Lance Brody Omnibus

by Michael Robertson Jr.

  Leah threw her hands up in frustration. “That’s the worst part of the whole thing. Nobody I’ve spoken to, not the other players, not other students, and not even Bobby Strang, even knew Samuel had a girlfriend. She’s a phantom. Nobody has the slightest clue who she was.”

  “But she could very well have been the last person to have seen your brother alive.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, then, we have to find her.”

  10

  Lance opened his eyes and wondered when his bedroom ceiling had become so dirty. He didn’t remember ever seeing it so filthy, with blackish-gray smears of dust and cobwebs dancing in the corners with unseen swirls of air. It was an odd thing. His mother had always kept things very…

  The memories flooded him, and he sat up, remembering everything that had happened. His eyes focused on the dull surroundings of his motel room, and he remembered where he was.

  He remembered last night.

  After Leah’s revelation about her brother’s mysterious girlfriend, she’d quickly gone on to explain that Samuel had been the first, and one Westhaven football player had followed in her brother’s disappearing footsteps in each of the past two years. Two years in which Westhaven had won state titles.

  Three years.

  Three championships.

  Three missing

  (Dead?)

  boys.

  Lance had had more questions, and Leah had seemed to have more information, but at that point it had gotten to be a few minutes after midnight and Lance’s headache was starting to kick up again. Plus, his afternoon nap was wearing off, his body once again beginning to feel weary, and he knew he needed sleep.

  “Let’s meet for breakfast in the morning, then we can get to work,” Leah had said as he’d thanked her for the pizza and made his way to the office’s door.

  “Get to work?”

  Leah had cocked her head to side. “Well, yeah. You know … solving the case.”

  Lance had been tired and had hated to admit that Leah’s enthusiasm to begin chasing down what he knew to be something neither of them were likely capable of dealing with was beginning to irritate him. A normal person might have been quick to vocalize such annoyances, but Lance had better sense. He knew Leah was hurting and had been for some time now. Whatever small flame of hope she’d been holding on to had been doused in gasoline and had exploded the moment Lance had told her what he was and shown an interest.

  “I’m not a detective,” he’d said.

  “No,” she’d said. “You’re better than a detective. You actually care.”

  It was the truth. “You know Annabelle’s Apron?”

  She’d rolled her eyes. “Hello, I’ve lived here my whole life, and there aren’t a lot of options. Daddy says Ms. Winters used to make the best pies in the state.”

  Lance had nodded. “She told—” He’d caught himself. “That’s what I’ve heard. Meet there at eight?”

  Leah had shaken her head. “Nine. That way the kids will be in school and the adults at work. You heard Daddy earlier. Folks have already reported you as suspicious. The fewer people who see us together, the better.”

  Lance agreed but knew that no matter how careful they were in their appearances, there was something worse than peeping human eyes keeping tabs on him. Something that would not be easily deterred. He had said goodnight and taken the few short steps to his motel room, his sneakers crunching the shattered plastic from the overhead light that had exploded earlier. He had shuffled a few of the broken shards around on the concrete and looked up at the now-blackened hole where the bulb and globe had been, looked across the parking lot to the road, the single streetlamp still casting its dull glow.

  The air had been still and cool, but Lance knew better than to think it innocent.

  After a quick check of his small room, which included looking into the mirror for surprise guests and pulling back the shower curtain to examine the empty tub, Lance had kicked off his shoes and fallen asleep almost instantly when his head had touched the pillow.

  And now he was awake, a stranger in a town that held secrets that did not want to be revealed. But how far will it go to stop me?

  The motel room’s window was traced by an outline of gold as the early-morning sunlight squirted through the cracks. Lance stood and stretched, felt the lump on the back of his head and was pleased to find that it’d gotten much smaller than the night before. After rubbing his eyes, he found his vision to be fine and his headache to be gone. All that remained was the tender area of skin around the knot at the base of his skull. In time, that would heal.

