And as it turns out, nothing else is needed. The search returns hundreds of hits, most of which seem to be recent articles about her.
Miss Alabama Still Missing
Parents Abandoned by Pageant Queen Daughter
Winnie Grant: Missing Person, or Simply a Quitter?
I click on that last article and give it a read through. What I find leaves me with more questions than answers. Before she left Alabama, she posted online saying she was quitting both pageants and social media, and would return online when she was ready. Her parents have countered this, and claim that they think foul play was involved in her disappearance.
Either way, Winnie’s been lying to me. Her parents arenothappy for her to be here, and things are not, as she put it earlier, “better than fine.” It’s obvious she’s in Star Mountain of her own free will, but why? She seems like she’s on the run from something.
And try as I might, I can’t help but want to get to the bottom of it. I clench my hands into fists, and imagine all of the things she might be afraid of. Maybe she’s running from an ex-boyfriend. Maybe she’s hiding from the law.
I snort and shake my head. I’m letting my imagination get away from me, when the simplest answer is usually it—Winnie just wanted a new life, like so many of us do, and she chose her friend’s home town to make it in. That wouldn’t explain the haunted look on her face, though.
I climb out of my truck and walk towards my parents’ house. Whatever is hounding Winnie is weighing on me, but she’s the least of my problems. I need to find a way to tackle my mom’s medical debt more aggressively. Saving Winnie isn’t my job. It can’t be. Not when I’m needed here.
11
WINNIE
I’m sortingthrough clothing in my room when a frantic knock sounds at the door. I heave myself off the floor and deposit an armful of cashmere sweaters on the bed.
“One sec!” I say as I wade through mounds of clothing. After the conversation with Jonah earlier, I desperately needed something to occupy my mind. I decided that unpacking the rest of my things and organizing my closet was a good idea.
I open the door to Candice, who is holding her phone out to me and has a grim look on her face.
“What is it?” I ask, my heart dropping into my stomach. I know, without even taking the phone, that it’s going to be something involving my parents, or some horrible new article written about me.
“Someone saw you outside of the Neon Horseshoe last night. And they posted photos.”
“No,” I say. “Impossible. How could they have spotted me? When I went outside during Jonah’s set, I was all alone.”
“I’m not sure, maybe you didn’t notice them? Or they were in a car?”
“Oh my God. The car. There was a car parked across the street, but I didn’t think anyone was in it. Fuck.” I feel my heartdrop into my stomach, and then I’m hit by an overwhelming wave of nausea. “I need to sit down.”
I sink to the bedroom floor, which is thankfully carpeted, and Candice sits with me, perching amongst the piles of clothing. She presses the phone into my hands.
“I just think you need to see it for yourself, Win. It’s not as bad as you might think.”
With shaking hands, I turn the phone over and scroll.
Could this be Winnie Grant? Mysterious brunette spotted outside Montana bar.
The photos in question are of my profile, illuminated by light coming from an overhead street lamp. I don’t look exactly like my old self given that my hair is completely different and my makeup is toned down, but I don’t think I’ll be fooling my parents.
“My parents will know this is me. When they see this photo, they’ll know instantly.”
“Do you think they hired someone to track you here?” Candice asks. “Is that who was in the car?”
“I’m not sure, but probably? I assume that they hired a private investigator as soon as I left. I just didn’t think they’d find me so easily. I naïvely thought they wouldn’t remember who you were or where you worked.”
Candice shrugs. “Hey, they may not have. But a P.I. probably figured it out easily. It will be okay, I promise. We’ll figure something out. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She leans in to give me a hug, but accidentally kneels on a pair of high heels as she does. She teeters and then sways and crashes into a pile of dresses, flailing as she goes down.
