If I'm Found

by Terri Blackstock

  He goes to pour them. I shake my thoughts back to the man next to me and keep my hand over the left side of my face so she won’t see it in the mirror. “What did you ask?”

  “Your drink. Want another one? What is it?”

  Distracted, I look at my drink as if I can’t remember what it is.

  “You don’t know what you’re drinking?”

  I look at him and laugh, as if I’ve had a brain slip. “I’m sorry. It’s Diet Coke. I don’t want another one.”

  When the bartender brings Candace the tray of shots, she takes the plate and clomps in those heels back to her table. My mind checks out and I don’t hear another thing the man is saying.

  Finally, I give up. I’m sick of this. Keegan is nowhere in sight, and this is a waste of time. I’ll try again tomorrow.

  I watch Candace for most of the weekend, and there doesn’t seem to be a husband or boyfriend around. She comes and goes in her shiny new Mercedes, zipping around town like she’s in the Million Dollar Club.

  There’s no sign of Keegan. I don’t even know for sure if he’s still in her life.

  After a while, I realize that this could take some time. I need to stay in Dallas for a while, so I’m going to have to find a cheaper place to live and get some kind of job.

  I remember the Help Wanted sign in Cole Whittington’s family’s business, and the truth is, I’m curious about his situation. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to apply for that job.

  Monday morning I drive over there and go inside. His mother is at the front desk again. “Hey, sweetie,” she says in a comfortable drawl. “You’re back. Don’t tell me you found another Bible.”

  I laugh. “No, I was just . . . I’m looking for a job, and the other day I noticed you were hiring. I wondered what you’re looking for.”

  Cole walks in, and he recognizes me and comes to the desk. “Hey . . . Miranda, right?”

  “Yes, Miranda Henley,” I say.

  “Miranda was just asking about the job,” his mother says.

  Cole takes over. “Well, we need help packaging and shipping our orders.”

  “What are the qualifications?”

  He hesitates. “Warm bodies who show up on time every day.”

  “I can do that. I’m a good worker and people say I’m reliable.”

  “I think we can trust her,” he tells his mother. “She found my Bible after I lost it, and she made the effort to bring it back.”

  “It’s a family business, darlin’,” his mother says, “and we have about twenty other employees. We’re always looking for more. You available to start tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” I say. “I’ll be here.”

  I fill out some paperwork with my new name and social security number. I tell them I’ll have to give them my address later, because I’m just moving into a new apartment and don’t have the address yet. That’ll give me time to get one.

  Maybe I can get to know Cole and somehow convince him that suicide is not the way to go. Or at the very least, if he still seems bent on going through with his plan, maybe I’ll let his family know so they can intervene.

  Having this job will at least mean that I don’t have to keep leeching from my cash while I’m watching Candace Price.

  It will be a nice distraction.

  20

  CASEY

  Since I’ve got a job now, I set to work to find a cheaper place to live. I’ve got to conserve what’s left of my cash. I start out looking for a garage apartment, but everything I call about on Craigslist has already been taken. Then I find a room for rent about two miles from work. I make the phone call and get an appointment to go see it. When I get there, it’s a two-story house. A chubby, retirement-aged woman comes to the door, old-timey curlers in her hair.

  “Hi,” I say. “My name is Miranda. I called about the bedroom for rent?”

  The woman invites me in and I’m struck by the scent of lemon drops. It feels good in here, clean and fresh, and I’m thinking maybe this could work out.

  “It’s not much,” she says, “just a room upstairs. You’d have to come in through the house, but you could have kitchen privileges. You’ll have your own bedroom and your own bathroom. We share chores, and your food will have to be marked in the fridge.”

  “How much is it?” I ask.

  “Four hundred a month,” she says. “You won’t beat that anywhere in this part of town.”

  “I’ll take it. When can I move in?”

  “Don’t you want to see it?” she asks, chuckling.

  I realize that I’m being impulsive. “Sure,” I say.

