Page 129 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

“I like that even better.” He grabbed hold of her free hand, and they started toward the living room. “But I’m thinking the owl might be Fanny Marstens. Every time she calls in, I swear I’m having a nightmare.”

She paused and threw her head back, laughing, leaving the fear of the last few minutes behind, happy to be wrapped up in Nate.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Callie stared at the diner they were approaching as Nate’s GPS told him they were arriving at their destination on the left. He flipped on his blinker and pulled into the pothole-ridden parking lot, stopping short of sending the pickup’s front right tire into one of the craters. Phil’s neon blue sign was lit up despite the fact that it was twelve thirty in the afternoon and two of the five letters had gone dark.

“Huh.” Nate put the truck in Park and leaned closer to the windshield. “Huh,” he said again as he shut off the engine.

Callie unfastened her seat belt, looking around at the sketchy gas station across the street and the various brick buildings lining the road—most of which appeared to be abandoned. “Is this right?”

“Yeah, this is the address. I recognize the place from one of the newspaper photographs.”

She swallowed, feeling slightly queasy, unable to take her eyes off of the boarded-up windows half a block away. “I guess I didn’t realize that this section of town was so…”

“…rough,” Nate finished for her as he unfastened his seat belt and met her gaze. “I know we don’t have a lot of time, but I want to poke my head inside real quick.”

She nodded. “All right.”

“Do you want to come?”

She’d seen more than enough already—and they’d just gotten here—but she nodded again and got out on her side. Nothing about today was bound to be easy, yet these were the steps she was going to have to take if she wanted answers. “Let’s go.”

Nate took her hand, walking with her to the entrance. He pulled open the glass door and let her step inside before him.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, bracing herself for an onslaught of memories or some sense of familiarity as she looked around the room, but there was nothing—just the unpleasant smell of stale onions and old coffee filling her nose while patrons ate their lunches at the counter.

Nate stood behind her, sliding his hands up and down her arms through the barrier of her coat. “What do you think?”

She glanced from the scarred red booths repaired with duct tape to the black-and-white-checkered flooring long in need of replacing. “I—How can this be right?” She turned, facing him. “This can’t be right, Nate.”

He took her hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. “This is definitely the place.”

A woman pushed through a set of metallic doors, carrying sandwiches and fries on two plates for her customers. “Can I help you folks?”

“Uh, in a second,” Nate said, sending the waitress a friendly smile. “Are you ready to go?” he asked Callie.

“Yes.”

They went outside and Nate changed directions, pulling her with him as he headed around to the back of the building instead of moving toward the truck. “Let’s go this way.”

“What are we doing?”

“Looking around. I can’t see us coming back here anytime soon, so we might as well take it all in—get the lay of the land.” He kept her close as they moved through the alleyway, passing putrid-smelling dumpsters and stacks of boxes on their way around to the front of the restaurant.

Callie let him go as they approached the parking lot and went to the truck, eager to be gone. As soon as Nate hit the button on his key fob, she got in and buckled up.

Nate took his seat, closing himself inside, but made no move to put the key into the ignition and drive.

She stared out her window, her gaze tracking a homeless man pushing his grocery cart full of possessions down the sidewalk. “Do you think I lived here—in this area?” She spoke first, terribly afraid that she would burst into tears if Nate asked her what she was thinking or how she was feeling.

“Nothing’s off the table. It would make sense, but I don’t know.”

She nodded, looking down at her lap, focusing on keeping her hands relaxed on her jeans when she wanted to fist them on her thighs. “I don’t know why I’m asking you questions you can’t possibly answer. If I don’t know, how could you?”

“I’m thinking the same things you are—questioning and theorizing. That’s how we’re going to find what we’re looking for.” He settled his finger under her chin, nudging until she met his gaze. “You’re still up for this?”

She nodded, forcing a smile. “Yes, I’m fine.”