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“Gotta run for now. Those peach tarts aren’t going to bake themselves!” Delaney waves, then jogs out the door.
“Such a nice girl, that Delaney,” Liz says, staring after her.
A grandfather clock chimes loudly from the corner of the room, alerting us to the eight-o’clock hour.
“I’ll leave you two alone to enjoy your breakfast. Feel free to eat here at the table or enjoy it in the backyard, wherever you might like.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Moss. We appreciate it.” King tips his head at the woman, and she blushes.
“Please, call me Liz. Once you stay here, we’re practically family. If you need anything else, give me a shout. I’ll be in the kitchen.” She hitches her thumb over her shoulder, then sidles off.
“Another McCauliffe. That’s at least four mentioned in the last day,” I whisper as soon as Liz is safely out of earshot.
“Yeah, but still no Lacey. So far we’ve got a football player, a firefighter, a baker, and the general store manager, plus the parents. But not her.” King plucks a peach danish from the tray of goodies and sinks down onto the bench.
“Don’t worry. In a town this small, someone’s bound to know her. Especially with the same last name.”
“I think after breakfast we head over to the general store and see what we can find out. Then we explore the town, making sure we’re near the school around dismissal.”
“Okay, sounds like a plan.”
We eat quickly, stacking our dirty dishes and setting them at the end of the table before hitting the road.
“Let’s drive over to Main Street and park near the general store. Then we’ll walk around from there.” King opens the door for me and helps me up into the cab.
“Roman didn’t find any information about her adopted parents?” I ask as King starts the truck and eases out of the driveway, heading toward the center of town.
“Nothing. It wasn’t an open adoption. We’re lucky we have as much intel as we do.”
“Crap. Not much to go on.”
“I know.” His fingers thrum the steering wheel twice as fast as the beat of the music. I slide my hand over, resting my palm against his strong thigh. He relaxes a little, but the line of his jaw is still set, clearly anxious about the situation.
Playing detective is not high on his bucket list.
“Relax, it’s going to work out.”
King huffs out a quick breath, pulling into a spot near the general store. After cutting the engine, he sits back and observes the quiet street, eyes darting from the canopied storefronts to the cobblestone street, and back again.
“I bet the park Delaney mentioned is down there.” I point off in the distance, where the street dead-ends into a black fenced area filled with trees.
“Probably. We can check that out later. Come on.” King jumps out, then walks around to open the truck door for me. I take a quick glimpse at my reflection in the mirror, smoothing down a stray curl before hopping out.
“We looking for anything in particular here? I mean—besides Lacey?” I whisper as we approach the store.
“Snacks. Water. I don’t care, whatever you want. Then we can try to strike up a conversation with the cashier. With any luck, it’ll be another McCauliffe.”
“Good plan.”
The door chimes as we enter, the space the epitome of a small-town general store. Seems like they have just about anything one could possibly need, from paper towels to mac and cheese, all neatly lined up on wooden shelves that have to be original.
“Morning, y’all.”
A tall man with dark hair and stylish glasses waves, welcoming us in.
“Looking for anything in particular?” He cocks a brow, leaning his lithe frame against the front register, which also appears to be vintage. This isn’t the Super Wal-Mart, that’s for sure.
“Just picking up some snacks,” I say in a singsong voice, smiling over at him.
