Stitts stopped himself. There was something in Jordan’s eyes, something that wasn’t fear or anger or hatred. Something else.
Jordan cared for Rose Thompson, he realized.
Stitts eased his aggressive posture.
“Get in the car,” he instructed. His tone was such that Jordan immediately obeyed.
Once inside the confines of the vehicle, Stitts turned to Jordan.
“It looks like my partner isn’t the only one with a conflict of interest in this case.”
Jordan averted his gaze.
“It’s not what you think—”
“I don’t give a shit what it is. So long as it doesn’t interfere with us finding those girls, I couldn’t care less. Now be quiet and let me call my partner to let her know what we’ve found out.”
Chapter 27
Chase hung up the phone and looked over at Terrence. They were standing on the stoop, seconds away from knocking on the door and interviewing Stacy Peterson’s parents when her phone had buzzed.
“That was Stitts, he says that Becky and her mother Rose went to the Triune fair a week ago."
Chase half expected Terrence to look surprised, especially given what he’d found out about Chase's own past, about what had happened to Georgina, but she was disappointed; Terrence didn't even bat an eye.
"Yeah, we knew about the fair," he said at last.
Despite her background in poker, Chase was unable to keep a straight face.
"You knew about the fair? And after what I told you about my sister you didn’t think to mention it?”
"I didn't want to bias our judgment. We did a preliminary background check on all fair employees, combed the fairgrounds for evidence, and even managed to get our hands on some CCTV footage near the entrance. So far, we’ve come up with nothing. I’ve still got a few uniformed officers working on this angle, but it's a dead end, Chase."
Chase was incredulous.
"A dead end? Seriously?"
Terrence didn't say anything.
Chase took a deep breath before continuing. It would serve them no good to get into an argument here on the doorstep of parents who are desperately seeking their lost child.
"Well, did you know that Rose saw Tracy Weinberg's mother at the Triune fair? That Mrs. Weinberg was speaking to a woman in a long white dress?”
This time, Terrence’s interest appeared piqued.
"Yeah,” Chase continued. “They were both at the same fair. I bet that's where the bastard scoped out their girls.”
Terrence looked as if he was about to say something when the door that they were in front of suddenly burst open.
A man dressed in a track suit exited the house so quickly that he nearly bowled Chase over.
“Hey," he shouted, jumping to one side. The man’s eyes were red and his cheeks puffy. "Who the—"
Terrence took a step forward.
"My name is Terrence Conway and I'm with the TBI. I'm heading up the task force looking at your daughter's disappearance… we spoke before — a couple of days ago?"
Chase waited for recognition to cross over the man's face, but it never happened. Nevertheless, he nodded slowly.
"I was wondering if I could trouble you with just a few more questions," Terrence continued.
The man opened his mouth, but then closed again. He appeared to be debating something, and Chase decided to call him out on it.
"You going somewhere? In a hurry, are you?"
The man's eyes darted to Chase.
"I’m going out to look for Stacy. I just came home to have a coffee and hug my wife. I haven't stopped looking for her since the day she went missing. I literally haven’t slept for nearly three full days. So, yeah, I am in a hurry."
"Mr. Peterson, this is FBI Special Agent Chase Adams. We've called in the FBI to give his hand on the case, to help us find your daughter. Please, spare us a moment. I can assure you that while I understand you want to do everything you can to find your daughter, we have more than 40 officers out there looking for her — combing the streets, the fields, everywhere. It’d be more helpful if you sat down and chatted with us. Just for a minute or two."
The man turned his eyes up the street and then looked back at Chase. He was crying again.
"Okay. If you think that will help."
***
"Would you like some coffee?" Mrs. Peterson asked. She was dressed in a strangely formal outfit, complete with large pearl earrings and a matching necklace. "If you’re hungry, I can bake some cookies. Stacy always loved my cookies."
Chase shook her head.
"No, that's quite alright. We'll be fine. Why don’t you just take a seat and relax for a moment."
The woman looked at Chase, then her husband, and then smiled.
"I'm sorry, but I can't. I have to get ready for my bridge game. Every Thursday afternoon, we meet for bridge. Myself, Marie, Janelle, and Bridget. Bridget always wins. I come in second most nights, but Bridget always wins. It’s as if she has a second sense about these things."
As she spoke, Mrs. Peterson started backing toward the kitchen. By the time she’d finished her sentence, she was nearly completely in the other room.
Chase glanced at Terrence, who shook his head, a clear indication that they should let her go.
