by Brenda Novak
Cheyenne could hardly breathe. She’d been through hell tonight. But, somehow, this cut the deepest. The moment she thought Joe might kiss her had clarified everything, showing her that what she felt for Dylan wasn’t to be taken for granted. It wasn’t mere attraction. Joe was better-looking. He’d always wanted to be a family man, so he was also a safer bet. She should’ve been thrilled to have his interest, especially after all the years she’d wanted it.
But being in Dylan’s arms felt like finding home. Maybe he was as battle-scarred as she was, but he understood her and her past. She’d never had such an affinity with anyone else.
She opened her mouth to say so but couldn’t imagine he’d care. She’d done everything she could to choke off what had blossomed so unexpectedly between them. “Right. Of course. I’m sorry,” she said, and went to her room.
* * *
Presley was halfway to Los Angeles before she realized where she was. Even then, she stopped driving only because she was out of gas. Her car had begun to sputter a few miles back as the sun peeked over the horizon, finally ending what felt like the longest night of her life. Now the Mustang wouldn’t go at all.
She’d taken Interstate 5, a long expanse of highway intended for travel between California’s bigger cities. Unlike Highway 99, which also connected Sacramento and Los Angeles, gas stations were few and far between. It wasn’t as if she was close to an exit, either. Music blaring, she’d passed the last one without even thinking about it and didn’t know where the next one would be. Neither did she care. She had nowhere to go. She just had to keep moving—like when she was a child and they’d gone from rest stop to rest stop, begging fellow travelers for enough change to buy something to eat.
As she got out of her car, she heard the deep blast of a semi’s horn and stumbled back. The sudden whoosh of air that accompanied it washed over her, whipping at her hair and clothes. She’d almost walked right into certain death.
Dazed, she stared at the double-trailer the semi was towing, watching the dirt eddies swirl in its wake and wondering if she would’ve felt it had she been hit. Maybe she would’ve escaped the pain of her life in the blink of an eye....
What was she going to do? Where would she go?
She had no idea. But the effect of the meth she’d smoked hours ago was wearing off. She had to find a way to get more. That was all she was thinking about when, minutes later, another trucker saw her walking on the side of the road and pulled over to see if she needed a ride.
* * *
Cheyenne’s phone woke her. She had it on vibrate, but as restless as she felt, that was enough to jar her from sleep. Blinking, she rolled over and grabbed it. She wanted to believe it was Presley calling. But she knew before she could clearly see caller ID that it wasn’t her sister. The name started with an R.
Riley. He was probably at the inn.
“Hello?” She was doing her best to come to full wakefulness, but she felt like she was buried beneath a thousand pounds of sand. To her own ears, she also sounded like it.
“Hey, what’s up? I didn’t wake you, did I?”
He must be wondering why she hadn’t checked in with him over the weekend. She’d told him she would.
She burrowed into the pillows. “What time is it?”
“Nearly two. I thought you’d be stopping by. I need to show you how the paint’s turning out in the central foyer. I don’t think it’s quite what you and Eve had in mind.”
“Um…” She shoved a hand through her hair. It was so difficult to switch gears and focus on work. Everything else came crashing down on her—Anita’s death, her sister’s possible culpability and subsequent disappearance, and bumping into Dylan while she was with Joe. “It happened last night,” she said simply.
“What happened last night?”
“My mother’s dead.”
He fell silent. Then he sighed. “Eve’s going to feel terrible she wasn’t here.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t replace Eve, but I’ll be right over.”
The door opened and Dylan appeared. Obviously, he’d heard her voice. “I’ve got to go,” he whispered. “There’s a problem over at the shop.”
She didn’t want him to leave, but she’d already asked him for more than she had a right to. She covered the phone. “There’s been no sign of Presley?”
“No.”
“Okay. Thanks for staying with me.”
He nodded and closed the door.
“Who was that?” Riley asked.
“My neighbor.”
“Which one?”
“Dylan Amos.”
“Really?”
She couldn’t help bristling at the inflection in Riley’s voice. “Yeah. He lives down the road so he kept me company after they took my mother away. Why are you so surprised?”
“It’s hard to imagine Dylan Amos being sympathetic enough to support you.”
It wasn’t hard for her. Maybe he didn’t look all that respectable, but he’d always protected the people he cared about. “He’s actually…not what everyone thinks.”
“What is he, then?”
She hadn’t completely decided. But she knew he was a lot better than he’d been given credit for. “He’s nice.”
“I’ll take your word for it. If he ever asks, tell him I think he’s nice, too.”
He was teasing. “Stop it,” she said with a reluctant laugh.
“I’m not going to get in his way.”
She smiled at Riley’s exaggerated tone. “He would never hurt you.”
“He won’t if I don’t cross him. Anyway, I’m coming over.”
“No, don’t.” Even though she felt drugged, she forced herself to sit up. “My sister’s gone missing. I have to go out and find her.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly.”
“She didn’t react well to the news, huh?”
Cheyenne didn’t correct him. “Something’s up.”
“I’ll help you look for her.”
“What about work?”
