Page 68 of Chasing Creed

“I can promise you, if I find her, I won’t be arresting her.”

“The girls don’t share personal stuff with me, and I don’t ask anymore. I’ve got my own drama to worry about. I’ll get Fred. He probably knows, but don’t keep him long. My days of waiting on tables and doing the grilling are long gone.”

Maggie backed away from the counter for guests to sit down. She waited along the entrance wall, moving out of the way of people coming in and going out. Framed photos hung in a line, obviously commemorating various events at the café. The last one had a banner in the background, “Happy New Year” with the current year.

There were four other women pictured with Fred and Shirley. She was able to read the waitresses’ name tags. Rachel looked older than Maggie had expected. Her short, red hair had highlights of pink. She was thinner than the other three waitresses and a tad taller. Her smile looked genuine, though a bit more reserved than the others. If Maggie had been casually looking at the photo and not examining through the eyes of a profiler, she’d have to admit that the women all looked very comfortable with each other.

She tried to commit the face to memory: almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones. Would she recognize her when they pulled her body from a lake? And also, did she look at all like Brodie?

Unlike Shirley, Fred was eager to help. He led her to a nook off the main room, what looked like an old hallway with hooks to hang coats. He tried to give her directions then realized it would be easier to draw it out with roads and routes on the back of a paper napkin.

“There aren’t many places on this stretch. The trailer is sort of hidden back behind a couple of Quonset huts.”

“Quonset huts?”

“Big metal equipment sheds. Lots of trees on the property. Dirt driveway. If you come to a two-story house painted kind of mint green, you’ve gone too far.”

“Thanks,” she told him. “You wouldn’t happen to know what she drives?”

“Dark gray Ford Fusion. 2015. She just bought it a couple of weeks ago from one of our customers, so it still has the In-Transit sign. No license plates. She’s not any kind of trouble, is she?”

Where Shirley looked curious when she asked, Fred looked concerned. His bushy eyebrows furrowed together, his thin lips a straight line.

“Are you worried that she might be?”

“It’s just not like her. She’d call if she couldn’t come in. I told Shirl that if we didn’t hear from her by the end of this shift, I’d go out and see if she’s okay.”

“Are there any friends, family who might know?”

“Shirley doesn’t like the girls yammering on about themselves, especially to the customers. Seems to me Rachel keeps to herself a lot. I don’t know where she’s from or if she has family close by. I hope she’s okay. She’s nice. A good worker, too.”

“I appreciate your help,” Maggie held up the napkin and started to leave.

“Hey, if you talk to her, tell her to give us a call, would you?”

“Sure.” Hopefully she wouldn’t be the one to tell Fred or Shirley that Rachel might not be calling anyone…ever again.

47

By the time Maggie got back to the convenience store, Pakula was alone in the backroom. The desk with the security monitor sat in a tight corner. Maggie had to maneuver through a maze of floor-to-ceiling shelves and boxes just to get to him.

“I can’t believe the manager surrendered his surveillance video so easily.”

“Turns out he knows my cousin.”

“How did you figure that out?”

“Hard to be named Pakula in this state and not be related to me.” He swiped a hand over his shaved head, clearly frustrated. “Unfortunately, the view of my SUV is blocked. Sorry. Looks like this was a waste of time.”

“Maybe not.” She stood over him and tried to get a sense of what she was looking at on the oversized computer screen. “That’s the café across the street, right?”

“Yeah. Clear shot of it. Did you find out anything?”

Maggie glanced over her shoulder. They were alone. Earlier the manager gestured her to the doorway without leaving his post at the register. There was no one back here working in-between the aisles of shelving. They were all out front. Through the doorway, the store was humming with activity. Lunch hour.

“Rachel was a waitress,” she told Pakula. “She didn’t show up to work this morning.”

“No kidding.”