  She leads me up the stairs, but she clearly has knee problems, because she pauses every step and pulls up with only her left leg, favoring her right knee. “I try to keep it clean in here,” she says. “That’s my biggest fault, my daughter tells me.”

  “That’s okay,” I say. “I’m kind of a clean freak myself.”

  We get to the top of the stairs and she shows me a sitting area with a TV, then off to the side the bedroom that’s furnished. It’s small—just enough for a dresser and a bed, and the bathroom has a shower, a commode, and a sink. No frills, but perfect for me.

  “I’d like a six-month lease,” she says.

  I don’t plan to be here for six weeks, much less six months, but I go ahead and sign it.

  “You can move in as soon as you want.”

  “I’ll move in tonight.”

  As I leave the house, I’m excited about having a place that feels like a home, even if it isn’t mine. I hope I’m not going to get her into trouble for harboring a criminal, but since it’s a business transaction and not a favor, she’ll be able to say she had no idea. She just rented me a room. She didn’t aid me in any way. I’ll have to bend over backward to make that true.

  I go back to the hotel room to get the few things I’ve left there, pack up my car, then go to the grocery store and stock up. When I get back, there’s another car in the driveway. I park on the street. I grab my bag and some of the groceries and carry them to the front door. I knock but no one comes, so I open the screen door and step inside. “Hello,” I call. “It’s me, Miranda.”

  I see the lady through the back screen door. She’s sweeping the porch, and I realize I never even looked at the backyard. I walk into the kitchen, set my duffel bag down, and quickly unload my groceries, marking my name on each item with a Sharpie. When I put them into the fridge, I see that there are two other names on the items there. Miss Naomi who owns the place, and another name—Lydia. Is there another tenant?

  When I’m done, I step to the screen door. “Miss Naomi, I’m back. Just wanted to let you know.”

  “Sure, honey, go on up,” she says. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  I carry my duffel bag upstairs and, as I reach the top landing, I run smack into a girl with waist-length hair as black as night and a toddler on her hip.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Who are you?” she asks in an irritated voice.

  “I’m Miranda. I just rented the room.”

  “What room?”

  This isn’t going well. I point to the room I’ve just rented, and she rolls her eyes. “You’d think she could have told me she was giving my room away.”

  I want to ask if she’s freaking kidding me, but I try to sort through it as I hear Miss Naomi stepping slowly up the stairs. “Oh good, so you’ve met my daughter Lydia.”

  “Who is she?” the girl asks in a biting voice.

  “She’s Miranda,” Miss Naomi says. “Your new roommate. I told you I was going to have to rent out one of the rooms if you couldn’t pay your rent on time.”

  “What did you do with Caden’s stuff?” Lydia snipes back.

  “I moved it all to your room.” There’s a note of satisfaction in Miss Naomi’s voice, and I feel like I’m stepping into a family fight.

  “I can’t sleep with him! He sleeps sideways and kicks me in the ribs.”

  “I’ll make him a pallet on the floor,”
Miss Naomi says.

  “Mom, I did pay the rent!”

  “You didn’t pay what I told you it costs.”

  “So sue me,” Lydia says. “It’s not worth that.”

  “You paid me half, so you get to live in half. You don’t get the whole floor anymore.”

  I freeze on the landing. “Look, if my being here is a problem, we can tear up the lease.”

  “No,” Miss Naomi says. “Stay. Lydia, be nice to your housemate. You have to live with her.”

  I’m thinking that I don’t want to live with this girl and a toddler who’s looking at me like he’s about to cry.

  “Miranda, do you like children?” Miss Naomi asks.

  “Yes, sure. I have a niece.”

  “Well, this is my grandson Caden. He’s two and a half. He’s the best thing in this house. He’ll entertain you for hours.”

  I frown, hoping that’s an exaggeration.

  “So, let me get this straight,” I say. “Lydia and Caden and I are going to be sharing?”

  “The floor,” Miss Naomi says. “That bedroom and bath are yours. You’ll share this TV room. Lydia and Caden are in that bedroom over there.”