“What about work? I happen to have an in with the boss. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
* * *
“Can you go in this direction first?” Cheyenne asked.
Riley glanced at her. After making a big deal about the dark circles under her eyes, he’d insisted on driving. “You want to go away from town? Why? What’s down there, besides a dead end?”
The Amoses, for one. Cheyenne wanted to believe that Aaron would’ve told his brother Presley had contacted him. But the truth was she didn’t really trust Aaron. Given that he was also on drugs, he wasn’t the most reliable person in the world.
She supposed she didn’t fully trust Dylan, either, because she was also eager to see if he’d gone to the shop as he’d said—or if he’d just wanted to escape her place. “She has friends down this way.”
“What kind of friends?” he muttered as if only sketchy people lived on the river bottoms.
Normally, Cheyenne wouldn’t have thought anything of encountering such a sentiment. She basically agreed with it. Today, however, his attitude irritated her. “Not everyone down here is a lowlife,” she said. “I live here, don’t I?”
Her mother had also been a river bottoms resident, and Anita definitely fit the stereotype, but he didn’t point that out. “Of course not. Sorry.”
She didn’t answer. She was too busy scrutinizing Dylan’s house. She’d never really looked at it in the light of day—and certainly not through the eyes with which she was seeing it now. It was as well-maintained on the outside as it was inside, she decided. She saw no frills, no flower beds or Christmas wreaths or welcome mats, but she didn’t see the broken-down cars, or cast-off tires and batteries that characterized so many of the other homes in the area, either. Someone had recently repaired the fence and the house had been painted, probably last summer.
Dylan’s Jeep was gone. That made her feel slightly better, although she didn’t want to think about why.
But there was no trace of her sister’s Mustang.
She had Riley stop so she could get out and trudge around back. She planned to check the barn where Dylan had hidden her car that one night, just in case. She had no idea why her sister’s Mustang would be in that spot, but she had to start somewhere.
There were no hidden vehicles, no signs of Presley at all—just some free weights and a boxing bag in the barn. Judging by a radio, a water jug and a cast-off sweatshirt, someone used the equipment on a regular basis. Maybe more than one person.
Cheyenne tried imagining what her sister must be feeling, only to shy away from it. She didn’t want to consider the implications of what she’d found in her mother’s room, especially because she’d destroyed the evidence, and that put her on the wrong side of the law, as well.
Dylan’s dogs were barking and jumping against the sliding glass door. They knew she shouldn’t be there. She paused to stare at them. As a child, she’d pleaded for a puppy. Anita had once allowed her to take in a stray, more by tacit approval than actual agreement. Then she’d dragged Cheyenne away from Albuquerque and made her leave the dog behind.
Cheyenne had often thought about getting a pet now that she was older, but taking care of her mother had become her primary focus. And she wasn’t sure her future rental would permit animals, at least not without a hefty deposit.
Maybe someday, she told herself, and tapped the glass. “Hey, boys.” She had no idea if they were both male. But they were big.
“You okay?”
She turned to see that Riley had followed her. “I’m fine. Presley’s not here. No one is.”
“This is where the Amoses live?”
She nodded.
“Not bad. Beats the hell out of where I’m living at the moment.” They walked back to his truck together. “Where next?”
“Carl Inera’s, I guess.” She knew she was retracing Dylan’s steps from the night before but something could’ve changed since then.
Riley took her hand. “Have you told Eve about your mother?”
She hauled cold air into her lungs. “Not yet. I didn’t want to ruin the rest of her trip.”
“She’d want to know.”
“There’s nothing she can do about it now. Let’s wait until she gets back.”
He pulled her to a stop. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “All I want is to find Presley.”
“We’ll find her.” He seemed confident, but she was beginning to wonder. She couldn’t see Presley being able to live with what she’d done.
Cheyenne wasn’t sure she could live with what Presley had done, either. Or what she’d done to cover it up.
23
Joe was in front of the station, talking to a customer about an oil change, when his father leaned out of the minimart. “Come in here when you’re done, will ya?”
Martin called him in all the time. Sometimes he had an idea for some way to improve the station. Or he thought they should hire or fire an employee, like the kleptomaniac Mindy they’d had to let go a couple of years ago. Joe wasn’t particularly concerned. After scheduling the oil change, he strolled inside. “What’s going on?”
Joyce Weatherby, a local schoolteacher, stood at the register, buying a pack of gum. Martin told her to have a good day and waited until she was gone before responding. “Have you heard the news?”
“What news?”
“Cheyenne lost her mother.”
Joe hadn’t been aware of that. He hadn’t called her yet. He’d been too caught up in making plans with his girls. He was supposed to pick them up in an hour and a half and keep them for a few days. “Who told you?”
“The hospice nurse stopped by to get gas a few minutes ago. She was on her way over with a hot meal for Cheyenne and Presley. She asked me to let anyone who might be friends with them know, so they could get some emotional support.”
“Have you called Gail?”
“No, but I will.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “So Anita’s finally gone.”
His father gave him a stern look.
