Page 36 of Traces of Kara

Mark rolled down his window and hollered, “Excuse me?”

The old man pushed himself slowly off the rocking chair. He limped down the porch steps sideways, holding onto the railing with one hand.

The man’s lower jaw jutted out, unshaven and weathered. His black shoes scuffed against the pavement with each limp step. He reached the window of the car and placed an arthritic hand on it for support. He stared at Mark expectantly.

“Good evening,” Mark said, feeling guilty for making the man walk down the steps. He wondered if the man was even capable of clear thoughts. “I’m looking for a Marissa Greer.” He showed the man the photograph from Roland’s apartment. “Do you know her, sir?”

The man’s jaw moved from side to side. When he spoke, Mark caught a glimpse of his toothless gums. “Maritha?” He squinted, and wrinkles buried his beady eyes.

Mark cleared his throat. Great, a waste of my time. “Yes, Marissa Greer.”

The man looked away. His hand remained tight on the edge of the door. “Whoth athking?”

Surprised, Mark fumbled for his badge. “Sergeant Agnew, Chambersburg police.”

“Chameberthberth?” The man seemed to be gumming his tongue. “Whatchu wan with Maritha?”

“Just following up on something. Do you know her?” Hope, and his heartbeat, soared.

The man chewed some more, then slurred, “Lemme thee tha.” He lifted his chin toward the badge. He took it with small, wrinkled hands and looked it over, touching the front of the badge with one finger. He nodded.

Mark took his badge from the man and put it on the passenger seat. “You know her?”

The man worked his jaw, staring into the distance.

Mark sighed, then put the car in drive. “Thanks anyway. Sorry to have bothered you.”

The man took a step back from the car. “Ain’t no bothe. Just no one been lookin’ fa he fa yearth.”

Chapter Thirty-One

“Boss, just got an APB on that truck across the line.”

Detective Grant looked up from his papers at the tall, thin officer. It was hard for him to look at the boy and see a man. He’d grown up with the boy’s mother, though she was a few years younger than him. Detective Grant leaned back in his chair and smiled. Age had crept up on him. He’d never been married, though he’d longed to be. He’d never been able to fully extinguish the torch he’d carried for far too many years.

“That’s their problem, son,” he said.

“Yes, sir, I thought so, too. But sir, look whose vehicle it is.” He handed the report to Detective Grant.

Grant was on his feet and giving instructions. “Get on the horn with West Virginia and find out if that’s Greer’s truck.” He grabbed his coat from a hook by the door. “Get me Mimi Stone’s phone number.”

“Sir, where are you going?”

“To find Kara Knight.”

Seven minutes later, Detective Grant knocked on the front door of Mimi Stone’s house. He peered in the window, then knocked again. His cell phone rang.

“Grant.”

“Sir, I have the number—”

“Great. Give ’er to me.” He scribbled down the number, then punched it into his cell. Mimi’s cell phone rang three times. On the fourth ring, a male voice came through the receiver.

“I’m sorry, I must have the wrong number,” Grant said, then hung up.

He checked the number, then dialed Mimi’s number again.

“Hello?”