Chase frowned. She wanted to interrogate the woman but knew that someone who was damaged as Mrs. Peterson clearly was, was unlikely to be of much help. Besides, a damaged person could quickly become a broken person. From there, it was only a small step to becoming shattered. And once a person’s mind was shattered, it was a rare thing to come back.
Chase politely waited for Mrs. Peterson to move out of earshot before addressing her husband.
"Mr. Peterson, at any point over the past few weeks,” she said, jumping right into it, “did you go to a county fair?”
Mr. Peterson's answer was immediate.
"Yeah, my wife and I and—" his voice hitched, "—and Stacy went to the Williamson County Fair. We always go to the fair. Every single summer for the last, oh, three or four years at least. I told the police that the first time they came to visit."
Terrence nodded, confirming that what the man was saying was accurate.
"And when you were there, did you see anybody wearing a white dress?"
Confusion crossed Mr. Peterson's face.
"A white dress? What kind of white dress?"
"A long flowing white dress, something that goes to the floor. A little old-fashioned, maybe. Do you remember seeing anybody wearing something like that?"
Mr. Peterson looked to Terrence for support, but the man just shrugged. It was clear that despite suggesting he take the reigns, Terrence was just as happy watching this one play out.
Provided Chase could keep her emotions in check, that is.
"No, I don't think so. I mean, maybe… a white dress? What does that have to do with my little girl? With Stacy?"
"Probably nothing. Right now, we’re just exploring all our options. How about the other girls? Did you see any of the other girls — the other missing girls at the fair? What about their parents?"
Mr. Peterson was shaking his head almost constantly now.
"Other missing girls? I… I don't know. I just remember Stacy — the last time I saw her, her lips were blue with snow cone syrup. I laughed, and said she looked like a smurf and—"
Chase, who had been sinking further into the couch with every unsatisfactory answer that Mr. Peterson provided, suddenly sat bolt upright.
"Did you say snow cone? Stacy was eating a snow cone?"
Terrence must have sensed that something changed, as he suddenly tensed.
"Yeah, Stacy loves snow cones. Every time we went to the fair, she would beg to have one… I know they’re not good for you but — Agent Adams are you okay? Agent Adams?"
Chase’s jaw went slack, and she was once again relegated to the dark recesses of her mind.
Chapter 28
They waited in the short line in silence, sti
ll holding hands. When the group in front of them finally cleared, they stepped forward.
A man sporting an apron so stained with rainbow-colored snow cone syrup that it looked like a unicorn had used it as toilet paper, leaned out the window. He had the hairiest arms that Chase had ever seen, and each of these thick, black hairs glistened with sweat.
“What can I get you ladies?” the man asked in a southern drawl.
“Blueberry, peeeas,” Georgie said with a grin.
“Sure thing, ‘sug,” the man said, before turning to Chase. “What about you? You got a flavor in mind?”
Chase opened her mouth to ask for her favorite—watermelon—but then closed it.
“Where’s Mr. Robin-Graff?” she asked instead.
The man’s eyes flicked to the right, and for a split second his smile faltered.
“He’s got the flu,” the man said, his smile returning with more fervor.
You’re lying, Chase thought.
But before she could call him on the lie—and she very well might have—Georgie tugged on her arm.
“Hurry up, Chase! I’m thuuursty!”
“Ok, ok,” Chase said, looking up at the smiling, one-toothed man who most definitely was not Mr. Robin-Graff. “Watermelon.”
The man nodded.
“Sure thing, ladies. One blueberry and one watermelon snow cone comin’ right up.”
The man receded into the trailer and as he did, Chase stepped onto her tippy-toes and peered inside.
The shaved ice maker and the large tubs of fluorescent syrup were off to the right, but that wasn’t what caught her eye.
To the left, behind the man who was preparing their snow cones, was something that immediately drew her attention.
Mr. Robin-Graff was famous in Franklin and the surrounding counties not just because of his snow cones and his auto repair shop, but also because he was notorious for wearing a red flannel shirt, no matter the temperature.
And that was what she saw now: Mr. Robin-Graff’s red flannel shirt. It was lying on the floor, and Chase could see that one of the sleeves had been entirely ripped off.
“Here you go, girls,” the man said, returning to the window. He held a blue snow cone in one hand and a red one in the other. “Blueberry and watermelon, just as you ordered.”
Chase, her brow still furrowed in confusion, took both and then handed the blue one to her sister.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the crumpled five-dollar bill that her mother had given her.
“Here,” she said, holding it out to the man.
Instead of taking it, he leaned out the window, crossing both hairy arms over the opening.
