First Girl Gone: An absolutely addictive crime thriller with a twist (Detective Charlotte Winters Book 1)

by L. T. Vargus

  While he studied the photo, Charlie took a good look at the TV screen behind the counter, displaying the store’s security camera feed. The top two quadrants showed the gas pumps out front. The bottom two were interior shots—one positioned at the far end of the store, the other focused on the cash register. Charlie blinked at her own tiny likeness. Too bad none of the exterior cameras offered an angle wide enough to see the park.

  The cashier gave the photo of Kara a thorough examination before shaking his head.

  “Nope, sorry. Doesn’t look familiar to me,” he said, handing over her change.

  “And you didn’t happen to notice anything unusual that day, did you?”

  “Nah. To be honest, every day in here bleeds into the next.”

  “OK,” Charlie said, depositing her wallet and the Snickers into her bag. “Thanks, anyway.”

  As she walked to the door, Charlie checked the view of the park through the windows of the gas station. Most of the glass was blocked by merchandise—motor oil on one wall and two-liters of Faygo on the other. Even if the guy’s eyesight was fine, he wouldn’t have been able to see Kara from here.

  Charlie spent the next few hours canvassing the area around the park, showing Kara’s photo to employees in the other businesses on the block. She hit the copy shop, café, and salon, and then she moved on to houses, rousing retirees and housewives in the hopes they’d seen something. No one remembered seeing Kara in the neighborhood.

  Her breath came out in plumes as she walked back to where she’d parked outside of the school. A fresh dusting of snow crunched underfoot.

  When she reached her car, she climbed inside and sat in the quiet for a moment. The frustration was starting to build again. She knew she should focus on the positive. It hadn’t been an entirely fruitless morning.

  Charlie’s notebook sat open in her lap, and when she looked down, her gaze snapped to the line in her notes where she’d written, “Secret job?” She considered what Maggie had said about her brother being paid off the books. It didn’t surprise her at all—she recalled it being somewhat of an open secret that the bar paid a lot of high school kids under the table. But she didn’t remember anyone being particularly tight-lipped about working there.

  Also, dishwashing didn’t pay much, and Kara’s stepsister had said Kara had some scheme to get off the island for good. Charlie couldn’t imagine a minimum-wage job fitting the bill. Maybe a waitressing job, but the Lakeside Tavern served alcohol, which meant the servers had to be eighteen.

  Allie chimed in then.

  “Maggie said that when she got to the park, and Kara wasn’t there, her first thought was that Kara had gone to buy cigarettes.”

  Charlie picked up her meaning right away.

  “She would need a fake ID.”

  “Exactly.”

  Charlie felt a momentary surge of triumph, but it faded just as quickly. It was something, sure. If Kara used the ID to get a waitressing gig at the Lakeside, that might be a reason to be secretive about it. To hide it from her parents.

  “It’s wafer-thin,” Charlie said out loud, more to herself than anything, but Allie never passed up an opportunity to butt in.

  “I’m afraid it’s all you’ve got.”

  The only way to know for sure would be to go to the Lakeside and ask around for herself.

  Chapter Twelve

  Charlie had hoped to beat the dinner crowd to the Lakeside Tavern, but after taking Frank to and from another chemo treatment, it was early evening by the time she arrived. The sprawling building overlooked Lake St. Clair and the marina, and Charlie admired the way the setting sun turned the lake metallic orange as she approached the door.

  The place had started as a small bar, but the owners had built it up over the years, putting in restaurant seating, an area with pool tables and a small stage, and a roof deck with a tiki bar. Charlie visualized Kara working here, sporting the green polo that most of the servers seemed to wear, a tray loaded with giant steins of beer balanced on her palm. She asked herself if it fit, if that picture seemed likely. Maybe.

  It was warm inside, and Charlie undid her jacket as she passed a gangly teen wiping a rag over a four-top. The place looked about the same as she remembered it. The walls were dark wood paneling lined with local memorabilia and framed newspaper clippings of notable events chronicling the island’s past. Beside the large, U-shaped bar, there were four pool tables and an old-school jukebox with neon lights aglow. Overall, it had a rustic, homey feel.