  He checked his flip phone and saw it was a quarter to seven. No missed calls or voicemails had been logged, which didn’t surprise him in the slightest. He’d gotten few phone calls before, and he imagined, with his mother gone, he’d get even fewer now. He sighed, found his phone charger in his backpack and plugged it into the wall behind the nightstand. Once his phone was sucking down juice, Lance went into the bathroom and took a shower, extremely thankful for the motel-provided mini bar of soap, even if it did look as if he were scrubbing himself with an oversized Tic-Tac.

  Finished with the shower and having dried himself, he looked at the pile of clothes he’d discarded on the floor and was slightly repulsed at the fact he would have to wear the whole outfit again. Socks, boxers, everything. He needed to go shopping, as soon as possible. He looked suspicious enough as it was, so wearing the same outfit every day to go along with eternal morning breath and his pits likely reeking of BO did not seem like the best option.

  He shook out his clothing, a half-hearted attempt to de-wrinkle them, and then dressed. He unplugged his cell phone and slid it into his pocket, then repacked the charger. After a thorough check of the room to be sure he’d not left behind any personal items, he slid his backpack onto his shoulders, peeked through the blinds and scanned the parking lot for any movement. He went outside.

  His hand went immediately to his face, shielding his eyes from the sun. He squinted and looked down to the asphalt, letting his eyes adjust. When they finally did, he looked to his right, toward the motel’s office door, and found himself wanting to go in that direction. To pop his head inside and offer Leah a quick “good morning” and tell her he was looking forward to their breakfast

  (It’s not a date)

  together. But then he was stepping off the sidewalk and making his way across the parking lot. Stop being silly, Lance. That’s not why you’re here.

  The pickup truck was gone, but the Jeep with the stuffed Garfield suctioned to the window was still in the same place. Lance met the cat’s plastic eyes as he walked past the car and wondered who it was that owned the vehicle, what kind of person he or she was, where they were headed.

  His sneakers found Route 19, and before he turned to walk back toward town, he noticed the plume of smoke rising high above the trees in the distance. It had to be miles away, but still it was impossible to miss, a great gray pillar growing toward the sky. “That’s got to be the paper mill,” he said to the road, and he wondered if he’d make his way there, if whatever mystery he was attempting to solve would draw him toward that black smoke.

  He walked along the sidewalk, back into town. A few cars passed him by, one going so far as to drive in the other lane as it passed, making sure to give Lance all the room he needed. Well, at least I know not everybody’s out for blood around here.

  Back in the heart of Westhaven’s downtown, Lance turned off the main drag and walked two blocks down a side street. He found a small CVS on the corner and went inside, an elderly gentleman greeting him with a large smile and a loud “G’morning!” Lance returned the greeting with a smile and a nod and grabbed one of the plastic baskets from a stack near the door. Ten minutes later he’d made his purchases: toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo, soap, shaving cream, disposable razor, a small travel first-aid kit, a three-pack of white athletic socks, a three-pack of boxer shorts, and a pack of spearmint gum. “Is there some
place close where I could buy some clothes?” Lance had asked the man at the counter as he paid.

  “Depends what sort of clothes you’re looking for, son.”

  Lance looked down at his t-shirt and cargo shorts, his scuffed sneakers.

  “I see,” the man said. Then he pointed over his shoulder, as if this was a display of precision direction giving. “Sportsman’s is a block over, but Harry doesn’t open until nine.”

  Darn. Looks like I’m wearing the same thing for breakfast as dinner.

  “Thank you very much,” Lance said, and then asked, “Restroom?”

  Lance followed another of the man’s pointing fingers and carried his shopping bag to the back right corner of the store, where he found the men’s room. Inside one of the stalls, he changed his boxers and put on a fresh pair of socks. Then he brushed his teeth and applied a thick layer of deodorant. He stuffed everything into his backpack and then headed toward the front of the store to leave. The elderly gentleman behind the counter was reading the day’s newspaper, and as Lance was about to exit the store, he had an idea. “Excuse me, sir?”

