by Mary Burton
This unexpected meeting had Georgia thumbing through all the questions she wanted to ask Amber. Instead, she raised her hand toward Carrie. “Can I get two menus? Starving.”
Carrie grabbed a couple of menus and came toward the table. “Don’t you want the regular?”
Burgers, fries, and more soda. She ordered the same thing every single time she ate at Rudy’s. “Sure. Amber?”
Amber settled her backpack in the corner of the booth. “I’ll have the same.”
“Carrie, bring one check,” Georgia said.
Amber smiled. “Thanks. Been a day or so since I had a decent meal. I didn’t stop much on the drive up from Dallas.”
Georgia watched Carrie walk away, noting the bruise on the back of her arm.
Amber tapped her finger on the table. “Who’s hitting her?”
Georgia turned back to Amber, feeling protective of Carrie’s privacy ignored the question.
“I’m betting a boyfriend or husband. It bothers you.”
“This conversation isn’t about Carrie.”
“You’re right. Sorry.”
Georgia sat back in her booth and waited until Carrie arrived with their drinks and a basket of rolls. “Thanks, Carrie.”
Amber smiled up at her. “Thanks.”
“KC says to drink and eat up, ladies. He said you both are too skinny.”
As Carrie walked away, Amber unwrapped her straw and placed it carefully in her soda. She reached for a warm roll. She took a bite, her eyes closing for a second as she enjoyed the pure pleasure. “That really hits the spot.”
“Good.”
Georgia grabbed a piece of roll, tore off a section and bit into it. Soft and warm, it tasted good and filled some of the emptiness in her belly. She’d not really eaten since breakfast. “So you came from Dallas. You been there since you left Nashville.”
“Yeah. Earned my degree last summer.”
“In four years.”
“Summer school helped. I wanted to be done so I could move on and get a real job. No more waiting tables.” Amber glanced toward KC and locked gazes with him. She smiled and then looked away. “He’s a cop.”
“How can you tell?”
“I talked to enough of them.”
“He’s retired.”
Nodding, she said, “I met a lot of cops during the investigation. I don’t remember him.”
“He’s homicide. The case was classified as missing persons.”
Frowning, she shook her head. “I spoke to a homicide detective.”
Georgia had read in the case files that it had been her father who’d interviewed Amber. “You dealt with Buddy Morgan.”
Recognition flickered. “Once, I think. Big, tall, gruff guy. I remember he was nice.”
Nice. She’d heard her father described a lot of ways but nice had never been one of them. Buddy had been a crack detective, one of the best in the state, but he was tough as nails and single-minded.
As if sensing her thoughts, Amber asked, “Was he your father? Can’t be a coincidence that you are a Morgan as well.”
“You should be a detective.”
Absently, she traced the curved edge of the table. “He told me he had a daughter who was about ten years older than me. That must be you.”
“I guess so.” Georgia played her cards close, not wanting to give more information than she received. Buddy had taught her that trick. “So why did you come all this way to find me? You could simply have called.”
Amber took a bit of bread. “I thought maybe I could help if I came to town. I’ve tried to move on, but what happened in those woods still dogs me.”
As the adrenaline from the stage ebbed, fingers of fatigue now worked on her back and neck and reminded her of the early morning shift waiting for her. “Has any of your memory returned?”
Amber took another bite. “No. And I have tried hypnosis and relaxation techniques, even visualization. Nothing works.” She tucked a blond strand behind her ear. “You said in your phone message that you’re reviewing all the files associated with the case.”
“That’s right.”
“How much have you read?”
“All of it.” She could now boil down dozens of hours of reading into a few lines. “Three teenagers went into the woods and one, you, came out. The other two have not been found yet. You claimed memory loss. The trail went cold.”
Amber collected the remaining bits of bread in her hands, watching the crumbs land onto the tabletop. “I had a grade-three concussion. The head injury not only erased the actual day but the days leading up to our trip into the woods. I’m damn lucky to be alive.”
Georgia studied the young woman and recalled the facts. “Your head injury was significant. Rescue workers found you at the bottom of a ravine and theorized you hit your head on the rocks at the bottom. Broke your arm. Compound fracture. Some thought you were lying. That you did remember what happened and perhaps were even responsible.” She was never good at dancing around tough questions.
“I know. The police questioned me more times than I can remember. They thought if they asked me the same question enough, I’d trip up. But I never did because I told only what I knew, which was the truth.” She flattened her palms on the table. “I simply don’t remember the woods, and the last memory I had starts three days before we went into the park.”
Many a liar had crossed her path while on the job so she wasn’t quick to bite on any story. “You have no memory of anything in the woods?”
Amber’s voice was steady and unwavering. “No. My hard drive was wiped clean.”
“Okay.” That didn’t mean she believed her, but she wasn’t ready to argue the point now.
“I’m glad you’ve reopened the case. Once and for all, I want to prove that I was also a victim and not some manipulative teenager responsible for what happened to those kids.”
The intensity snapping with each quietly spoken word intrigued Georgia more than the words. “Tell me what you do remember.”
