• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“No, but he told me himself his name was Jack. Or James.” Jean paused, thinking. “Or was it Jason?”

Jerry watched her, his pen poised over his notebook.

Finally she said, “I think it was James, but I’m not a hundred percent.” A bell dinged from somewhere behind her and she straightened up. “That’s your food. Be right back.”

Morris took a long sip of his beer, suddenly wishing he hadn’t come. Maybe it was better to let Jerry handle everything. The private investigator would have filtered this information for him. Right now it was almost too real. Raw.

Jean came back with their order.

“So you didn’t see them drive off together, did you?” Morris said, pouncing on her again. “It’s possible she got into her own car and left separately?”

“I didn’t see what happened when they got to the parking lot.” Jean was beginning to sound exasperated. “But, guys, I work in a bar. I have for most of my life. You think I can’t tell when two people hook up?” She looked at Morris. “I’m sorry. Just telling you what I saw.”

“You okay?” Jerry asked when she walked away.

Morris looked down at his food. “What do you think?”

They dug into their meals. The burger was decent.

“Listen. I think we’re at a bit of a dead end here.” Jerry took a long sip of his beer. “Unless Fisher’s found out something from the other SAA members, we don’t have anything to go on.”

“What are the chances that somebody from SAA would remember someone’s license plate number from two weeks ago?”

Jerry munched on a fry. “Stranger things have happened. We could get lucky. But it’s not likely.”

“What now?”

“I’ll talk to her TA tomorrow, Ethan Wolfe, the one she seemed . . . close to.” Jerry picked up another fry. He was choosing his words carefully. “He might know something. And Torrance ran her credit cards when he was investigating—I have a contact who can do it again for me. If she’s used them in the last couple of days, we can track her that way.”

Morris didn’t reply, and they finished their food in silence. When they were done, Jerry paid the check.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Morris said as they walked out.

“Don’t worry, you’ll see it expensed in my invoice.”

Morris chuckled, though he doubted Jerry was joking. “What are you doing now? Maybe we should talk to Ethan Wolfe tonight.”

“Nah, I’ll catch him first thing in the morning,” Jerry said. “I don’t want you there, anyway. I’ll call you if I learn anything interesting. For now, go home and rest. Enough excitement for one day.”

Morris stopped when they reached their cars. “What if she’s dead?” he said quietly. The wind was chilly and he shivered under the pale light of the parking-lot lamppost. “What if she had some kind of blackout or breakdown and she’s lying dead in a ditch somewhere?”

“Don’t think that.” Jerry looked at Morris sharply. “You keep that shit out of your head. It won’t help you, trust me. Right now the best thing you can do is stay positive. Remember, Torrance might still be right. In which case, we’ll find her, and you can ask her yourself what the hell she was thinking.” Jerry clapped Morris on the shoulder, then climbed into his Honda and slammed the door shut.

“I don’t know if I want to know,” Morris said after the PI drove away.

CHAPTER : 30

Jerry sat in the parking lot of the university’s psychology building. The interior of his Honda Accord still smelled like cigarette smoke from the guy he’d bought it off last year, and Jerry’s wife refused to ride in it. Which was fine, since he only used the ten-year-old car for work, anyway. Jerry’s real car, a Nissan Infinity G37 coupe in titanium gray, was sitting in the garage at home, pristine. Annie said the coupe was an extension of his penis and a pathetic attempt to hold on to his youth, and she was right.

His cell phone rang. It was Dennis Fisher, calling to follow up.

“You said to phone if I learned anything new.” Fisher’s voice was tentative.

Jerry had his notebook ready and his pen poised. “Definitely.