It may have taken me eight months, but I’ve found her. At last.
Well, if what Vincent says is true.
I park a little bit outside of the hamlet and walk in, keeping a sharp lookout as I head down the dusty small road toward the main attraction in town: the diner. I don’t want her to see me. Not yet.
I enter the place and nearly hurl as the smell of old grease invades my nostrils. Not the kind of smell I want to experience at six in the morning.
A few regulars are clustered at the counter. Some of them are still nursing last night’s beer, others are gulping down black coffee. I sit a few stools down, waiting for the waitress to take my order.
She turns around, assaulting my vision with her flame-red hairthat perfectly matches her over-drawn lips and long nails.
“Yeah?” she asks in a gravelly tone that tells me she smokes far too many cigarettes.
I train my eyes toward the plastic nametag pinned to her bosom.Wendy.
The name makes my chest constrict, reminding me of my pet and her favorite story. She once told me she liked to pretend I was the Peter Pan to her Wendy. But it was all a lie, I now realize, as I push away the cruel memory.
“Hi, Wendy,” I say, my cold voice trying to conform to a polite, informal way of speaking that won’t arouse suspicion. “I’ll have a coffee, please.”
She raises an eyebrow, and I see that I probably overshot my mark. The people who frequent the diner appear to be mostly truckers.
“Anything else?” she asks.
“Nope,” I grunt, and her features relax.
“Sure thing. Here you are, hon.”
She takes a pot of coffee and fills up a crusty cup with black, sludgy liquid.
I bristle at the termhon. I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before. But I brush it off, narrowing my eyes at the filthy cup she sets before me.
“Whatcha doin’ in town?” she asks distractedly as she drags a moist rag over the countertop.
This is the opening I’ve been waiting for. I lean in confidentially.
“Looking for someone. Actually, perhaps you can help me.”
“Oh?” She stops cleaning and perks up, clearly interested.
I have a feeling she’s the kind of woman who spends her nights bingingLaw and Order.
“You a cop?” she questions.
My mouth twists into a slight smirk. “Something like that.”
She’s all ears now. She leans her elbows on the counter and stares at me. “Knew you weren’t from around here. You stick out like a sore thumb, hon. So, who’re you hunting for? What’s he like?”
“It’s a she,” I correct her. But she’s right about the hunting part. I definitelyamhunting my pet.
Her eyes widen. “Damn. A criminal chick? What’d she do?”
As she gazes at me, breathless, I realize I’m going to have to give her something. She seems to be one of those people who feeds on gossip. After all, there isn’t much else to do in this three-house town in the middle of nowhere.
“She killed two men,” I state, taking a swig of my coffee and immediately regretting it.
Her mouth hangs open. “Twomen? Ohhh,damn. And you think she’s hidin’ out here?”
“I don’t think. I know.” I choke another gulp of coffee down. “Any girls come to live around here in the past year?”
