Still, she had something to work with. And given how little excitement the suspected meth dealer had provided, she was willing to entertain herself by unraveling this story. The characters alone were more interesting than anything else that had crossed her desk lately.
As Bruce left her office, nearly slamming the door behind him, Sergeant Taylor picked up her phone and dialed the motel down the road.
“Janet, it’s your favorite cop again… Tell me—did you have any new faces come through Monday night?” She clicked her pen, a small smile forming as Janet answered on the other end. “Spare no details.”
Chapter 10 – June 8, 1993 – Camille
It had been a few weeks since Tennessee. We were making our way through Kentucky. The trips had been short, as there were plenty of small towns to hop between Nashville and Lexington, and I was okay with that. Spending more than a few hours in the car with Erich could be tedious, as he often didn’t humor me with my Q&A sessions. Not to mention it was June, and the heat took its toll on us, even with the air conditioning on or the windows down.
If I were officially a missing person, I hadn’t heard about it. Stopping at gas stations for snack breaks or sitting down in restaurants with the news on the radio or TV only gave us the typical headlines for the local crowd we were mingling with, usually nothing of importance. Maybe my parents weren’t as worried about me as I thought. Or I’d find a private investigator tailing me one of these days.
Castland, Kentucky, was slightly bigger than Norwald, Tennessee. Only by a little. It was late afternoon on a Friday, and there were more people jogging or making their way home from work. Erich and I couldn’t check in anywhere since it was still fairly early in the day, but I knew we needed to make some money tonight or we’d be sleeping in the car.
I hadn’t been that down bad yet, but Erich had already hinted that on off weeks he’d typically find a campground and park for the night.
“I have an idea,” I said as Erich pulled up to a red stoplight and hit the brakes, waiting for it to turn green so he could find somewhere to take me until we had a better idea of what we were doing. He gave me a side-eye as permission to continue.
“We can’t check in anywhere yet because we don’t have money, right?” The light turned green, and Erich continued to drive without saying a word. “Can we go to the bar early and have a late lunch? Or is that too much time? I really just want a greasy burger with a handful of pickles.”
Erich choked back a small laugh before flicking the turn signal. “You’re on your last leg of dirty dad money. If you want to go block your arteries, that’s your freedom to choose.”
I triumphantly pumped my fist as Erich hit another stoplight. He huffed in response to the slow-moving traffic, his fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel. “So that isn’t too early?” I asked, fearing my window of opportunity would be closing as he grew irritated with the number of lights and stop signs in the small town.
Erich shrugged, his hand on the wheel rising with it. “I’ll make the exception. Trade-off is you have to sit on my side of the bar the rest of the night.”
I considered, thinking I was about to feel extremely dense for asking my next question. “Why?”
“If we go in together, we go out together. Fewer questions,” he answered, taking the signal of the changing light to continue down the road. He hit the brakes, causing the seatbelt to catch my quick lunge forward as he swerved into the parking lot of the quaint bar on the right.
“Careful driving there, pal,” I scolded before loosening the seatbelt to massage my collarbone. “I’m not trying to go through your windshield.”
He flashed me an unapologetic half-smile as he parked the car and unbuckled his seatbelt. The bar we found was vacant, but the sign in the window was turned to “Yes, we’re OPEN!” My mouth watered, thinking of the virgin Bloody Mary I was about to pair with my greasy hamburger and pickles. I clicked the release button on my seatbelt, which very well might have saved my life. I was quick to hop out of the passenger seat, the promise of food urging my feet to hit the pavement and start moving.
I couldn’t hide the pep in my step as I made my way to the dented metal door. I took a second to look back and see Erich retreating from the driver’s side, spinning the key ring on his finger. “Hurry up!” I called, my hand on the doorknob. I was ready to experience what might be the best widow-maker lunch in history.
Erich didn’t take my command seriously as he continued at his walking pace behind me. He attempted to reach for the door, but I had already pushed it open and welcomed myself in.
The inside was surprisingly homely, though that might have been because I was growing used to the interiors of bars every night. I could smell the fryer working through the swinging metal doors to the kitchen, and the bartender was counting cash in her till as I surveyed my surroundings for my perfect table. I had my sights set on a table for two, illuminated by the afternoon sunlight in the corner. It called to me with itscaddy of ketchup and mustard and the napkin holder pushed up against the wall.
The bartender was a young woman, likely a college student home for summer break to make some extra money before the fall semester. She was about my age, with thin blonde hair tied back in a lazy ponytail and a beauty mark above the right corner of her lip. Her ears were pierced, with red gems twinkling as she moved her head. She smiled at us, and I barely registered that she was welcoming us in as I quickly made my way to claim the table of my dreams. There was no need for my haste since we were the only two inside, but my excitement created a sense of urgency. I pulled the chair out, planting myself on the green plastic cushion and grabbing the table to pull myself in.
I could tell my sunny mood was growing on Erich over the past two weeks. He took a seat across from me, the amusement in his smile spreading to his eyes as he watched me grab a menu and skim it until I found what I wanted. The bartender came over with a pocket-sized notepad, ready to take our drink order.
“Virgin Bloody Mary. Oh, can I order food now, too?” I asked, cutting off her attempt to ask how we were doing.
“Absolutely, what will it be?” she asked in a typical waitress tone, writing down my virgin Bloody Mary as I picked up the menu and handed it over. The sound of her pen writing my order on the notepad was music to my ears.
“Cheeseburger, ketchup, lettuce, tomatoes, extra pickles. Like, a handful of them. Please.” I added the last part as an afterthought as I held the menu out to the bartender, who took it before turning to Erich.
“And for you, sir?” Her voice cut through the light music from the jukebox, pen back on the notepad.
Erich didn’t look at the menu. I felt a pang of guilt, thinking maybe he was concerned we didn’t have the cash topay for two meals, but he surprised me instead. “Coors Light. Chicken wings, buffalo sauce.”
“Side of ranch?” the bartender asked without looking up.
“Sure,” Erich said, and the bartender clicked her pen before shutting the notepad.
“Can I see your ID?” She followed the script. The polite smile plastered on her face was becoming almost painfully forced.
