“You have to promise me something.”
“What?”
“You have to promise me that you'll go see a doctor this time and get some antidepressants. Something that will keep you out of the theater room and looking for a job.”
“I'll think about it.”
“And no boozing either.”
“I promise, but I want you to promise me something.”
“What's that?”
“That you will have some faith in me.”
“I have faith in you, Gerald.”
“No you don't. You don't trust me, and I can understand why. When we entered into this marriage I vowed that I'd take care of you and I intend to do that.”
“Lord, Gerald. This isn't 1910. I think I can pull my weight.”
“That's not the point. The point is that a man prides himself on being able to take care of his family. Now, I don't know how I'm going to do it. I haven't got that part figured out. But I can tell you that working for somebody else doesn't work for me. I'm thinking about other options.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I'm not sure yet, but we can discuss it. I value your input.”
Barbara wiped another tear. “Everybody is lying to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You lied to me through omission. Emily lies to my face. Are you aware that she is still involved with that street girl she brought to our house?”
“No, but I fail to see how that affects us. Emily's a grown woman.”
“Hardly. Do grown women have their daddies buy them a set of new tires?”
He raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“Don't think I don't know what you did,” she said. “I saw the new tires before you gave her back the MINI. And they were the nice ones too, not the cheap kind. See, lying by omission.”
Barbara knew he hadn't thought of his actions in quite that way, but she couldn't resist the jab.
“You're right,” he said, “But that's my way of going into her room and crying over her old clothes and teddy bears.”
It was Barbara's turn to feel stung. How had he known about her days in Emily's room? He grinned that he'd gotten the better of her, then returned to his detached expression.
“She needed them,” he said. “A dad's got to be good for some things.”
The waitress finally brought the unsweetened tea and slipped the bill onto the checkered tablecloth. She didn't offer up her idle chatter, so Barbara knew she sensed something was up at table nine.
“That homeless girl that got killed at Town Lake, Emily knew her,” Barbara said. “She said that she'd met her the day before. She said somebody is beating street kids to death with ball bats.”
“That sounds a little melodramatic.”
“How in the world could Emily know a girl who got murdered? Emily needs better friends. You know she has absolutely no people filter.”
“Uh-huh. I've heard that a few times.”
“She let that street urchin move in with her right after the flood.”
“How do you know this?”
“A mother knows things.”
“You spied on her?”
“I sensed something was up, so I drove by, and the girl was there while Emily was at work. I let her borrow the Acadia under the stipulation that she would not let that girl move in with her. Emily assured me she wouldn't, and then she went straight home and did exactly that.”
“The girl's just down on her luck.”
“She's a runaway.”
“Of course she's a runaway. The question is why.”
“She probably didn't like rules. Or she didn't like school. Thought she'd have a life of adventure. I bet I could find her parents.”
“Where would you even start looking?”
“I don't know. Maybe those people who send that card in the circulars once a week with that little picture—Have you seen this child? Maybe I could get the Print-A-Thon folks to help.”
“Do you remember what she looks like well enough to pick her out of a lineup?”
“I wonder what she looked like before she ruined her face. I mean, really, that child is going to cost somebody a fortune in laser removal.”
“Have you thought about how you can help the girl? That's all Emily is trying to do, just help.”
“Gerald, be realistic. That girl doesn't want help. She just wants to take what she can get from any willing victim, then she moves on.”
“We all make mistakes,” he said. “Emily has a right to make her own mistakes. She may not have turned out like you planned, but she's got a good head on her shoulders. If she doesn't come to us for help then we need to stay out of her business.”
Emily
“OH MY God. What am I supposed to do about this?”
She held a copy of Be Here Now. Lorelei's face stared at her, an accusation in black-and-white.
“Nothing. It's done,” Barbara said.
“Can I sue them?”
“You can. Good luck. The press club has excellent lawyers. They win a lot. Make them give you a job instead.”
“I don't want to work for people who will steal your creativity.”
“I understand. I wouldn't either.”
“I'm going to call him and cuss him out.”
“Make sure he doesn't put you on speaker phone or worse, record you.”
“Great. I hadn't thought about that.”
“How's Lorelei going to react?”
“She's going to freak.”
“Is she dangerous? Do you need to come home so you can avoid her?”
Her mother devolved to that tone that set Emily's nerves on edge. She regretted calling her.
After they hung up, Emily was washed in a wave of gloom. Her high over her photography being published was sullied. A guy she had trusted, a guy she had liked, had turned out to be a total jerk. Her friendship with Lorelei was ruined. Emily had actually put the girl's life in jeopardy. The situation couldn't get much worse.
She had Travis on speed dial.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“At least you've got enough balls to answer the phone.”
“Let me explain.”
“Yes. Please do explain exactly how you got that photograph. Did you download it before or after you fucked me?”