  I look and see the other room across the TV room. It looks like a toddler’s room, with toys everywhere. “Oh, okay. I didn’t realize . . .”

  “I was going to tell you more, but you snapped it right up, no questions asked. You signed the lease.”

  “I know,” I say. “No, it’s fine, really.”

  I try to console myself as I move my stuff into the drawers, but Lydia comes to the door, leans in. I glance past her and see Caden sitting on the floor, watching an episode of a show with little mermaid cartoon characters floating around in the water. It’s Bubble Guppies, something Emma used to love to watch. I think maybe it won’t be all bad being around a child.

  “So you don’t have much stuff,” Lydia says grudgingly.

  “No,” I tell her. “I like to travel light. I’ll have the rest of my stuff sent later.”

  “So you’re new in town?”

  I shrug. “Yeah, I just got a job.”

  “Where are you working?” Her question sounds like an accusation.

  “At the UpDown Seat Company. The Whittingtons own it. Do you know them?”

  “No,” she says. “There are over a million people in Dallas. I don’t know everybody.”

  This girl has quite a mouth on her.

  “It’s only a couple of miles away, so I thought maybe you were familiar with them.” I stop unpacking, because I don’t want her to get suspicious by just how light I travel. At least my wigs are in my emergency bag in the car, so she won’t see those. I take out the bag of toiletries I’ve bought and go into the bathroom to put them away.

  Lydia follows me and leans against the door. “Believe me, if I could live anywhere else, I would. She’s got this idea that she’s been enabling me. To do what, I don’t know, but she’s using you to manipulate me.”

  I look at her reflection in the mirror. “So you two don’t get along?”

  Lydia just rolls her eyes. “My mother is grudgmental.”

  “Did you say grudgmental? Like judgmental?”

  “Kind of,” Lydia says, “but it’s based on a past grudge. She’s kind of a mental case.”

  That’s not very kind to say about your own mother, and it makes me miss my own mom back home, with her rituals of pairs of everything piled so high that she can’t walk to her bed. Lydia doesn’t know how lucky she is.

  “Don’t worry,” Lydia says. “I’m not gonna be like this all the time.”

  I try to smile. “Like what?”

  “Snarcastic. Like Godzilla’s angry stepsister.”

  “I wasn’t thinking you were like that.”

  “It’s just that my mother likes to do things. Grand gestures that are supposed to shake me to my senses. Taking in a tenant was one of those things.”

  “I feel bad.” I put my shampoo in the shower, then turn back to her. “But there was an ad on Craigslist. Doesn’t seem that spontaneous.”

  She sighs. “At least it’ll get her off my back about the rent. Oh, and by the way, you need to know that Caden does not like closed doors, so unless you lock it, he’s probably gonna come bolting in. He’s fascinated by doorknobs.”

  Caden toddles in, smiles up at me, and asks, “Why she in my room?”

  “Because your grandmother is a crazy woman,” Lydia says.

  He takes flat, duck-like steps toward me.

  “What your name?” he asks.

  I almost say Casey, but I catch myself. “I’m Miranda,” I say, and I reach out to shake his little hand. He slaps it like a high five. I wonder if all kids come out of the womb knowing how to do that.

  He reaches up to me before I know it, offering himself. “Hold me.”

  I pick him up, glancing at Lydia to make sure she’s okay with it, but she’s looking down at her phone, probably texting her friends about the girl who just invaded her home. I have to make sure she doesn’t take my picture.

  Caden grins up at me, and I can’t help liking him. “Are you watching Bubble Guppies?” I ask.

  Remembering the show, he squirms to get down again. He hurries out and plants himself back in front of the TV. I leave the door open as I put the rest of my things away and try to make myself at home.

  I can’t help singing “Bubble Guppies” under my breath as I work.

  21

  DYLAN

  Today Hannah didn’t go for her walk earlier in the day, so I’m guessing she will right after dinner. I go to her walking park around five thirty and meander up the path to the wooded area that she’ll pass. I wait there, reading old newspaper articles about the Shreveport PD on my phone.