  Charlie edged closer to the bar and ordered a Negroni. The bartender was young and shockingly tall—over six and a half feet, she’d guess. He probably spent most of his free time getting asking by strangers if he played basketball. Despite his size, his movements as he mixed the drink were fluid, and he was surprisingly gentle about setting her drink on a cocktail napkin and sliding it over to her.

  “Can I ask you a quick question?” she asked.

  He neatly quartered a lime with a serrated knife and grabbed another before glancing her way. “What’s that?”

  “Do you know if a girl named Kara Dawkins works here?”

  He scrunched up his face into something like a wince.

  “I’m bad with names. Brain’s like a sieve for that stuff. Hold on a sec.” He dropped his knife to the cutting board and called out to a waitress folding napkins at the other end of the bar. “Hey, Lindsey. Come here for a minute.”

  The girl crossed the room, her blonde ponytail swinging from side to side.

  “What do you need, Glenn?”

  “You know a…” The bartender glanced back at Charlie. “Shit, what was the name again?”

  “Kara Dawkins,” Charlie said. She pulled out her phone and showed them a photo of Kara. “I was told she worked here.”

  Hovering over the screen, the bartender shook his head, but Charlie thought she saw a flicker of recognition flit across the girl’s face.

  “She a local? Goes to Salem High?”

  “That’s right,” Charlie said, feeling suddenly hopeful.

  “I thought so,” Lindsey nodded. “She and my sister played soccer together back in middle school, I think. As for working here? No. Not since I’ve been here.”

  “And how long is that?”

  “Almost two years. I train most of the new servers, too, so I would know if we’d hired her.”

  Charlie forced a smile onto her face and thanked both of them for answering her questions.

  Feeling lost, she settled into her seat at the bar, glad for the drink in her hand. The Lakeside Tavern had turned into a dead end, and she had no idea where to go next. She stared at the hazy reflection of her own face in the polished surface of the bartop, trying to untangle all the loose strands from the case.

  Kara had been sneaking out at night, but why? She supposedly had a job no one knew about, but where? Every answer seemed to lead to more questions.

  Then there was the mysterious email containing the “white rabbit” riddle. Someone was trying to tell her something, but Charlie had no idea what it was.

  “Hey, stranger,” a voice said from over Charlie’s shoulder.

  Charlie spun around on her stool. When she saw that it was Zoe Wyatt standing there, she grinned.

  Zoe was one of Charlie’s oldest friends. With the last names Winters and Wyatt, Charlie, Allie, and Zoe had been assigned lockers side by side from sixth grade through graduation. It hadn’t taken long for a friendship to develop between the girls.

  These days, Zoe was a deputy at the local sheriff’s department, so maybe the day wouldn’t be a total bust after all. Charlie wasn’t above prodding Zoe for inside information.

  “What’s up?” Charlie asked, picking up her drink and taking a sip.

  The front of Zoe’s uniform pulled taut as she crossed her arms.

  “I’ll tell you what’s up. I’m majorly pissed off at you.”

  “At me?” Charlie pointed at her chest with her free hand. “Why?”

  “Uh, because I
’ve been trying to get you to come out for drinks since you got back, and all I keep hearing is a crapload of excuses about how busy you are.”

  It was true. Zoe had invited her out at least three times now, and Charlie kept begging off.

  “Now I walk in here and find you, alcoholic beverage in hand,” Zoe went on, pretending to get choked up now. “Is it me? Am I not one of the cool kids anymore?”

  “Zoe, I hate to break this to you, but neither one of us was ever one of the cool kids.”

  Zoe sniffed a half-laugh at that. “So what are you doing here? Meeting someone?”

  “Nope. I was following a lead.” She lifted her drink. “If you couldn’t tell by the fact that I’m now sitting here drinking alone, it was a dead end.”

  “Oof. That sounds sad.”

  “Pretty much,” Charlie agreed. “What are you doing here?”

  “Celebrating.”

  “Celebrating what?”