“Before.”
“Well, so glad you stuck around.”
“Look, this will eventually work out to be a good thing. I promise you.”
“I could sue the shit out of you.”
“You wouldn't win.”
There was a tense lull.
“You idiot, that girl has a very legitimate reason for not wanting her photograph on the front of your magazine. There's some creepy stalker looking for her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some older guy she shacked up with in Arizona. She's scared to death of him. You'd better hope he doesn't show up and kill her.”
A long pause.
“Do you think that's really possible?” he asked.
Emily wouldn't tell him anything about Fiona's murder. He was a newshound, not a friend. His actions had made that clear. If he printed anything about Lorelei in connection with Fiona's murder, even a description of her, it would put Lorelei in even more danger.
So she said, “Look at that girl who was beaten to death in the park.” Another extended pause. “Things are scary. The least you can do is find Lorelei's parents.”
“What?”
“Throw down your investigative thing and find out who she is.”
“Do you know anything about her?”
“Not really. She's been all up and down the West Coast. Says she's got a brother, Noah, she's looking for. He's apparently been vagrant for a number of years.”
“Is Noah even a real name?”
“Who knows?”
“Where's she from?”
“I'm thinking Midwest somewhere.”
“Wow. That's extremely helpful.”
“I
don't care if you have to look through ten thousand photos of missing children. You need to find her. It's the right thing to do.”
“You're asking a lot.”
“You owe me a lot. You'll be lucky if I don't sue you and the paper.”
“We both know that's not going to happen.”
Travis
EMILY CALLED him some colorful nouns and adjectives before they finally hung up. Sure, Travis knew it was a rotten thing to do, but the photo had turned out perfect. Guaranteed to be a picked up cover.
But if Bob found out how Travis got the shot, things would turn ugly.
And what about some goon stalking this girl? Was it true or was Emily spinning a tale to make him feel bad?
Travis had desk duty, his turn to watch the wires for breaking news. A number of writers were working late—last minute layouts, headlines and deadlines. Things were slow, so Travis started digging. He had a photo of Lorelei, but no name, no state.
He needed to redeem himself with Emily before she called Bob and went off. He was supposed to always have signed releases to publish photos, but nobody ever asked if he did. Bob had just assumed that because the paper had worked with Emily on the flood story that they were cleared to use her shots again.
Travis had abused Bob's trust, just like he'd abused Emily's.
He was a scoundrel. But he was a scoundrel who got the story.
The telephone was still a journalist's most powerful tool. If the first person you contacted couldn't help they were usually happy to refer you to somebody who could. Travis would play dumb, ask for their assistance and make them the expert. People loved to feel like the expert.
Problem was, he had nobody to call, nowhere to start, not even one lead. He could spend hours culling through the thousands of runaway photos on various national databases. For once, he lacked resources. He was at a dead end before he even started.
He thought to call one of his connections at the Austin PD to get some direction on how to start a search. He could also call David at the Tumbleweed Center, but Travis wondered if he had burned that connection. David was a reasonable guy. Maybe if he explained the gravity of the situation, David would forgive his aggressive rainy day photo op.
His desk phone rang.
“Travis Roberts.”
“Are you the guy that wrote that article about the homeless in Austin?”
“That would be me.”
“That girl on the cover. Do you know her?”
“Sort of. Why?”
“Because I think that's my sister.”
Emily
NOT LONG after she finished cursing out Travis, he called back. Group had been slow all afternoon, and even though it was Happy Hour she had only two customers nursing beers.
“This better be good news,” she said.
“Is Lorelei looking for a long-lost brother?”
“How'd you know that?”
“He's on the other line. Can I give him your number?”
Sixty seconds later, Emily was talking with the mystery man.
“Do you know the girl on the cover?”
“Lorelei.”
“Yes. Do you know where I can find her?”
“You told Travis you're her brother.”
“Right. Noah. Do you know where she is?”
“Can we meet?” she asked.
“Where?”
“I'm at work. Group Therapy, it's a bar.”
“I can find it.”
When they hung up, she dialed David.
He said, “I'll be there in fifteen.”
They sat in the staff booth waiting for Noah. Angel hovered around the bar, keeping an eye on things. The last bit of daylight blazed through the open door, and Emily held her breath.
He was larger than she had expected, but then again, Lorelei was a tall girl.
He hesitated, scanned the room. When his eyes fell on David, they nodded to each other. He walked in their direction. Emily had pictured Noah as a slight person, with pale straight hair and effeminate ways. She supposed she thought of him as vulnerable. But this was a dark-haired gym rat with enough tattoos woven between his fingers to make her think he had a full body suit under his long sleeves and jeans.
“You're not Noah,” she said. She made eye contact with Angel. He walked to her end of the bar.
