“Nice to meet you all. I’m Claire,” said Cara.
She found it ironic that brunch, which she’d always thought of as a Millennial phenomenon she just couldn’t get into, had provided her most important moments of on-the-lam camaraderie—first with Sanjay and Devin, then with Fisk, and now at this safehouse deep in the San Fernando Valley where she was about to sit down with transients, hippies, and ex-cons.
In other words, her peeps.
“I can finish setting the table,” Cara offered, having spotted placemats and napkins on the beige Formica counter.
When Deb opened a cabinet and reached for a stack of paper plates, Willow reached over and pushed it shut. “No paper today. We’re using the real stuff.”
“Gotcha,” the unnamed woman said, opening a different cabinet with mismatched plates inside and handing them to Cara.
Willow counted out the silverware and handed it to her.
The whole thing felt downright civilized, like a bed and breakfast for the downtrodden.
When everyone was seated, Willow reached out to Cara and Lucas. Everyone joined hands as she lowered her head and intoned, “For the meal we are about to eat, for those that made it possible, and for those with whom we are about to share it, we are thankful.”
“That’s beautiful,” Cara said.
“It’s a humanist benediction. Don’t want to offend anyone’s beliefs or lack thereof.”
“Fruit?” Lucas asked, offering a large bowl filled with berries and melon slices.
As he spooned a portion for her, Cara speared two pancakes and put them on her plate. A bottle of syrup suddenly appeared over her right shoulder.
“Get your hands off that!” Willow grabbed it from the tall, skinny man who’d just appeared in the kitchen and carried the syrup with him to the table. “You know the rules, Joey. You don’t pay in advance, you don’t eat.”
“Aw, c’mon, Willow. Can’t I just?—?”
“Chill out in the living room? Go ahead. You can pay to eat the leftovers, if there are any.”
“Gotta use the can,” said Joey, who definitely looked like he needed a meal or three, as he shuffled disconsolately toward the bathroom.
Willow looked embarrassed. “Joey thinks he can pretend he paid me when there’s someone new around here and I won’t say anything. But rules are rules.”
Around the table, people nodded somewhat sheepishly and began to eat.
“These pancakes are delicious,” said Cara, hoping to change the subject.
“Willow used my secret recipe for doctoring up the old Krusteaz,” Anthony said. “I also do mean slice-and-bake cookies. Maybe I’ll make some tonight. You’ll be here, right?”
“I don’t know yet.” After the information Dylan had provided, Cara knew she had a very long and risky day ahead of her. But it was comforting to know she had a place to rest her head if the plan she was making fell apart.
“You really have to try them,” Anna said.
“Somewhere you have to be?” Zeke asked from beside the toaster, where he awaited a slice of browning bread. “Because before you came in, some of us were talking about doing a beach day.”
Cara tried not to giggle at the thought of a safe house field trip. “Really?”
“I have a van,” Willow said. “If you need a ride anywhere, I’d be happy to drop you off, assuming it’s not too far out of the way.”
“It’s tough out there, so we all stick together,” Deb said with a dimpled smile.
They were all so friendly and convivial—with the notable exception of Joey—it was disconcerting. Was this a cult? And if so, did Fisk and Rae know? Rae’s comment about Southern California could have been a hint.
The answer revealed itself a moment later, when Deb jumped up to grab something from the fridge and her cell phone fell out of her pajama pocket. Cara reached down to pick it up, but Willow got there first, quickly grabbing it and passing it back to Deb.
The whole thing happened fast, but not so fast that Cara didn’t see what was on the unlocked screen: a surveillance photo showing her with purplish-black hair over the words$30,000 REWARD.
