We’re silent for the next few minutes as I stare out the windshield at everything on the left side of the street and Annie watches out the passenger side window to scan the right.
She suddenly lets out a frustrated groan. “I don’t understand why you don’t want to just forget about this. Let it go.”
It takes me a minute to realize she isn’t talking about what happened between us but rather the hunt for the missing goose. Ironically, the answer is the same. “It isn’t that I don’twantto, it’s that I don’t think Ican.”
“It’s unlikely the goose would be traced back to Virtu at this point.”
“Unlikely, maybe. But still not impossible, if the authorities ask the right people the right questions. I promised Harold I wouldn’t let anything happen to the business. He and Graham worked so hard to build it, and Graham left me his half because he trusted that I would be as devoted to keeping everything running smoothly as he was. So I won’t be able to let this go until the goose is back in my possession, and then out of it again. Legally.” I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should tell her that the goose belongs to Nicole. She doesn’t really need toknow that, though, does she? It doesn’t change anything about the situation, at least not for her. “Also, I did promise my friend I would help them donate it somewhere. I don’t want to have to go back to them and tell them I managed to lose it. This is the first time they’ve trusted me with something in a while and I…I don’t want them to think they can’t turn to me again in the future if they need something else, you know?”
For some reason, it means a lot to me that Nicole knows I’m still someone she can count on. Maybe because it would be nice to be able to rely on her again too.
Annie doesn’t respond to what I’ve said, instead saying, “I don’t think the car is on this street. Maybe turn left up here?”
We continue driving around Lauraville for about half an hour, then go back to where we started and make our way farther eastward, the way the Beetle sped off in Gustav’s security footage. It’s impossible to know which direction the woman turned—or if she turned—when she got to the light a few blocks down the road. But frankly, this whole thing feels impossible. So I make a split-second decision and go straight.
Which I guess is the correct choice, because Annie excitedly shouts after three blocks, “There it is! I see it!”
Sure enough, the yellow VW is parked outside a squat, freestanding restaurant.
“Lucky Duck Diner,” I read off the faded awning.
“It’s like finding the illicit goose you lost, at a diner called Lucky Duck,” she sings to the tune of Alanis Morissette’s “Ironic” as I pull into the parking lot. There’s far too many syllables for it to be a solid parody, but that somehow makes it more charming.
We get out of my Suburban and Annie immediately strollsover to the Volkswagen, where she cups her hands around her eyes and peers into each of the windows. “I don’t see it in there,” she says.
“Should we go inside, then?” I ask. “Look for a woman with purple hair?”
“And then what? We walk up to her and say, ‘I think you have something that belongs to us’?”
“Or some variation thereof.” I watch as Annie rubs her hands together, trying to warm them. “Come on,” I say, “I’ll buy you dinner. It’ll be the perfect cover.”
“Hm, I do enjoy watching you eat…” she says, shooting me a playful look as she moves toward the diner’s side entrance.
How the hell am I supposed to survive several more weeks of this?
A sign tells us to seat ourselves, so we settle into a small booth along the windows, where we can keep an eye on the yellow Beetle in case its owner manages to sneak past us. Once we’re settled in, I pick up the menu—one of those large plastic-covered booklets that have entirely too many options—and begin to flip through.
Annie leans forward, one of her fingers hooking over the top of my menu and pulling it down slightly so I’ll meet her eyes. “Are you really okay with this, Cal?” she asks.
“Sure. Diners aren’t usually my first choice—”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
I sigh and put my menu back down on the table. “Do younotwant me to be okay, Annie?”
“Of course I do! I just also know that—”
Before Annie can tell me what she knows, we’re interrupted by our server finally appearing at our table.
“Hey, what can I get you?” she asks quickly and follows it with a snap of the gum she’s chewing.
Annie and I turn our attention to her at the same time and, as my eyes widen, I catch a glimpse of Annie’s lips parting in surprise.
Because standing before us is none other than the purple-haired woman last seen stealing the goose off Gustav’s front porch.
TWENTY-ONE
Annie