Hearing the interest in Georgia’s voice, Amber relaxed a fraction as if she took comfort that someone might actually believe her. “I remember waking up three days before we had planned our hike at Percy Warner Park.”
“We?” She knew but she wanted to hear it from Amber.
“Mike Marlowe and Bethany Reed.”
“You were all students at St. Vincent High School. Bethany was AP/Honors science. You were a solid if not underachieving student, and Mike was the dumb jock. Three unlikely classmates working on a science project.”
“Yes.”
A wrinkle furrowed in the center of Amber’s brow. “The project’s focus was ecosystems. Bethany determined that Percy Warner Park would be our ecosystem and we were planning to make extensive observations during that initial visit and then return each week during the fall semester.”
Georgia had been a B student in high school and did what she needed to get by. It wasn’t until she reached college and took her first forensic class that her fascination with learning kicked into high gear. “Sounds ambitious.”
“Bethany pitched the idea to us. She wanted the project to stand out.”
“Why did she need you or Mike?”
“She was afraid to go it alone. She had applied to some very prestigious colleges but had blown several interviews. She was painfully shy. She knew I’d go with her because we were friends.”
Georgia tried to picture the girl and the nerd as friends. “And Mike?”
“Trying to get his grades up so he could apply to one of the schools here in Tennessee. His dad had a lot of pull in the state and if his grades could be halfway decent, the old man could call in favors.”
“What about you?” She knew all the answers but wanted to hear it from Amber.
“My grades were good but not great, and I needed big scholarship money if I wanted more than living with my mom and working at Blue Note Java.”
“The coffee shop.”
“Right. The one near the s
chool.”
“So the three of you were all motivated.”
“I’m not sure how motivated Mike and I were, but we were all desperate for something. Desperation makes strange bedfellows.” She threaded her fingers together and rested them on the table. Her nails were neat, trimmed and the cuticles manicured.
“Okay. It’s a few days before the hike. What’s your last memory?”
“I went by Mike’s house to drop off notes from Monday’s class. He missed it. Said he was sick but I suspected he was hungover.”
“Was he?”
“He liked to drink and he got wasted over the weekend on a road trip for a college football game. That was so typical of Mike.”
Georgia shook her head. “My dad would have woken me up and insisted I go to school sick or not. He’d have wanted to teach me a lesson about underage drinking.”
“Mike’s dad wasn’t like that. Dalton, Mr. Marlowe, protected Mike. Covered up his messes. Doted on the boy. If Mike needed an excuse for school, his dad came up with one.”
Dalton Marlowe did well as a local corporate attorney, but the real money came through Mike’s mother, which Dalton still controlled until Mike was found dead or alive. Mike’s mother died when he was fifteen.
“So you gave hungover Mike the notes. That’s Tuesday. You three didn’t go into the woods until Friday.”
“One of the reasons I came by Mike’s house was to confirm he wasn’t backing out of our project. He did that a lot and I was there to make sure he would hike.”
“That’s the last time you saw him before the hike?”
“I don’t know.” She recognized Georgia’s word trap. “I have no memory.”
Georgia’s tone held no hint of apology. “What did Mike say that last day you remembered seeing him?”
“That’s the thing. I never saw Mike that day. His father answered the door. I asked to see Mike, but he wouldn’t let me. Said Mike was sleeping. So I gave the notes to his dad. His dad appreciated my help and even gave me fifty bucks for my trouble.” She crossed her legs and then slowly settled back in the booth.
“That’s sounds like a very generous tip for just delivering homework. But it bothered you. Why?”
“I wanted to say no to the tip, but I needed the money. My mom is a cocktail waitress and she never made a lot of money. I spent that fifty bucks on groceries.”
Georgia would battle her growing fatigue so she could compare her father’s case notes against Amber’s comments when she returned home. Buddy had always kept careful notes when he investigated a case. “What do you remember next?”
“I took the money from Mr. Marlowe, bought groceries, and went home. I knocked out my math homework. I stayed in that night and went to bed early. And that’s all I remember until I woke up in the hospital. It’s unnerving to have no recall, especially for several days. I keep waiting for something to trigger a buried memory.”
X-rays and MRIs confirmed the head injury to her left temporal lobe. “The doctors say memory loss is not uncommon.”
“I suppose. It was several weeks before I could think clearly again. Felt like I was in a fog.”
KC reappeared with their food and settled hot plates in front of each woman. He looked at Amber. “Loaded extra fries on your plate.”
When she smiled up at him, her face lit up. “You’re sweet.”
KC settled his hand on his hip. “Took me a minute to place you. The hair threw me off.”
Amber sat a little straighter, raising her gaze to his. She hesitated as if sizing him up. “And?”
“And nothing,” he said. “I didn’t work your case and I’m retired now. I’ll leave the figuring to Georgia. She’s smarter than me by a long shot.”
Georgia understood what he was doing. Buddy used to say KC was dumb like a fox. Could make anyone relax. Open up. Tell secrets they never imagined they’d reveal.
Amber reached for her soda and took a sip. “Good. I want this case solved. I’m at your service.”
