Never Smile at Strangers (6 page)

TUESDAY MORNING, HALEY led Detective Guitreaux to Chris’s small, dusty office in the kitchen trailer behind the diner. She took a seat in the chair that faced the desk. The young detective stood across from her.

He was about Mac’s height, six-foot-one, but much beefier. Olive skinned, he had small, uninspiring, wide-set eyes and a cleft chin. His suit looked expensive but it was badly in need of pressing.

“I hear you and Tiffany were best friends?” he said softly, his eyes probing hers.

“Not
were.
Are,” she corrected, politely.

Tiffany had now been missing three nights and Haley had no clue where she could be. If she’d gone somewhere voluntarily, she would have told her.

She needed answers. She needed sleep. Although she’d tried her best to talk with Charles to find out what exactly happened on Saturday night, she hadn’t been successful.

“You were with her on Saturday night at a bar—” he paused and flipped open a notebook encased in a smooth, black leather cover. “Provost’s. You were at Provost’s with her the night she disappeared?”

Disappeared. The word sounded ominous, horrible.

Haley studied the detective’s long, square face, his smooth, olive skin. His Cajun French accent was thick and soft, but his eyes seemed hard. He had a thin nose that flared out slightly at the tip as though he were smiling. But he wasn’t.

“Yes, sir. We were together Saturday night at Provost’s.”

His eyes seemed to soften. “Call me Eddie,
cher
,” he said. “I call my father,
sir
. And the two of us are like motor oil and kitchen matches. Now, can you do me the honor of telling me what transpired that night? The full story, please.”

She fidgeted in her chair, then took a deep breath. “Tiffany picked me up at my house and we left for Provost’s a little before nine o’clock. We were only there a few minutes, maybe fifteen, before Charles, Tiffany’s boyfriend, got there. I didn’t see her for long after that.”

“Why is that?”

“I saw a friend of my daddy’s and went to talk to him.” She felt lightheaded as she again recalled the night’s events.

The detective tapped a large ring against Chris’s desk. Austin, Luke’s main cook, had told her that it was a college championship ring. Supposedly the detective had played football for LSU for a couple of years before a ligament injury cut his career short.

“Then what happened? After you talked to your father’s friend?”

“I went to the bathroom for a while. Waited.” She remembered waiting in the bathroom stall, upset that she’d gone out. At the time, she had no idea that her friend would vanish. If she had, she would never have left her alone.

“Waited?”

“Yeah. Tiffany and Charles were. . . arguing. They needed privacy. They’d gone out to the parking lot to talk.”

“Was it out of the ordinary? The fighting?”

“No.”

He watched her for a moment before he opened his notebook again and examined something. “How long were you in this bathroom?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes. I’m not sure. I wasn’t wearing a watch.”

He jotted a long note into his book, then looked up again. “And then?”

“I walked out to the parking lot, but I couldn’t find her.”

“So, what did you do?”

“I walked home.”

“Did you find it
odd
that she’d leave you there alone?”

Haley shrugged. “No, not odd. I just thought they left together. That maybe they made up and forgot about me.”

He tapped his ring against the desk again. “I wouldn’t be very happy if a friend did that to me. I’d find it strange.”

“Well, you don’t know Tiffany. Sometimes she’s inconsiderate. It wasn’t really unusual for her.”

“Did you hear from her after you left?”

“No, but I got a call on Sunday morning from her mom, Julia Perron. She asked where Tiffany was. She was worried.”

“Has Tiffany run off before?”

Haley shook her head.

“Spent the night away from her house without her mother knowing? Or talked about leaving town?”

Haley straightened in the chair. “She sneaks out of the house sometimes, but she’s always careful. She worries too much about her mother catching her. And no, she never talked about leaving town. Not like this. It just isn’t something she’d do.”

“Most 19-year-olds aren’t expected to be so accountable to their mothers,” Guitreaux observed.

“You don’t know her mother. She’s very overbearing. She still treats Tiffany like a child.”

“Is that right? Any idea why she would put up with that? From what I’ve gathered, Tiffany’s pretty strong-willed.”

“Money. Her parents control a big trust until she turns twenty-one. She does her best to stay in her mother’s good graces, but it’s difficult for her. She feels like her mother breathes down her neck and she hates her for it.”

Guitreaux nodded. “I see.” He tapped his pen against his upper lip for a few moments, looking thoughtful. “Let’s talk about Tiffany’s relationship with Charles. For starters, what were they arguing about?”

“I think she was seeing someone else, or at least thinking about it. Charles might have known.”

“You talk to Charles since Saturday night?”

Haley shook her head.

“Not at all?”

“No.”

“The two of you. You and Charles. Would you say that you’re close?”

“Not terribly, but yes, we’re friends through Tiffany. Why?”

“Well, it just would seem that you two would want to talk after someone you both cared about disappeared.”

“I haven’t been able to find him. I’ve tried.”

The detective’s eyes seemed to sparkle. “I see. And you don’t know the gentleman’s name that she might have been seeing?”

“No sir, I don’t.”

