need to lie down. You’re not investigating anything right now, young lady.”

  “Don’t you ‘young lady’ me,” I retort. “If you’re going in there, I’m coming.”

  I punctuate my words by yanking my hands out of his grasp and striding toward the entrance as best I can. David follows at my side and we accost the bouncer. “Did you see a tall, thin woman walk in here just now?”

  He nods. “She walked in, but she didn’t come out.”

  “Do you know her?” David asks. “Has she ever been here before?”

  “Never seen her before in my life,” the guy replies. “High-class broads like her don’t come around here.”

  “Right. Come on.” David grabs my hand and we rush inside. The dance floor yawns empty and deserted. Without the party-goers and the band playing, the building is nothing but a big blank box with no Simone in sight.

  David strides up to the bar where the bartender dries glasses with a rag. “Did you see a tall lady come in here just now?”

  The man points to the back where David chased Javier. “She went that way.”

  David and I hurry to the rear corner where another door exits the building. Through it, I can see the loading dock where we apprehended Javier last night. No Simone.

  David pulls his head back inside and scans the roadhouse one more time, but there’s nothing to see. Simone’s not here, and there’s nowhere else she could be. He glances at me, but I can’t help him. She’s gone. She vanished into thin air.

  David’s shoulders slump. “I guess that’s it. I’ll have to take you back to town.”

  “Where could she be?” I ask. “We could check her house.”

  He nods and escorts me back to his car. We motor into West End and stop by the western neighborhood, but of course, Simone’s not at home, either. David and I drive to Main Street in silence until he parks in front of the candy store. My phone reads, 4:45 PM.

  “Where can she be?” I muse. “I’m worried about her.”

  “I’ll keep searching,” he tells me. “I’ll put out an APB to alert the Police that she’s missing.”

  “What if the killer nabbed her?” I don’t want to think about it. “What if he plans to kill her, too?”

  He casts his flinty eyes over the town. “Whoever it is must be getting desperate. First they attacked you. Now they’re after Simone. I’m certain of it.”

  “Why would they do that?” I ask.

  “Because we’re getting close,” he replies. “We’re getting close enough to make him uncomfortable, so he’s likely to do anything.”

  “Do you mean like kill Simone?” I hate saying those words.

  “Why shouldn’t he? He already killed one person. He’ll do anything to throw us off the scent.”

  I shudder. All of a sudden, I don’t want to face the world. I want to go home and go to bed. David is right. I should see a doctor to get my head checked out.

  Before I can say anything, he gets out of the car and opens my door. He takes my hand and lifts me to my feet. He kisses me on the forehead. “Go find Zack and tell him to take you home. I’ll keep looking for Simone. The instant I know something, I’ll let you know.”

  Just then, the café door swings open and Stacy comes out. She bursts into one of her radiant smiles when she sees us together. “You two love birds get a room!” She cackles with laughter, but her mirth evaporates when we don’t join in. “What’s wrong?”

  “Simone is missing,” I tell her. “We’re worried the killer might have kidnapped her.”

  Stacy gasps in horror. “Really? Let me help look for her.”

  “We have no idea where to start,” David tells her, “and Margaret’s in no condition to go anywhere.”

  “Why not?” Stacy studies me and furrows her brow. “You do look like you’re under the weather.”

  At that moment, Zack walks out of the candy store. What a shock, he walks right over to us. “What’s going on? You three look like you’re on your way to a funeral.”

  “We might be,” I mutter.

  “Simone is missing,” Stacy tells him. “We’re just getting ready to go search for her.”

  “We already checked her house,” David chimes in. “That leaves just about every other building in town.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Zack offers.

  “I need you to do something else,” David tells him. “I need you to….”

  I cut him off quick. “No, you don’t. I’m not going to be sent home like a child when the rest of you are out searching. I’ll go with you, David. Zack and Stacy can team up. We can cover more ground that way.”

  David scowls at me. “I refuse to take responsibility for your misguided decisions.”

  “You don’t have to,” I tell him. “I’m an adult. I’ll take responsibility for myself.”

  He snorts, shakes his head, and turns away. “All right. Zack and Stacy, you take the eastern half of town. Margaret and I will canvas the west. Go door to door if you have to. Find out if anyone who saw Simone. She was last seen at four o’clock on the highway heading west, so if anyone saw her after that, make a note of it and we’ll track her movements.”

  “Got it,” Zack shoots back.

  He and Stacy hurry off eastward. David cocks an eyebrow at me. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “I feel responsible for her. If anything happened to her, it’s…..”

  “It’s not your fault,” he interrupts. “You’re an adult responsible for your own actions and so is she. Whatever induced her to go to the roadhouse in the middle of the day, she must have known the risks. She’s lucky you were there to see her go inside. If you hadn’t, we probably wouldn’t have any idea that she was in danger.”

  “How can she just up and vanish like that? That’s what I don’t understand.”

  “The only explanation,” he tells me, “is that whoever induced her to go there in the first place whisked her away in a hurry. Either he kidnapped her or they planned this in advance. No other scenario fits the sequence of events.”

  I don’t like the sound of this. David and I split up and go from one store to the next knocking on doors. We ask everyone we meet if they’ve seen Simone, but no one has. After more than an hour and a half of walking, I’m grateful to sit down in the passenger seat of his car while drives us to the western neighborhood. We check Simone’s house one more time, just to be certain she didn’t come back in the meantime. Then it’s more hiking and knocking and talking to everyone for blocks all around.

  By the time the sun goes down, I’m ready to tip over. I sink into the passenger seat and let my head loll against the seatbelt. What I wouldn’t give to curl up in bed right now.

  Just then, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text flash across the screen. Found her, Mom. Bring the Detective to Simone’s shop right away.

  My head swings up to see David gaping at his phone. Zack must have texted him, too. David crams the device into his pocket and sprints back to the car. He dives behind the wheel. “Did you get that?”

  I nod, too excited to speak. We burn rubber back to town and skid to a stop in front of the antique store. We find Zack and Stacy flanking Simone behind the building, but I would barely recognize her from the stately woman I just saw a few hours ago. Black bruises surround her eyes and discolor her neck. Blood trickles from her nose and one ear.

  She stares at all of us with bleary, bloodshot eyes. “What happened? Where am I?”

  “Sit tight, Simone,” David murmurs. “You’ve been beaten up. I’m calling an ambulance to come and pick you up.”

  “Can you remember anything?” I ask. “You went to Woody’s Roadhouse. What were you doing there?”

  “I got a text,” she quavers. “I didn’t know who it was from. The person said they knew something about Christopher’s murder and to make sure I came alone. I walked in the door and that’s the last thing I remember before I woke up here.”

  “It’s just as well you don’t remember,” David mutters. “Someone really did a number on you.”

  He snaps a few photographs of her injured face with his phone. The four of us do our best to keep her calm until the familiar red and blue flash of ambulance lights reflects down the alley.

 

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