  “The end of another tedious workday. Turns out law enforcement work is about ninety-five percent paperwork, the bulk of it utterly unnecessary. The other five percent is comprised of listening to people complain. How society hasn’t crumbled by now, I have no idea. Even so, another day is done. Let us celebrate with strong drink.”

  Charlie laughed. Signaling to the bartender, she ordered two bottles of Bell’s Amber Ale. She waited until they were nearly through the first round before she started pressing Zoe for information.

  “So speaking of work, I was hoping I could ask you a few questions.”

  Zoe made a tsk sound with her tongue.

  “More work is no way to celebrate the end of a workday, Charlie.”

  “I understand, it’s just I’ve really hit a wall,” Charlie said. “Besides, the one bonus of moving back here is having an old friend in the sheriff’s department. Makes me feel like a real big shot.”

  She nudged Zoe with an elbow before plucking a menu from a clear acrylic stand resting on the bar. “You want to order some food? I’m starving. Plus, beer always makes me crave something salty.”

  Squinting, Zoe took a slug of beer.

  “Are you trying to bribe me with food now?”

  Charlie glanced over the menu at her friend.

  “Would that work?”

  Zoe raised an eyebrow. “Maybe.”

  Charlie ordered a plate of nachos, one of the Lakeside Tavern’s so-called specialties. When the chips came out piled high with cheese, guacamole, sour cream, and beans, they both dug in. After a few bites, Zoe swiveled her stool so she was facing Charlie more squarely.

  “OK. You’ve managed to sufficiently loosen my ordinarily fastidious morals by plying me with beer and nachos. What do you want?”

  Grinning, Charlie leaned an elbow against the bar.

  “I was curious if you’ve heard anything about Kara Dawkins.”

  “Dawkins… Misty Dawkins’ kid?”

  “That’s the one. She’s missing.”

  “Ah. Right. I did hear some rumbling about that, now that you mention it. It’s not really my beat, you know, but the general consensus is that she ran off.” She shoved a chip loaded with guacamole and cheese into her maw and chewed. “So Misty hired you?”

  “Yeah. She’s pretty worried. Came into my office sobbing and everything.”

  “Well, I can tell you right now, we get one or two of these every month. Nine-point-five times out of ten, the kids are off somewhere, usually doing crap they’re not supposed to be doing. They run out of either money or alcohol and they come a-crawlin’ back.”

  “And what about the point-five times out of ten when it’s something worse?”

  Zoe gulped at her beer, finishing it off, and indicated to the bartender that she wanted another.

  “Then we get involved. I’m just saying, a kid with that history? I mean, you heard about her getting arrested, right?”

  “I did. But being troubled doesn’t preclude her from foul play. In fact, it might increase the odds.”

  The bartender swapped Zoe’s empty for a fresh bottle, and Zoe gave a nod of thanks.

  “That’s fair,” she said, lifting the bottle to her lips. “I’m curious, though. Have you found anything that suggests foul play? Actual evidence, I mean.”

  “Maybe. She was supposed to meet a friend in Town Square Park. From their texting, it sounded like Kara showed. But when her friend got there a while later, she was gone.”

  Tipping her head to one side, Zoe seemed to consider this.

  “It’s kind of mysterious. I’ll grant you that.” Pausing with a chip halfway to her mouth, she added, “Town Square Park… Wednesday?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  Zoe downed the morsel of food and licked a smear of sour cream from her thumb.

  “We had some complaints from residents in that area about a black SUV speeding around, blasting music real loud, laying down rubber. More obnoxious than criminal, really.”

  “The same day Kara went missing?”

  Nodding, Zoe said, “I was the unlucky S.O.B. that got to go investigate.”

  “What time was this?”

  “Late. Between eleven and midnight.”

  Charlie slouched against the bar, cheek resting on her fist.

  “That’s several hours after Kara was supposed to meet her friend.”

  She picked a black olive off the top of the nachos and ate it.

  “I mean, I figured it was probably just a coincidence, anyway,” Zoe said. “It came to mind because it was the same part of town and all.”