“No clue who it could be?”

“No.”

“You and Tiffany. Were you getting along okay that night?”

Haley’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah? Why?”

“No disagreements? Arguments of any kind?”

“No, none. But why do you ask?”

He looked into his notebook, tapping his pen against his top lip. “Part of my job.” His eyes met hers again. “So the last time you saw Tiffany, she was leaving through the back door of Provost’s around 9:30. . . 9:45 PM. And you haven’t heard from either her or Charles since. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Clarify this for me, if you could. Was she alone?”

Haley was confused. “What?”

“When she left through the back door. Was she alone?”

“No, she was with Charles.”

“And again, that was the last you saw or heard from her?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good. I think I have enough for now. Unless, of course, there’s anything else you can tell me that would help us find your friend?”

She grabbed her purse and stood. “I’ve told you everything,” she said, wearily. But as the words left her mouth, she flashed back to something Tiffany had told her that night. Something that hadn’t bothered her when it was said, but disturbed her now. “This probably doesn’t mean anything but. . . one of the last things Tiffany told me on Saturday was that Charles had been acting. . . obsessed. It was the first time she ever told me anything like that about him.”

AFTER LEAVING DETECTIVE Guitreaux, Haley fumbled in the parking lot outside the diner for her car keys. Though there were only five keys on the ring, she was having a difficult time finding the right one. Her hands shook and her lungs revolted against the hot, humid air. She coughed and an excruciating pain shot through her head.

Recounting that night over and over again had drained her, stripping her of the little energy she had left. Although she didn’t think Charles had it in him to do something horrible to Tiffany, why else would he avoid her?

She heard someone call her name. Squinting in the harsh sunlight, she saw Austin jog toward her. “You’re in no shape to drive. C’mon, let me take you home.”

“No, I’m okay,” she insisted, dropping the keys, then bending to pick them up again. She grabbed at them, also picking up several pieces of gravel. She straightened and wiped the gravel off her hands. “I am. Really, I’m fine.”

But when she tried to look up at him, to show him she was okay, the tears surged forward.

“It’s going to be okay,” he assured her. “Let’s get you home. Chris said he can get your car to you sometime this evening.”

She trembled as they drove down Main Street. Too many horrible things were happening and she wasn’t sure how much more stress she could take. Before going in to speak with the detective, Chris suggested she take a few more days off. It was a relief because focusing on something as small as placing an order was becoming difficult. Her head was too muddled.

She spent the previous day holed up in her room, downing double shots of Nyquil and trying to sleep. But sleep didn’t come until late in the night, after she spent hours staring at a crack on her bedroom ceiling. And when it did come, it was in the form of a vivid nightmare: Her riding her bicycle to the grocery store, only to realize that she didn’t know the way back home. As she rode, nothing had looked familiar. It was as if she was in another town. She drove around and around, terrified.

“Is the AC too cold?” Austin asked, pressing his palm against one of the vents.

“No, I’m fine,” she sniffed. “You’ll want to turn left at the church.” She glanced at Austin, the boy she’d had a crush on for months. She had made small talk with him on several occasions since she worked at Luke’s, but not as much as she’d like to have since he and Chris spent most of their time in the trailer out back.

She knew her crush was innocent. Just something to take her mind off her troubles. Something she’d never act upon. Women like her, plain, predictable and responsible, went for boys like Mac. Stayed with boys like Mac.

Besides, Mac was good to her. And Austin had a serious girlfriend. Beth, a freshman at Texas A&M. Rumor had it, he was going to ask her to marry him. And Haley was likely to some day marry Mac.

“How’s Beth?”

The edges of Austin’s mouth turned up. “She’s good. Real good. And Mac, how’s he?”

“Doing well. I didn’t realize you knew him.”

“Oh, I don’t. Just seen him around Luke’s,” he said. “And, of course, Mrs. Motor Mouth talks about him from time to time.”

Haley smiled at the nickname he’d given Kim.

“So, how often do you get to see Beth?”

“We shoot for every other weekend and, of course, college breaks. It’s not a short drive by any stretch of the imagination.”

“Yeah, I know,” Haley said, wondering if she could have a long-distance relationship with Mac, and quickly decided she could. Even though they lived only ten miles from one another, it wasn’t like they saw each other every day anyway. He usually stopped by three times a week. Sometimes more, sometimes less. And when he did, it seemed he was much more interested in making sure that she and her family were okay then wanting to make out or do anything romantic.

But she had no complaints. The relationship, as it stood, was perfect for her. Since her father died, she had lost most of her interest in conversation and usually worried that she was a bore when she was with him anyway. She was no longer the witty girl she’d been when they first met. But Mac, not much of a conversationalist himself, didn’t seem to mind. They did things that didn’t require much conversation; like watching movies, television, or reading on the couch. Sometimes he just fiddled around alone, repairing something in the house, cutting the lawn, painting the trim. He mostly kept to himself.

Haley rested her head against the passenger seat. She closed her eyes and inhaled. Austin's truck had some of the same comforting grease smells, minus the stale, smoky odor Mac’s had. And it was less dusty.