“There’s no use pretending,” he said, and checked the time. His ex was expecting him at seven. Maybe he could talk Cheyenne into driving to Sacramento with him. He could take her and his girls to dinner while they were there. A night out just after her mother had died might not sound very appealing to Cheyenne, but with her friends in the Caribbean her alternative would probably be staying home—alone if Presley had to work. That couldn’t be much better.
Besides, he was curious to see how she’d interact with his children. It wasn’t like he could cancel his plans. His girls had asked a friend to change the date of her Christmas party so they’d be able to visit Whiskey Creek. The judge had assigned him Christmas Eve and Suzie Christmas Day.
“I’ll give Chey a call.”
His father was watching him a little too closely.
“What?” he said.
“You like her, don’t you.”
He did. He liked her a lot. “Quit acting so smug,” he said, and his father chuckled as he walked away.
* * *
When Joe’s call came in, Cheyenne silenced her phone. She knew it was rude not to answer. It seemed like she’d been avoiding him all week. Gail tried calling next. But she couldn’t talk to either one of them right now. After several hours of searching without success, she was too panicked. She wanted to take a flashlight and comb the woods by the river. Presley loved it down there. During the summer she’d stand and wade in the water and smoke cigarette after cigarette.
Although it was too cold for that at Christmas, especially after dark, Cheyenne decided to go down there, anyway. But first she was hoping to enlist the support of the local police. She and Riley had contacted all of Presley’s friends and coworkers. She wasn’t sure what else she could do. Driving around, asking anyone and everyone about her sister wasn’t producing any results. Presley had left in the dead of night. Not many people in Whiskey Creek were up in the wee hours.
Riley waited in his Explorer as she knocked on Tim Stacy’s door. Tim hadn’t been the chief of police for more than a few years, but he’d worked for the four-man department as long as Cheyenne had lived in Whiskey Creek, so she’d seen him around. He’d once pulled Eve over when Cheyenne was with her, for accidentally running a red light.
When he answered the door, she could tell she’d interrupted his dinner.
“Sorry to bother you,” she said.
“No problem.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin he’d carried away from the table and glanced surreptitiously over her head, at Riley. “What can I do for you?”
He listened as she explained the situation, but as soon as she mentioned Presley’s name she could tell he was only being polite. By the time she reached the part about her sister taking off, and the fact that she hadn’t been seen all day, he was already discounting Cheyenne’s concern.
“It’s not even eight o’clock,” he said.
“But she left in the middle of last night. That means she’s been gone for fifteen hours or more.”
“Hours? Come on, you know your sister’s never been as…shall we say, stable as you have.”
“That may be true—”
“I’m sure she’s just trying to cope with her grief,” he broke in. “You’ve both been through a lot. The loss of a parent affects us all differently.”
“She’s never disappeared like this,” Cheyenne said, but that was desperation talking. She knew the second those words came out of her mouth that she’d lost all credibility. Presley had disappeared for days at a time. Once, she’d run away for weeks.
This situation was different, though. But only Cheyenne knew why.
No longer in uniform, he adjusted the belt that held up his jeans. “She’s got her car, right? She’ll come back when she’s ready.”
“What if she doesn’t?”
“If she’s not back in another day or so, we’ll see what we can do.”
“Day or
so?” she echoed.
“I can’t use the city’s resources too quickly, Cheyenne. That wouldn’t be fair to the taxpayers, now would it—if I were to round up everyone and keep them out all night, on overtime, searching, only to find her drunk in some bar in Sacramento?”
Cheyenne’s heart sank. Once again, her sister’s reputation was working against her. Cheyenne had battled Anita’s irresponsibility all her life and now she was battling Presley’s.
Still, she made an effort to convince him. Riley even got out and said he thought something might really be wrong this time. But being gone for less than a full day wasn’t considered abnormal behavior, especially for a known drug user.
“I’m sorry,” Riley said as they walked back to his SUV.
Cheyenne was too angry to respond.
He opened the door for her. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m not giving up,” she said. “You can go home if you want, but I’m not giving up.”
“I don’t want to go home, Chey, but—” he grimaced “—I left Jacob at a friend’s. I need to get back there and collect him. I can leave him at my mom’s and come back later, though. I’ll do that, okay?”
Warm tears slid down her cheeks. She’d already taken his whole afternoon and most of the evening. But there wasn’t anyone else she could turn to.
“That’s okay,” she said. “Stay with Jacob. He’s off school and, for a change, not involved with sports and homework. And it’s almost Christmas. I don’t mind doing it alone.”
* * *
Aaron sat on one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room, drinking a Pepsi. Normally when he came in from the back, he got what he wanted and returned directly to the shop. He also left with the others at five o’clock, which he hadn’t done today. Dylan got the impression he was lingering because he had something to say.
“So…you really like Cheyenne, huh?”
That was it? He wanted to rub Dylan’s nose in what had happened last night?
Dylan finished the bite he’d taken of the sandwich Mack had brought him for dinner. He’d stayed at work because he was behind—and he thought it might help him forget Cheyenne. For the moment. “What’s on your mind?” he asked.