“Name's Leo.”
“You're the tattoo artist.”
“It's that apparent?”
Emily scowled at him.
“Can I sit?”
David waved to a seat next to him.
“So,” David said, “why did you lie about being Noah?”
He shrugged. “I thought it would be the easiest way to get her to talk to me.”
“Do you know Noah?”
“No.”
“You came all the way from Phoenix?” Emily asked.
“L.A.”
“I thought your studio was in Phoenix.”
“No. It's in L.A.” He reached into his pocket and removed a business card. Japanese designs swirled in red and black across the back of the card. “Leo's L.A. That's my studio.”
“So why'd she tell me you were in Phoenix?”
“First of all, let me ask, if you don't mind, who are you?”
That seemed like a reasonable enough question, so she said, “I'm Emily. I'm just a friend. This is David. He's her…what are you to her, David?”
“I'm a friend too. I work with the homeless kids around here. So, how did you find out she was in Austin?”
“That newspaper,” Leo answered. “I got buddies work at studios here in Austin. They recognized my work. Called me up. I looked it up online. Pretty easy.”
“Didn't you have some sort of relationship with her?” Emily asked.
“I did.”
“Don't you think you're a little old for her?”
“She needed somebody to take care of her, and I'm not immune to her feminine charms.” He raised an eyebrow to David as if he would understand, but got no response. “What's a guy to do? She lived with me. Ran away once, but I can't stand to see her on the streets. I found her, but that lasted about another month, then she left again.”
“So you what?” she asked. “You want her back? This sixteen-year-old girl.”
“Fuck. No way. Is that how old she is?”
“I don't know,” David said. “She could be.”
“Did you tattoo her face?”
“I fixed her face,” he said defensively.
“She said you did it to her while she was drunk.”
“What? No way. She had this crap stick and poke tat under her eye. I fixed it. Covered it up. Now it looks great.”
“That's totally fucked up, tattooing a child's face,” Emily said.
David gave her a look that said pull back.
“I'd never do anything to hurt her. She had a bunch of tats when I met her—train tracks and owls and all kinds of work. Look, why am I on trial here? I'm just trying to help her. Keep her off the streets. Keep her from doing drugs and other shit that'll fuck her up.”
“What drugs does she do?” David asked.
“All kinds I think. She's up one minute and down the next. Crazy stuff. Look, you going to help me find her or not?”
“We don't know where she is,” Emily said. “Haven't seen her in a while.”
He nodded. “She does have a way of just vanishing.”
“You're too old for her.”
“I agree, but I love her. I worry about her.”
“Uh-huh.”
David said, “Do you know anything about her that could help reconnect her with her family? Her real name, where she's from?”
“She's from Utah.”
“Where in Utah?”
“I don't know. Like Mormon central or something.”
“Salt Lake?”
“That would be my guess.”
“Do you know her real name?”
“Wish I could help you out, man. All she ever told me was Lorelei. Here,
take a couple more of my cards. Please, have her call me.”
“I don't think so,” Emily said. “You'd better leave or I'll tell the cops you're a stalker pedophile.”
“I'll be in town awhile.” He looked directly at David as he said this. “Call me if anybody on your end changes their mind.”
Travis
Emily was hacked off. His mobile crackled with her anger, cutting out as she yelled.
“You total ass…that guy wasn't…brother…tattooed jerk that's after her.” Then loud and clear, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Unsure how to respond, he said, “Wait. Back off. How was I supposed to know that?” He came off as too defensive and silently cursed himself.
“You're not supposed to make things worse. I mean, geez,” she said.
“I was just the messenger.”
“Oh, no. You're not responsible for any of this are you?”
“What do you want from me?”
“Find her parents.”
“I'm trying, but I don't have a lot to go on.”
“Try Utah.”
“Utah? All of Utah?”
“Start with Salt Lake.”
“Okay.”
“Call me as soon as you get anything.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it. You'd better call me.”
When they hung up Travis could still hear Emily's words stinging his ear. So she had been telling the truth about Lorelei's stalker. That bit of information did change the gravity of the situation. Maybe Emily was right. Maybe he was somewhat responsible for the girl.
Travis checked the National Runaway Switchboard but got nowhere. Next, he tried the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children's website. If she was from Utah, and if her parents cared enough to file a missing persons report, he might have luck.
On the first page he found a search engine. He checked Female, Utah. How long missing? He guessed and entered two years.
Four photos appeared. First one was a black girl, but the next three were all possibilities. He looked closely. One girl had promise, but this girl was healthy, her cheeks round with youth, her hair shiny and long. She was smiling. Travis held the cover image of Lorelei up next to the monitor and compared the girls.
The stats read:
Name: Rose Kimball
Case Type: Endangered Runaway
Anonymity Page 22
