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Nicky couldn’t deny that he was playing a game back there. At the same time, maybe Brown was implying something with his words. If it was a game, maybe that was the hint on how to “win.” Maybe “home” could mean Meghan Salinger’s home?
It wasn't that helpful, but Nicky decided that maybe the best route was to talk to the victim's family.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nicky pulled the car up to a diner off the highway, near a small town about an hour away from Hollywood (the Florida one, of course). The diner was squat and white with a red stripe on the side and a sign above the door that read "Hogan's". The parking lot was fairly full. Being so close to Hollywood, Nicky could tell this place got a lot of business. It wasn't a big or impressive building, but it did have that classic 1950s diner appeal.
Meghan Salinger's parents owned this diner; it had been in the family for two generations. Meghan had planned to break out of the family mold and go after a singing career.
Nicky and Ken got out of the car and went inside the diner. The door dinged as they entered. The diner was sit-down style, with stools at the counter and booths along the walls. There was an old fashioned jukebox in one corner, and a soft jazzy tune was playing from it. The diner smelled of bacon, hash browns, and hot coffee. Various people sat around, and waitresses zipped back and forth between tables. The light from the neon sign above the door shone in through the windows, casting a warm glow over the customers and the kitchen.
Behind the counter was a woman with striking features. Her face was round and her skin was smooth. She had long, curly hair that was pulled back into a bun and she wore a white apron over a red blouse. Her eyes were a deep green and they shone with intelligence and warmth. Nicky immediately recognized her from Meghan's file. This was her mother, Linda Salinger.
"Mrs. Salinger?" Nicky asked.
She looked up. Nicky and Ken both held up their badges, and Linda went pale.
"We're with the FBI," Nicky said. "We were hoping to ask you a few questions about your daughter."
Linda's face twisted. "What? Did you find something out about Meghan?”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am,” Nicky said. “But Meghan’s case has been officially handed over to the FBI, and we were hoping to learn as much as we can from you. Is there somewhere more private we can talk?"
Linda was flustered, but she said, "The kitchen. Follow me."
They followed her through the diner to the back, where a door led to the kitchen. They passed through a small hallway and then entered the kitchen. As she led them back, the smell was even stronger: bacon, eggs, and fresh bread. The kitchen was a small one, with a narrow counter along the wall and stools in front of it.
There, they sat down at a small table with Linda.
"I'm sorry we have to do this," Nicky said. "This must be difficult for you."
"I thought I was done with this," Linda said, lowering her head. "I thought this was over. I thought I could put it behind me. I thought my daughter couldn't be found."
"I know this is hard," Nicky said. "But we can't go forward with our investigation without your help. We do believe there's a chance your daughter could be found alive."
Suddenly, a man burst into the room. Nicky recognized him as Meghan's father, Terry Salinger. He had a wild look in his eyes, and he was panting heavily. Terry looked like he'd lost his mind. He looked at the three of them, his eyes going from person to person, then back to Nicky. "What the hell is going on?" he asked, his voice sounding out-of-breath. "We already talked to everyone we could about our daughter. If you're here to traumatize my wife more, I won't have it!"
Nicky held her hands up. "We're not here to cause you more harm, sir. We just have questions."
"Who the hell are you people?" Terry demanded.
Nicky introduced herself and Ken again. "We're part of a special task force--"
"That only exists to make families suffer!" Terry roared. He was a big man, with a barrel chest. He had a thick, dark mustache and a shaved head. "You're probably here to tell me you're doing nothing! That you screwed up, and now you want to pump my wife for information when our daughter is gone!"
"Mr. Salinger--"
"She's dead, damn it! She's gone, and there's nothing more we can do!" He picked up a plate from the rack and went to throw it. Nicky braced herself--but Terry caught himself and stopped, taking a deep breath. He put the plate down. The tension in the air was so thick it could be cut in two.
"What makes you so sure Meghan is dead?" Nicky cautiously asked.
"Because," he said, "the police had months to figure out what happened when I told them who it was all along. It was her damn ex-boyfriend. Everyone knew it, but those incompetent cops wouldn't listen. They should've arrested the asshole when they had the chance."
Nicky exchanged a look with Ken, who wore a confused, but stern expression.
"And what's this guy's name?" Ken asked.
"Darren McMillan," Terry said. "That guy is a real piece of work."
