Page 91 of Our Elliana

THIRTY-NINE: Butterfly Bracelet

TRISTAN

This may not be it, I warn myself. This may not be it.

I’m doing my damnedest to lower my expectations, but I can’t ignore the fact that that begging-for-the-junkyard car certainly resembles the one caught on Blingblang’s security cameras from earlier.

The traffic is a bit heavy here, so Noah has to wait before he can motor back out onto the avenue. Not for one second do I break eye contact with the car in question. If it peels out to disappear, we’ll be on its ass like professional trackers.

As we go by, I note that the front license plate is missing. Coincidence or not?

The District of Columbia requires two tags, both front and back, so a vehicle that doesn’t have each in place means it’s either from out of the area, that it’s illegal, or that someone intentionally removed it.

After parking a few tractor-trailers down, the three of us converge on the suspect car. Not only is it the correct make and model, it’s the correct color. Fifteen to twenty years or so ago, such Chevies would be a dime a dozen. You’d find them everywhere. But now, not so much.

The rear license plate is also absent, and that’s way too convenient to ignore, especially considering the rest of the evidence. Nonetheless, we need to be cautious. What if we jog up to the car, and it sets this Tanya woman off somehow?

We can’t risk it.

As if we’re sharing thoughts about this, the three of us approach with great care and in absolute silence. Slowly, we each bring the flashlights on our phones up to the windows. There’s no one inside, just a boring front and backseat.

What if after all this, we’re still off the mark and this isn’t it? What if I’m hinging each of my beliefs on a car that just so happens to resemble the one we’re seeking?

Since we don’t have the VIN number, we can’t actually identify this vehicle as the one Tanya used. My instincts are telling me it is, but I’m still unsure and starting to feel a sense of letdown. There are zero signs that Elle was ever near this car much less inside it.

Jackson’s near the trunk with Noah examining the driver’s side. I’m next to the passenger’s side continuing to peek into the windows.

There’s a powerful odor of mildew that permeates the air. I think it’s coming from inside the Cavalier despite the windows being up. I notice that the upholstery is stained and ripped in several places, but this information doesn’t provide us with anything helpful.

I refrain from touching the car itself. It might be a POS, but people have placed alarms on vehicles more ancient and even more battered. Although this one takes the cake on unattractiveness. The thing might as well have been beaten with an ugly stick.

I’m backing up to take in a broader view when an object half the size of a dime but of the same color catches his eye. I bend down to analyze it, setting the thing in my palm. There’s dirt and schmutz all over it, so I gently blow the debris away, doing my best to identify what it might be. Only as I brush the object with the tip of a finger do I decipher the object for what it really is.

A miniature quarter inch-long butterfly. Just like the one on Elle’s ankle bracelet.

“Guys,” I gasp out, “Look.”

Elle was here. She must’ve been.

For the first time, I take a chance and lay my hand on the hood. Not only does no alarm go off, but the metal is warm to the touch.

Goddammit, there were just here.

I spin in a circle, the beam of my flashlight app providing an insufficient source to see by. Where might she have taken Elle? Could she have forced her into one of the semi-trailers? We inspect each one, but they’re all locked up tight. Unless Tanya is a truck driver or employee of this warehouse with keys, she has no way to access these.

Behind the warehouse is a gravel driveway leading to a construction site, and on the other side is a Cracker Barrel. I can’t imagine the woman leading Elle there. All those customers going out to eat and loitering in the gift shop? That wouldn’t be overly wise.

Then again, Tanya has psychological issues. She isn’t exactly the most prone to thinking clearly or utilizing logic in her decision-making. Apparently, Noah’s on the same page as me.

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