He ashes me a smile and after he leaves the break room, I quietly bang my head against the lockers. Lock some locks. Who says that? What a dork. He’s broken my brain.
I look up and see Grace. She’s still staring at me, all wide-eyed.
“Mmm—” she starts.
“Argh! Don’t you say it,” I warn her.
She keeps quiet until we get to cash-out. “I knew that lad was asking too many questions about you.”
• • •
?e only good thing about our shift is that it’s insanely busy, so it passes quickly. I don’t even see Porter once. Mr. Cavadini, either. Guess that lock business is time-consuming. So is being nervous, and by the time six o’clock rolls around, I’m wired and ready to get out of there. I count down my cash drawer, inform Grace that if she follows me out to the parking lot, I will slash her tires, and that, yes, I will tell her everything tomorrow, duh, and then I look around for Porter. Nada. No surfer boy in sight. But I do get a text from him: Almost done. Meet you outside in ve?
Okay, cool. ?at gives me time to head out to Baby and swap my work shoes for some slinkier sandals, which I’ve got stashed under the helmet in my seat. I grab my purse from my locker and dash outside. ?e sky’s looking dark. Overcast and grumpy. It hasn’t rained since I’ve moved here, but it looks like that might change today. Driving Baby in the rain isn’t my idea of a fun time, so I’m actually relieved Porter invited me out.
I …
Look around. To the left. To the right.
Where’s Baby?
I parked her right here. I always do.
I double-check. I must be confused. ?ird aisle from the back door …
I spin around, looking for her turquoise frame and leopard-print seat. ?ere’s got to be an explanation. Maybe someone moved her for some reason, though… . I don’t know how they would… . She was locked up. I always lock her up. Always. I go through exactly what I did when I arrived that afternoon, making sure I did—and yes, I know I did. I’m positive.
“Anything the matter, dear?”
It’s Pangborn, strolling out from the employee entrance.
“My scooter’s gone,” I say.
“What? Gone?”
“I parked it right here at the start of my shift.”
“You’re absolutely certain? What color is it? Let me help you look,” he says, putting a calming hand on my shoulder. “Don’t panic just yet, now. Let’s be sure rst, okay?”
I blow out a breath and describe it. ?ere are several scooters back here, but none of them are Vespas, none are vintage, none are turquoise, and, really, the employee lot isn’t that big. I’m starting to feel dizzy. I think it’s nally time to face facts.
Baby’s been stolen.
“Aren’t there cameras back here?” I say.
“Just over the building exits and the delivery door.” Pangborn tells me. “Not on the lots and roads.”
“?at’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say. What kind of hick place is this? Don’t they care if a truck pulls up and tries to rob the place?
I’m panicking now. What am I going to do? Should I call the police? Dad and Wanda drove to San Jose today to go dancing, or something. It’s her only day off work this week. Now I’ve got to ruin their day? And how am I going to get to work for the rest of my scheduled shifts? And who’s got my bike? Are they taking it around town for a joyride, with all my personal stuff in the seat? I think I’m going to be sick.
“What’s going on?” Porter says, out of breath as he runs up to meet us.
“Her scooter’s missing,” Pangborn tells him in a quiet voice. He’s still squeezing my shoulder. God, the old man’s so nice, and that makes me want to cry.
“Missing, as in stolen?”
“Looks like it. Didn’t notice anything unusual on the door cams, but you know how hard it is to spot anything coming and going way out here.”