“It’s on the house, young lady,” he said with a smile.
For some reason, despite the heat, Chase suddenly felt a chill.
“Where’s Mr. Robin-Graff?” She asked again.
The man stopped smiling.
“I told you, he’s sick.”
“Why is his shirt on the floor?”
The man didn’t turn to look.
“Why don’t you get out of here, kid? Get lost. Scram.”
Chase stepped away from the window.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened to Mr. Robin-Graff?”
The man’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“Why don’t you—”
Chase instinctively reached for her sister, to guide her protectively behind, but her hand only swatted warm humid air.
She whipped around.
Georgina wasn’t just gone from her side, but Chase couldn’t see her anywhere.
“Georgie!”
Panic began to set in as Chase searched the crowd for her sister’s mop of red hair.
“Georgie! Georgie!”
Chapter 29
“Chase? You okay? Chase?”
A hand came down on her shoulder and Chase jumped.
“What?”
Terrence stared at her, eyes wide.
“Snow cone…” she muttered.
“Alright, thank you for your help, Mr. Peterson,” Terrence said, turning back to face the man. “You’ve been very—”
“Was it Mr. Robin-Graff?” Chase blurted.
Mr. Peterson looked confused.
“Who?”
Chase shook free of Terrence’s grasp.
“The man who served you the snow cones — was it Mr. Robin-Graff? Was he wearing his red flannel shirt?”
Mr. Peterson moved as far away from her as he could without standing.
“I don’t know who that is. But it wasn’t a man who served us — it was a woman.”
Chase’s heart was racing as her mind tried to piece together what was going on. It was as if her childhood memories had now intermingled with Mr. Peterson’s, making her certain that Stacy Peterson had been with her that day at the fair, and not Georgina.
Fucking keep it together, Chase.
“A woman,” she began absently, then paused when Stitts’s words came flooding back. “Wait — wait a sec. Was the woman wearing a white dress?”
“That’s enough, Agent Adams,” Terrence said. “Mr. Peterson, I want to thank you again for your—”
Chase leaped to her feet so quickly that Terrence almost fell out of his chair.
“Was the woman who served you a snow cone wearing a white dress?” she demanded. She could feel her anger mounting again and despite what Terrence had said in the car, despite his commentary on how important it was to keep anger at bay, Chase just couldn’t help it. She was a slave to her fury.
“I… I… yeah, I think so,” Mr. Peterson said hesitantly, clearly still confused and frightened. “I think she was wearing a long white dress, but it was hard to tell because she was behind the counter.”
Chase strode forward, and this time Terrence rose to meet her. He gently put a hand out and offered an expression that suggested if she continued there would be consequences.
Chase backed down.
She’d gotten everything she could out of Mr. Peterson, anyways. After an abbreviated thank you, she made her way to the door and then out into the sun.
Behind her, Chase heard what sounded like Terrence apologizing for her behavior, and then the man met her outside.
He rubbed his eyes and curled his lip.
“You couldn’t just let it go, could you, Chase?”
Chase stared at the man, confusion washing over her in waves.
Was I with Stacy Peterson that day? No, that’s impossible. It was Georgina — it was Georgie. You’re thirty years older than Stacy.
Chase shook her head, but this only served to confuse her further.
In her mind, she saw herself holding Stacy Peterson’s hand, only the girl’s face didn’t change — it held the exact same expression as in the photograph in her file. It was bizarre and disorienting, while at the same time oddly real.
What the fuck is going on?
Without thinking, Chase reached over and grabbed the back of Terrence’s head. The move was sudden and unexpected — even to her — that the man took a few seconds to react. During that time, Chase pressed her lips to his, all the while attempting to slide her hand down the front of his pants.
Terrence’s eyes went wide and for a split second Chase thought that he was kissing her back.
But this was just her imagination.
Terrence put both hands on her shoulders and slowly pushed her away.
“Chase?” He said in a soft voice, his eyes darting back to the house. Chase followed his gaze and saw that Mr. Peterson was in the process of exiting, likely to go back to resuming his search for his missing daughter.
Blood filled Chase’s cheeks, and she lowered her eyes.
“I’m married, Chase.” Terrence continued. “I’m not sure—”
“I’m sorry,” was all Chase could say as she hurried back to her car.
Chapter 30
Stephanie McMahon’s mother couldn’t have been more different from Rose Thompson. Living in an upscale district in Frank
lin, Tennessee, the woman was well put together and manicured. But this all appeared to be a facade to Stitts; the woman was hurting just as much as Rose.
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