  Charlie could appreciate that. Zoe didn’t have to give her anything, after all.

  “Did you get a plate? Or a make and model?” she asked, more to show her appreciation at the tip than anything else.

  “Nah. They’d moved on by the time I got out there. But there was one identifying detail on the vehicle.”

  “What was it?”

  “A big sticker across the back that said No Fat Chix. That’s chix with an X.”

  “Wow. Classy.”

  Zoe shook her head, chuckling. “Yeah. Probably not a Harvard grad.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  As they finished off the plate of nachos, they reminisced about old times. The late crowd began to filter in, adding an ambient murmur of voices to the background of their conversation. Someone fired up the jukebox, playing “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey. If Charlie was honest, her main motivation for staying for drinks with Zoe had been to question her about the Kara Dawkins case. But now that she was here, swapping nostalgic stories from their past, she was glad for it. Maybe that tingling swirl in her head of alcohol laying waste to brain cells was part of it.

  The blonde waitress from earlier whisked past them with a tray full of cocktails. Zoe let out a heavy sigh.

  “What?” Charlie said, sensing something odd in Zoe’s demeanor.

  “Nothing. She is gorgeous. That’s all.”

  The waitress was cute enough, Charlie thought as she studied her. The girl had angular brown eyes and a smattering of freckles over her nose, but Charlie still wasn’t sure what Zoe was getting at. Envy?

  “The waitress? You’re just as pretty as she is.”

  Zoe’s gaze slid over to meet hers.

  “I’m not jealous, Charlie. I’m gay.”

  “Oh.”

  Zoe took a drink, smiling around the bottle. At least she seemed amused and not offended. “Did you really not know?”

  Shaking her head, Charlie fiddled with the corner of her cocktail napkin, folding it back on itself.

  “Sorry. Does that make me a terrible friend?”

  “No.” Zoe laughed. “I just figured you would have heard by now.”

  “From who?”

  “I don’t know. You hear things.”

  “I don’t talk to anyone from here.”

  Zoe waved her hand around, nearly knocking over her bottle, but caught it before any liquid spilled.

  “Yeah, but Facebook…”

  “Oh, I don’t use
Facebook.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “OK, I use it plenty for work. You wouldn’t believe the sensitive-slash-scandalous info I can dig up on social media.” Charlie took a drink and wiped the corner of her mouth. “Probably why I don’t use it personally. I know how very available that information is, and how easy it is to think you’re only sharing with friends.”

  “You sound paranoid.”

  Charlie quirked one shoulder upward.

  “It’s like my uncle Frank says: a little bit of paranoia goes a long way.”

  Zoe’s head tipped to one side as she peered over at Charlie. “Hey, how is your uncle, anyway?”

  “Good,” Charlie said, because that’s what people wanted to hear. “You know him. He’s not going down without a fight.”

  “Cancer’s about to get its head kicked in.” Zoe lifted her bottle high. “To your uncle. A tough old S.O.B. if ever there was one.”

  They toasted to Uncle Frank, and Charlie finished off her beer with one long pull.

  After a moment she said, “It makes sense though.”

  “What does?”

  “You being gay.” She had a fresh bottle now, and rivulets of condensation ran down the glass. She poked at a particularly fat droplet. “That explains why you were the only girl in school who didn’t think Chase Russell was hot.”

  “Ugh. No.” Zoe made a face like she’d just eaten something bitter. “I didn’t think Chase was hot because he looks like a lizard.”

  Charlie laughed, nearly choking on her beer.

  Zoe gave her a few firm wallops on the back.

  “Don’t die on me, Winters.”

  It was a few seconds before Charlie was able to speak or even take a normal breath again.

  “Was it hard?”

  “Thinking Chase Russell looked like a lizard person?” Zoe asked, then shrugged. “I struggled with it sometimes. Tried to find meaning in an increasingly reptilian world.”

  Charlie shook her head, chuckling. “No, I mean being gay in a town like Salem Island. I mean, maybe now things are a bit more progressive, but back then? At the very least, I imagine it would have been shitty to feel like you had to keep that a secret from everyone.”