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“No, I just thought you were … I mean, I thought when you said she reminds you of … that you were offhandedly referring to …” I bit my tongue to stop it from talking gibberish.
“Ready to go?” I didn’t wait for his answer and rushed around to my side of the Bronco.
Doc grinned as he slid in next to me. “Of course she has your good looks, but she’s the spitting image of someone else I’ve seen.”
Did Doc just say I was good-looking? I turned the key, breathing easier in the air conditioning even though Doc’s off-handed compliment reminded me of Jeff Wymonds earlier comment about Addy’s looks. “Maybe you’ve seen my son around town. They’re fraternal twins, but they share some features.”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Someone on TV?”
He frowned out the front window, shaking his head. Then his forehead smoothed. “Oh, it was—” He paused, swallowed, then said, “Never mind.”
“Who?”
“Just someone I saw before.”
Now he really had my curiosity standing at attention. “Come on, who?”
He looked at me, searching my eyes for who knows what before exhaling. “The girl from Deadwood who disappeared last summer.”
Goosebumps soared up my arms.
* * *
Leaving the chicken feathers behind,I headed for the last available house within the city limits. I knew it was a bust from the moment I pulled into the driveway and Doc saw the pink paint and elaborate gingerbread gable ornaments.
I hesitated. “You want to go inside?”
“Sure.” Although I could tell by his furrowed brow and the stiffness in his shoulders that he wasn’t comfortable in the frilly surroundings, complete with window boxes brimming with pansies and shutters etched with ribbon-curls.
Not that I could blame him. As I unlocked the front door, I half-expected Hansel and Gretel to skip up the sidewalk and join us.
The interior reminded me of a doll house my father bought Addy for her fifth birthday. A bachelor pad, it was not. We tooled around inside for a bit, him sniffing, me still fuming about my daughter, the chicken lover.
“Well?” I asked without enthusiasm as we climbed back into my Bronco.
“I don’t think so.”
I shifted into gear.
“Do you mind stopping at that gas station up ahead?” Doc asked when we neared Main St. “I’m thirsty.”
I turned into the parking lot of Jackpot Gas-n-Go, coasting past a Toyota pickup fueling up at the pumps. My breath caught when I saw the “Wish You Were BEER” bumper sticker stuck on the tailgate.
Crap! Jeff Wymonds—the last person I wanted to see.
I parked in a spot near the corner of the building, putting as much distance between Jeff’s pickup and me as the lot allowed.
“Be right back.” Doc hopped out.
Through the passenger-side window, I watched him stride along the walkway to the front glass doors. He pushed inside, and when the door swung back, Jeff stepped out. My heart dropped to my toes.
I cranked my rearview mirror to the side so I could spy on Jeff as he crossed the lot and climbed into his pickup. He looked less Neanderthal-ish with his hair damp and combed back, but he still sported the stained white T-shirt and blue jeans, the same facial scruff. As he rolled toward me, I slunk way down in my seat, my fingers crossed that he didn’t recognize my Bronco.
I waited for the growl of his engine to disappear, but it didn’t. Instead it rumbled up next to me, idling just outside my door. I heard his door slam.
Oh, fuck! I hit the door lock button and then waited for his face to appear in the window next to me.