KC scratched behind his ear. “I know you do. Good luck.”
Amber picked up a fry but didn’t bite it. “I searched you on the Internet after you called me. I wanted to know if you were legit and not some reporter trying to railroad me.”
Georgia’s name would have popped up more than a few times in association with Annie’s murder case. “You get a lot of calls from reporters?”
“I did at the one-year anniversary and then the second. Now that the fifth year is coming up I was expecting more calls.”
“Anything threatening?”
She reached for her phone and scrolled through her texts. She read, “ ‘Time you repent, liar. If you thought you escaped, then you are wrong. God knows what you did!’”
“That from the same person?”
“Yeah. But there will be others. I don’t know how they find my number but they do.”
“Have you had the number traced?”
Amber raised her chin a notch as if this was a normal problem she could handle. “I did a reverse search on the number but nothing came up.”
“Has anyone approached you?”
“No. But the change of hair throws most people off. I’ve not been recognized in person for a couple of years.”
“What do you do in Dallas?”
“I’m an account manager in an advertising company. It’s entry level, but it’s a good job. And the pay is decent.”
Everything she said fit.
“I’m glad you’re back. Maybe you being here will help solve what happened to Bethany and Mike.”
Amber nodded. “Have you contacted Dalton Marlowe yet?”
“He’s spoken to the chief of homicide several times, but he and I haven’t formally met. I’m sure that will change. He’s pressing to see this case solved.” Dalton Marlowe was clearly a man accustomed to getting everything he wanted.
“You understand if you fail, he’ll do his best to ruin your career.”
There were veiled threats according to Deke, but like her brother, she didn’t scare so easily when it came to the job. “I’m not planning on failing.”
Amber’s mood darkened. “Good.”
The two ate in silence for a moment before Georgia set her napkin by her plate. She had noticed the dark circles under Amber’s eyes. “Do you have a place to stay?”
“I’m in a motel now. When the money runs low, I’ll hit my mother up for a place to stay.”
“And you have a car?”
“Yes. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.” Amber balled up her napkin and tossed it beside the half-eaten plate of food.
“I’d like to talk to you again soon. Amber, I’m assuming the cell number I called is still your number.”
“It is. And yes. Call me. I’ll be here a couple of days. I need to see my mom before I head back to Dallas.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Amber’s gaze met Georgia’s and held it. “I’ll help in any way I can.”
“Thanks. I’m counting on it.” She rose as Amber inched out of the booth and stood.
“Thanks for opening this up again. It’s time for closure.”
“Definitely.” Georgia followed Amber to the front door. “Where are you parked?”
“Right out front. I’ll be fine.”
She stood at the door, watching the woman move down the street and into a mid-sized dark car. When the headlights came on and she pulled out into traffic, Georgia stood there for a long moment watching her drive off.
Earlier fatigue evaporated only to be replaced by a buzzing energy. She moved back to the booth and was greeted by her own half-eaten plate of food.
“Go home,” KC said, placing a takeout container on the table.
She looked up, realizing Rudy’s had nearly cleared out. “Right.”
“You okay?” KC slid into the booth across from her.
“Sure. I’m fine. Amber Ryder is an enigma.”
He rested hands on the table. “She’s prettier th
an I remembered.”
“She reminds me a little of Annie. Independent. Alone. Living on her terms.”
His voice had a gruff sound as if somewhere along the way the tones had been chewed up in a meat grinder. “She’s pretty like Annie. But she’s not Annie.”
“Oh, I know. I’m not harboring any mommy issues.”
He grunted. “She’s matured. One hell of an attractive woman.”
A smile teased the edges of her lips. “Well, look at you ogling a twenty-something.”
He smoothed a weathered hand over his bald head. “Just an observation. Bishop know you called her?”
Laughing, she drained the last of her soda watered down from the melting ice. “Didn’t realize I needed his permission.”
A smile tugged at the edges of his lips. “I thought you were a team.”
She shifted, tamping down the irritation that Bishop’s name always stirred. “Not a team. Coworkers with a shared goal.”
KC boxed up the leftovers of her meal and pushed the carton toward her. “Buddy said Amber’s amnesia was convenient as hell. He said if you were gonna go into the woods looking for trouble and found it, then a good dose of not-remembering might be the only plausible excuse given the grade-three concussion. But the boys in missing persons could never trip her up. And with no bodies, homicide didn’t participate much in the investigation.”
“She said she’s glad I’m investigating. Wants me to set the record straight. Wants a clean slate.”
His Hawaiian shirt pulled tight against his small paunch as he shifted. “Maybe.”
“She’s not stupid. She said she still gets threatening texts around the anniversary.”
“Not surprising. Lots of crazies in the world.”
“Fair enough.”
“My one piece of advice: Don’t count out Bishop. He’s a top cop.”
“You should have seen the smug grin on his face when he delivered me the case files.”
“There must have been a mountain of files.”
“Twenty boxes, packed tight.” Each time she considered the task of quitting, she thought about Bishop’s smug grin. She’d be damned before admitting defeat.