  The man peered at Lance from atop the paper. “Yes, son? Something else I can do for you?”

  Lance hesitated for a moment, realizing this could be a bad idea, but he wanted to get a feel for things. He knew he had to ask. “I’m just passing through, on a way to visit a friend of mine a little further north. I told him I was coming through here, and he mentioned to me that he thought he heard that a bunch of high school boys have disappeared around here over the years. Is that true, or was he just pulling my leg? Trying to spook me, or something?”

  It was like the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room. The man’s smile faltered and the newspaper went all the way down to the counter. Then the man looked Lance dead in the eyes and said, “What are you, a reporter? Somebody looking for a scandal, to stir up trouble?”

  “No, sir. It just sounded to me like you already had trouble. You know anything about it?”

  The man stared at Lance for another hard second and then picked up his newspaper. “Move along, son. Your friend is waiting for you.”

  Lance left the store and stood on the sidewalk outside the automatic doors. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw the man behind the counter looking at him through the window, his face partially hidden by a large advertisement promising Buy One, Get One Free for any bottled beverage. Lance waved and smiled. The man’s face disappeared.

  Lance sighed. Well, that didn’t go well.

  He checked his phone and saw it was nearly 8:30. Time for breakfast.

  As he walked to Annabelle’s Apron, he wondered if the man from CVS was already on the phone, letting everybody know that a suspicious man had stopped by this morning … and he was asking questions.

  11

  He walked through the diner’s door at ten before nine and found Leah seated at the counter on one of the stools. She had one hand curled around a coffee mug, the other wrapped around her iPhone, her thumb aimlessly scrolling the screen. Her hair was down this morning. It looked clean and was shining in the sunlight pouring through the diner’s windows. Gone was the black business suit, in its place a pair of green khaki shorts and a red t-shirt, a pair of white-and-red Converse sneakers on her feet.

  Lance loved the girl’s sense of style. He felt even more conscious about his lack of different clothes. He’d never been one to care much about his own appearance, but he didn’t want to come off as a bum, and he hated feeling dirty.

  As usual, because of his size, many of Annabelle’s Apron’s guests’ eyes followed Lance as he made his way toward the counter. He smiled at a few that were close enough to notice, and they offered quick grins before turning their attention back toward their plates and newspapers. He had barely reached the counter when Margie came through the kitchen door and saw him, her stern face noticeably softening for a moment as she said, “Well, good morning! The man with the bottomless pit for a stomach returns. I told the afternoon staff all about you yesterday. They thought I was making it up. Said nobody could eat all of that and still walk out the door of their own accord.” The woman laughed, and Lance noticed that her smile was very nice. He hoped that she got the chance to use it more often.

  He waved back and sat himself on a stool, leaving a one-stool gap between himself and Leah. “Sounds like folks around here need to eat more,” Lance said to Margie as she slid a coffee mug in front of him. “I used to put away twice that on game days back when I played ball.”

  Margie filled his mug. “Football?” she asked, her eyes lighting up.

  Lance shook his head. “No. Too skinny for football. Basketball.”

  “Oh,” Margie said, seemingly disappointed.

  “Margie, sweetie, I’ll take some of that coffee over here, and some of your sugar to go with it.” Hank Peterson was in his same spot at the end of the counter, coffee mug held out like a street beggar.

  Margie rolled her eyes. “Your wife’s sugar not good enough, Hank?” Then she winked at Lance and went to fill Hank’s coffee.

  “Well,” Leah said, speaking to him for the first time, “you’ve certainly made a reputation for yourself. Never known Margie to take to a stranger so quickly. She’s usually, well, sort of a bitch. You know, in that Great American Diner sort of way.”

  “I think she just likes me because my bill is high. Plus, well, I’m downright charming.”

  Leah had no comment on Lance’s level of charming. Instead, she stood from the counter, grabbed her coffee mug and said, “Come on, let’s go get a booth so we can talk without everybody listening.”

