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TWENTY-SEVEN
Noah woke to a stiff back and the smell of bacon and eggs. The starchy white pillowcase scratched at his cheek. He opened his eyes to see that the television was still tuned to WYEP. They were still running coverage of the storm only now Dallas Jones stood in front of the state police barracks between Laporte and Dushore in full daylight. The bottom right-hand side of the screen showed the time. It was well into the afternoon.
Swearing, he sat up and fished around the floor for his boots. He slid his feet into them and secured his pistol. From the kitchen he heard the clink of pots and pans. Ignoring his bladder, he strode in there to find Cooper at the stove. He still wore the same clothes he’d had on the night before. “Hey,” Noah said. “The day is halfway over. We’re going to lose daylight soon. What’s going on? Why didn’t you wake me?”
Using a spatula to push scrambled eggs around in a pan, Cooper turned to him, smiling. “Sorry, friend. I overslept myself. I’m just making us something to eat and then we’ll get right out there. I’m anxious to get back there, too, you know. Those people are counting on me.”
He moved the spatula to a second pan in which bacon sizzled. Noah’s stomach grumbled loudly.
Cooper said, “Go on and clean up. This’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
Noah tried to tamp down his anger. What could he say? Cooper had been kind enough to let him crash and was now feeding him. He still had time to rescue Josie. A peek out the window showed several inches of snow piled on top of his SUV but at least it had stopped coming down. He took his overnight bag with his phone to the bathroom. He tried to get a signal but couldn’t. In spite of his having let the phone charge through the night, it was only at twelve percent.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
Had the outlet he’d plugged it into not worked?
There wasn’t time to worry about it now. He brushed his teeth and changed his clothes. Back in the kitchen, Cooper had two plates in hand, ready to serve very late breakfast. Noah sat down and accepted his meal with a muttered thanks. Cooper sat across from him. In the light of day, Noah had a better look at the room. The table was Formica and chrome, probably worth a small fortune these days, with matching vinyl chairs for four. A small tabletop organizer held napkins and salt and pepper. The kitchen tile and cabinets were easily twenty years old if not more. The fridge was more modern. Several papers and a few photos adorned it, pinned by magnets. Most of the photos were of a little girl with brown pigtails. She aged over the course of the pictures, starting out as a grinning, chubby-faced toddler, hands held up, covered in what looked like paint. In what appeared to be the most recent photo, she looked to be about Harris’s age, maybe a bit older, eight or nine years old. She stood next to an older man in his late sixties, early seventies. He had thick gray hair and bright blue eyes. She leaned into his side, thin arms wrapped around his waist. His hand rested on her back. The two of them grinned at the camera.
“My sister,” Cooper said, following Noah’s gaze. “When she was little. That’s my dad with her. Years ago. He passed on right after that was taken.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Noah. He shoveled some eggs into his mouth. He just wanted to eat and get on the road. Get to Josie.
Cooper sighed. “Thanks. I just realized I have no photos of myself with Dad. I guess I should update them or maybe take them down. I mean, my sister’s in college now. You probably think I’m a weirdo, right? Want something to drink?” He opened the fridge and listed the beverages inside.
“Water’s great. Thanks,” said Noah. He picked up a piece of bacon, trying to think of what he should say. He’d been rude earlier when he woke up. He didn’t want to alienate Cooper. “When’s the last time you saw your sister?”
“Not since last year. Now that she’s a hotshot at college, she doesn’t visit much.”
Noah chewed his bacon and looked at the photo of the girl and her father again. There was something off, something wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“You have kids?” asked Cooper.
He tore his eyes from the photo. “No. We, uh, no. We don’t.”
A sound came from somewhere deep in the house. A cross between a moan and a creak. The house standing its ground against the wind outside, which was still gusting pretty hard. Cooper seemed not to hear it, or if he did, it was of no concern. He asked, “You don’t want kids?”
Noah really didn’t want to discuss the issue of children with a complete stranger. “I, uh, I don’t know. What about you? You have kids?”
“Nah. I wanted to. Met the right lady but then it didn’t work out.”
Cooper pushed his chair back, the legs screeching against the floor. He walked over to the counter, dumping more eggs onto his untouched plate. “Women. Hard to please, am I right?”
Noah glanced at the photo of Cooper’s father and sister, and it was then he realized what bothered him. Though he couldn’t see the girl’s entire shirt because she was turned toward the man, he could see a part of the graphic on the front of it. He recognized the outfit of a character from one of Harris’s favorite movies. Harris had made Noah and Josie watch it at least a hundred times.
It had come out the year before.
Which meant that the girl in the photo couldn’t possibly have been wearing it when she was Harris’s age, ‘years ago.’ Which also meant that Cooper Riggs was lying about something.
The house groaned against the onslaught of wind again. A draft of cold air slid down the back of Noah’s neck.
Cooper turned and leaned against the counter. He scratched at his forehead. “Sure seems like this place is going to fall down, doesn’t it? Wind’s pretty bad. You think I should be worried?”
Noah stood up to search for the source of the cold air. From beneath his flannel shirt, Cooper pulled a pistol and pointed it directly at Noah’s face. His tone changed, going cold and flat. “Do exactly what I say or I will shoot you in the face.”
Noah put his hands up. His mind raced. From where he stood, he could tell that the safety on Cooper’s gun was off. His finger rested on the trigger. Just four or five pounds of pressure would put a bullet into Noah’s brain. “I don’t want any trouble,” he said. “I just want to find my wife. That’s all.”
“I don’t give a shit about your wife.” With his free hand, Cooper gestured toward Noah’s feet. “I know you’re armed. Take out your gun, set it on the floor and kick it over to me.”
