Page 48 of Requiem & Reverie

“Shut up and take it. Not like I’m giving you my life savings. It’s just some extra to get by.” He winks and pats me on the back. “And for future reference, you can call me Dale.”

For the first time in a week, I crack a smile and lean my head against Dale’s shoulder. “I’ll be back soon. I promise. I’m going to go. I just wanted to say hi to you all.”

“Take care, Nola. I look forward to seeing you again soon,” Simon says quietly from across the booth.

“Same.”

Dale walks me to the door, but at a flare of a flame from the kitchen, he startles. “Oh, hell, I forgot my patties!”

He rushes back toward the kitchen, and I see him through the serving window, spraying the flame with an extinguisher, until it’s completely out and only the lingering smoke of the carbon dioxide remains. “Son of a bitch!” He waves off the smoke and coughs, setting the tank onto the counter.

With an empathetic smile, I offer a wave, which he returns, and exit the building.

The envelope holds about two hundred bucks, which I shove into my side-strap purse. As shitty as the world can be, sometimes, one thing is certain: I’ve somehow amassed an incredible group of friends and family that remind me of the good that still exists. Which also reminds me that I need to call Jonah. Being at odds with my brother doesn’t happen all that often these days, and even if a part of me still blames him for what went down, it just feels wrong to keep my distance from him and Diane.

On my way to the car, a vehicle in the lot catches my eye and breaks through my thoughts. Parked off toward the back in broad daylight, as if it should there. As if it hasn’t been missing all this time.

White panel van. Separated from all the other cars across the lot.

I glance around, taking note that there’s no one else walking about the lot, and keep on past my car, toward the van. Slipping the canister of pepper spray from my purse, I flip the top of it, carrying it concealed in my palm as I approach the vehicle. As I stride up to the empty driver’s seat, I peer in to see the Hula girl sitting on the dash, confirming it’s Harv’s van. Confusion and a small bit of fear swirl in my gut, the kind of wicked stirrings that tell me to go back into the restaurant and get Dale to call the police.

But it’s broad daylight. In a very public parking lot. If the killer happens to be inside the vehicle, and he supposedly kidnaps women at night—hence the moniker—surely, someone will have seen him.

I knock on the window. “Beth?”

The passenger seat is empty, as well, and I’m too short to see beyond the front. Even standing on tiptoes only lets me catch a glimpse of the box that’s placed between the captain’s chairs. If it’s not their van, I’m going to feel like an ass nosing around someone’s wheels.

At the back of the vehicle, I tug on the lever, and it clicks open. One quick glance around the empty lot, and I pop the back door open.

My heart skids to a halt.

The air whooshes out of me, and I tumble backward.

On the bed of the van, Beth and Harv lie side by side. An unhealthy pale blue tint tells me they’re dead. A flower rests in Beth’s grasp.

A scream rips through my chest.

Feels like minutes pass, but maybe it’s only second before arms wrap around my middle.

Dale’s standing behind me, alongside Shay and Lara and half the damn restaurant. “Oh, dear God,” Dale says. “Dear God.”

Arms tug me away from the van, but it’s too late. Their dead, lifeless bodies are seared into my memories. I don’t even know who clutches me next, but I turn and sob into a random shoulder. Didn’t think myself capable of shedding one more tear, after how much I’ve cried this week, but I do, and the stranger strokes my hair. I glance up to see Simon, staring on toward the macabre.

“You’re trembling, Nola. Let me give you a ride home. You shouldn’t be here.”

I should probably take him up on the offer, but I shake my head. “No. I … have someone I can call.” The cold numb feeling spreads through my body, down to my limbs, and I would have to guess I’m in shock.

Dale walks up to me with tears in his eyes. In all the years I’ve worked at the diner, I’ve never seen tears in Dale’s eyes. “Let me get you out of here, Nola. You don’t need more of this.”

“It’s … I don’t … I’m …” I try to catch my breath between words, but the tight grip of my lungs seems to be getting tighter.

“Come on. Come with me.” He’s more insistent, setting a hand on my shoulder as he studies me through tears. “You shouldn’t be driving.”

“No. I’m okay. I can … drive myself.”

“You look pale, though. It’s no trouble.”

“Someone should be here when the police arrive,” Simon interrupts, glancing toward the van and back. “I imagine they’ll have some questions for you.”