  An hour later, I finally see her walk by. I get up and walk behind her, waiting until she’s deeper into the wooded area, too deep to be bugged. I check to see if she has a cell phone in a pocket through which they could be listening, but she’s wearing pocketless yoga pants. She seems to have left her phone in the car. She carries her keys, dangling from her hand.

  “Hannah,” I say, coming up behind her, and she jumps and swings around.

  I hold out a hand and say, “I’m sorry. It’s me, Dylan.”

  She touches her chest and expels a breath. “You scared me!”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Are you following me?”

  “I was waiting for you. I know you come here most days. I wanted to talk to you. It’s really important.”

  She turns around to walk away. “I have nothing to say to you. I’ve already told you everything I know.”

  “I believe Casey,” I blurt. “I know she didn’t kill Brent.”

  She stops and slowly turns back around, studying me. A woman jogs past, and Hannah’s quiet until she’s out of sight. “How do I know you’re not just saying that to manipulate me?”

  “She didn’t do it,” I say in a low voice. “I’ve already told you I read all the stuff she sent me, all the files Brent had, the interviews. I have no doubt in my mind. I need your help.”

  She looks behind her, in front of her, all around us.

  “You’re right to be cautious,” I say. “They could be listening. They have your cell phone wiretapped.”

  “I figured.”

  “They also put a GPS tracker on your car, but I moved it to your mailbox so they’ll think you’re just staying home.”

  “You’ve tampered with my car?”

  “It’s a magnetic tracker. I just went into your driveway last night after the media went home. I was trying to help you.” I step toward her. “Look, if you hear from her, if you know how to reach her, I need for you to tell her to email me.”

  “I told you, I don’t know where she is!”

  “She’ll touch base with you when she can. Hannah, this is a matter of life and death. You could be in danger, too, and you’re the one who told me she was in danger if she’s caught. The police are still looking for her
. If they find her before I do, she’s going to die. You know that as well as I do.”

  Tears shine in her eyes, and she turns away.

  “She’s asked me to protect you. Now I need for you to protect her.”

  “I have a baby,” she whispers, turning back around. “I have to think of my family. Casey wants me to.”

  “I know you do,” I say. “But if I can just work with Casey, we can take them down.” I step closer to her, almost whispering. “I’ve found out some things that will help her case. We need to work together. You have to trust me.”

  “I don’t trust anybody,” Hannah says, “especially when they’ve been hired to find my sister.”

  I back away now, several steps. “Look, I understand where you’re coming from. I know exactly.”

  “I have to go.” Hannah turns and walks away.

  “Did she tell you that I let her get away?”

  She stops and turns back. “No.”

  “I had the chance to arrest her in Georgia and I didn’t. She’s free right now because of me. They didn’t report that on the news, because they didn’t know it. But Casey is a hero. She saved the lives of a girl and her baby. She’s not the person they want people to believe she is. The tide is turning. People are wondering how she can be a psychopath and still do something like that. The time is right. If we just get enough evidence, we can clear her, Hannah. We can take them down. I know we can.”

  I know she’ll ask Casey if what I’m saying is true.

  This time when she walks away, I let her go. I sit down and lean back against a tree, exhaustion from lack of sleep aching in every joint. I wait for her to be long gone before I emerge from the trees, hoping that if anyone is staking out the area, they’ll think I’m here to follow her myself. When I get to my car, I want nothing more than to go home and drop into bed.

  That night, I fall asleep lying on the couch, fully clothed, and my dreams instantly go to Brent’s body at the foot of his stairs. I see him get up, and his face morphs back into his childhood face, but with blood streaks and stab wounds. He’s running ahead of me, telling me to hurry and catch up, and we’re in the woods, tripping over branches and zigging between trees. I run to reach him, and he leaps into a hollow tree. I get in with him, and suddenly it’s a Humvee, and he morphs into my buddy Blue Dog, joking with Dex. Unger drives and Tillis watches the road.