Austin stopped in front of her house and yanked the emergency brake. In the time it took for her to pick her purse up from the floorboard, he was already at the passenger door, opening it for her. He helped her out like Mac always did. But when his hand touched hers, a jolt of electricity shot through her body.

“You get some rest,” he said, walking her to her front door. “Chris said he’ll bring your car by this evening. If you need it beforehand, just call Luke’s and we’ll get it to you.”

“Thanks,” she said, shielding her eyes from the sunlight. “I guess I
did
need the ride,” she admitted, wiping at her eyes. All of a sudden, she realized that she felt a little better.

“See you at Luke’s when you’re ready to come back. Chris is concerned about you.”

Two pecans fell onto the porch. Haley bent to pick them up. “By the way, did Chris ask you to take me?”

He nodded.

“Oh,” she said, realizing she had wished it had been
his
idea. “Please thank him for me.”

“I’ll do that. Take care of yourself.” He walked back down the dirt driveway.

Haley stood on the porch and rolled the pecans around in her palm as she watched him walk the dirt driveway and climb back into his truck.

Sighing, she opened her front door.

ERICA LOVED THE way Rachel wrote on the chalkboard. Her words straight, sharp. Always in capital letters, very legible. She double-underlined the important words, the ones she wanted to emphasize.

The chalk often made her sneeze. And when she did, “Bless you’s” bounced off the walls of the small auditorium. It was because everyone loved her. But not as much as Erica did.

Erica enjoyed Rachel’s fluid, confident movements as she walked back and forth, teaching the importance of dialogue. The way her eyebrows became perfect V’s when she asked her summer class a question. And the genuine smile that spread across her face when a student answered correctly.

More than once, Erica heard the boys discuss Rachel.

“What a knockout.”

“She’s hot, for an older chick.”

“Hell, I’d do her.”

Erica bet her mother was just as beautiful these days, if not more, if that were possible. She longed to see her again. To know for certain what she looked like.

Erica could barely sit still. She’d had a breakthrough with her writing that morning. A
brilliant
new idea. An epiphany.

Rachel glanced at her watch. “Let’s recap before moving on,” she said, peering up at the class, her slender hands clasped together. “Dialogue is so much more than words. In fact, it is one of the most important tools you will use in moving your stories forward. You will also use dialogue to help develop your. . .”

Erica usually sat in the front of the class. But she was late that morning and now she sat in the back row. Earlier she’d gone to the little cemetery off Harper’s Road to brainstorm. It was another one of her mother’s writing traditions. Another of her muses. Sometimes her mother would sit there for long hours with just the dead and her thoughts, concocting macabre situations and worlds. So, Erica tried it, too. Like the woods, Erica felt a unique calm just being in the cemetery. The people who lay below her weren’t threatening, unlike the ones she had to interact with on a daily basis.

But as she cut through the woods on her way back home that morning, she was met with the startling realization that someone else was with her. Someone unseen and very alive. Leaves had rustled, then she glimpsed someone about thirty feet away. She called out and the person began to run.

But why would someone run?

A knock on the classroom door. Rachel excused herself, then after a few hushed whispers outside the classroom, she poked her head back in. “I’d like you to begin doing the exercises at the end of chapter ten,” she said. “At 10:50, you’re all free to go.”

“Think it’s the police?” a tall girl sitting in front of and slightly to the right of Erica asked a freckled girl.

“The police? Why would it be the police?”

“Because that girl was sleeping with her husband.”

Erica quit thumbing her way to chapter ten. Her fingers slipped out of the text. She disliked where the conversation in front of her was heading.

“What girl?” the freckled girl asked, scrunching up her forehead.

“Where have
you
been? The
missing
girl. Tiffany Something.”

Erica watched the girl’s jaw drop. “Oh. Mrs. Anderson’s husband was sleeping with her?”

“Sure was.”

The freckled girl looked skeptical. “How do you know that?”

“It’s only public knowledge. Mrs. Anderson found out about it and freaked. And some people think maybe she’s the reason she’s missing.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

Erica bit into her lower lip, willing herself not to say anything. These girls were stupid. What did they know anyway. She kicked the back of the tall girl’s seat.

The tall girl turned.

“Accident,” Erica muttered, staring at her text, not bothering to look up.

She felt the girl gaze at her for a quick moment before turning back around.

The freckled girl whispered, “She doesn’t look like a killer.”

“Hel-lo? Did Dahmer? Bundy?”

“Dahmer did.”

The tall girl ignored her. “Well, Mrs. Anderson isn’t as perfect as she may look. She obviously had a motive. And get this, she kept visiting the diner in Grand Trespass where Tiffany worked. Like clockwork. Like some sort of stalker.”

Erica kicked the back of her chair again.

The tall girl turned.

“Oops,” Erica said, her voice hard. Her eyes boring into the girl’s.

The girl studied her for a few seconds, the expression on her face a mixture of anger and confusion. Then, understanding the unspoken message, she turned back around and said nothing for the rest of the period.