Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“You must be new around here,” she said, setting a glass container of sugar down in front of me too.
“I am. Just visiting.”
“Perfect season for a visit. Nice car you’ve got.” She gestured toward the windows, likely at my Mercedes. It was a 2006 CLS500. It had formerly belonged to my mother. She’d bought it the same year she died.
“Thanks.”
“You don’t strike me as flapjack kind of girl,” Luisa said, her eyes narrowing a bit as she chomped on her gum again. “What you really in here for?”
I figured this was the best time to bring it up. Cut straight to the chase. “You got me.” I laughed, glancing at the man frying an egg behind her. “I’m actually looking for someone.” I dug into my bag for my wallet, pulling out an old photo of me and Eve. Both of us were twenty-six years old, fresh-faced, young, and hopeful. We’d taken the picture at a photo-booth in the mall. For some odd reason, I never removed it.
I slid the photo toward Luisa and pointed at Eve. “Have you seen her around here?”
Luisa frowned a bit, studying the image, before tilting her gaze to mine. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Are you sure? It’s just—I only ask because she’d mentioned coming here to eat one night.” Granted, this was a lie. But a lie helps when you need answers.
“Oh, that must be why I haven’t seen her. I don’t work the night shift.” She backed away when the man behind her rang a bell. She picked up two plates stacked with flapjacks and carried them around the counter to two truckers in the back.
When she returned, busying herself with wiping the menus clean, I looked from her to one of the cameras. “Do those work?” I peeled one of the creamer packets open, nodding my head at the camera.
She gave a bored glance over her shoulder before wiping the menus again. “Depends on the day.”
“Do you think I can take a look at the footage you have? From three nights ago?”
Luisa planted a hand on her hip. “Are you some kind of food reviewer or something?” she asked, eyeing me suspiciously. “Because if so, we’ve told y’all a million times that we are a clean restaurant. You can see our health code right there! Whoever put up that review about the roaches was lying.”
“No, no. I’m—” I forced a laugh, tossing up a hand. The truckers looked our way. The last thing I needed was attention on me. “I’m not a food reviewer. I’m just worried about my friend and hoping to get a lead on where she might be.”
“Oh.” Luisa softened a bit, chewing slowly as she mulled that over. “Well, why didn’t you just say that to begin with? Beating around the bush won’t get you nowhere with me.”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I figured you wouldn’t really care.”
“Fair point,” she said, about to turn away.
“Wait.” I held up a hand for her to stop, then dug into my purse for my wallet. I plucked out three twenties and slid them across the counter. “I’ll pay if you give me a chance to look at the footage.” I internally cursed, always the one paying for Eve’s fuck-ups.
She stared at the money, then raised a brow.
Drawing in a breath, I pulled one more twenty out.
This time she reached for the money with a smirk. “Fine. But I’m not all that good with the cameras and stuff. Freddy can help. He’s in the back. Come on.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Freddy was an oily-haired twenty-something who was now sitting in front of a desktop. Acne had not been kind to his face and there were thick lines of dirt underneath his fingernails.
“What date are you looking for?” Freddy asked me.
“Can you go back to September fifth?”
Freddy let out a long breath. I was clearly an inconvenience to his day. He’d been lying on a couch in the break room playing a Nintendo Switch when Luisa and I walked in.
“Alright. This is the fifth,” he said, boredom lacing his voice.
“Great. Can you fast forward to about six that night?”
Freddy tapped a button on the keyboard, sending off a loud clack. Then he clicked the mouse.
“Right there.” I pointed at the screen, and he gave the keyboard a clack again. “Go back a bit.”
Clack.
“Right there,” I murmured.
He paused the video, revealing a still of Eve entering the diner in a brown hoodie, leggings, and Uggs. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun, her face pale, hands tucked into the hoodie pocket. She looked exhausted. She stopped at a table where someone was already sitting. This person had a hood on, their back to the camera and the diner entrance.
Who is that?
“Is there an angle where I can see the person sitting with that woman?” I asked Freddy as I pointed at Eve.