  Lance stood, and when Margie saw him and gave him a questioning look, Lance raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, What am I going to do?

  He followed Leah through the smattering of tables, only a few of which had actual diners seated at them, and ended up sitting in the same rear corner booth where the family with the young child had been yesterday morning. Lance sat with his back to the side of the building, facing the front. Leah had her back to everything except him and the window behind him.

  Remembering Margie’s look, Lance said, “It’s not going to be a secret very long that we’re here together.”

  Leah shrugged. “I know. I thought it’d be better coming in later like this, but I wasn’t even thinking about the people working here. Oh well. It’s not like we’re making out and causing a scene. For all anybody knows, you could be my cousin, or something.”

  Lance’s brain had stopped listening at the words “making out” and he had to push away the images they conjured in order to bring his focus back to the present. “Okay,” he said.

  “Okay, what?”

  A waitress brought them menus just in time to save him. Leah held up her hands and said, “I’ll just have some wheat toast and jelly, Sarah.”

  Lance handed his menu back as well and ordered his same breakfast from yesterday.

  “You know her?” he asked once the waitress was out of earshot.

  Leah nodded and took a sip of her coffee. “Few years older than me. She used to be a cheerleader for Westhaven. Was supposed to go to college on a scholarship.”

  “What happened?”

  “She got pregnant by the high school math teacher.”

  Lance swallowed a steaming-hot sip of coffee faster than he wanted to. He coughed and said, “Whoa. That’s pretty scandalous.”

  Leah raised her mug in a toast. “Welcome to Small Town, USA.”

  They were quiet for a bit, both sipping coffee and waiting for their food. “Who’s watching the motel?” Lance asked.

  “Renee. It’s her normal shift, but I told her today I might need her to work some extra hours. I told her I had some things I needed to take care of. She doesn’t mind. She needs the money.”

  “How many people do you have working for you?”

  “Technically, they work for Daddy, but …” She looked up, mentally tallying. “Five, if you count Martin. He’s a hand
yman that Daddy pays a fee each month to be on standby. In case something needs fixing.”

  “A handyman on retainer,” Lance said. “Not a bad gig.”

  Leah nodded. “And he’s the sweetest guy in the world.”

  Their food came, and as Leah spread jelly on her toast and Lance poured syrup on his pancakes, Lance asked a question that had been nagging at him from the early moments of Leah telling him the town’s troubled past. “So, what exactly do the police have to say about everything?”

  Leah took a bite and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. “Not much.”

  “Come on. Three kids gone missing. They’ve said something.” Lance forked eggs into his mouth and washed it down with a bite of pancake.

  Leah sighed. “You’re right. Sort of. They honestly did seem to make a decent effort when Samuel disappeared. At first, anyway. But when the leads—which were essentially zero—led to dead ends, they started looking a little closer at the home life.”

  Lance swallowed another bite of food, knowing all at once where this was going. “They think he ran away.” It wasn’t a question. It was fact.

  Leah nodded. “Again … small town. Sheriff’s office all knew about Momma passing and knew Daddy was drinking a lot.” Then, embarrassed, “He’s spent more than one night in the drunk tank after having a few too many and getting started on the wrong topic of conversation. Daddy’s got a short fuse.”

  And the alcohol makes it shorter, Lance thought, feeling a twinge of anger at the memory of Leah’s confession that her father had struck her and her brother.

  She continued, “Everybody knew things weren’t the best at our house. They knew I’d been working extra hours at the motel, and then … well, when they found out Daddy’d hit us a few times, that was the final nail in the coffin. They immediately assumed Samuel had had enough.”

  Lance shook his head. “And just like that, case closed?”

  “More or less. I mean, technically the case is still open—cold now—but nobody’s following up with it. The last time any member of the sheriff’s office came to see me was after the second boy disappeared. After the third, the state police got involved, or at least pretended to, but that fizzled out almost as quick as it started.”