Page 30 of A River of Crows

And she couldn’t find it within herself to think any better of Anna’s children. There was Kyle, a loan officer at Tyler National Credit Union. Brad, four years younger, had his own law firm. Then, of course, little Felicity June. Daddy always called her by both names. Like his little wide-eyed, freckled face baby girl was too precious for only one.

Sloan hated Felicity most of all. Probably because she was a girl. Like Sloan wasn’t sufficient, so Daddy needed to try for a better daughter.

What bothered Sloan most of all was that somehow Anna and her children had come out of the event unscathed. Their community rallied, cooked meals, and set up a donation account at the bank. All the stigma and all the judgment had fallen on Sloan and her mother. Jay’s illegitimate kid and his mistress. No one except Noah’s family stood by them. Even Libby and Vince Turner stopped calling, eventually. Sure, her mom was nuts, but even as a teenager, Sloan recognized how crappy it was for her mother’s only friend to turn her back on her after all she’d been through.

Sloan was so wrapped up in her memories, she almost missed her turn at Applebee’s. Car horns wailed as she hit the brake and turned too wide into the parking lot.

Inside, the restaurant was crowded and loud. Silverware clinked, couples laughed, children screamed, sports fans cheered, and Sloan’s ears rang.

She spotted Felicity and Dylan in a corner booth. Felicity stood to wave her over. She was wearing a bright pink top with white pants. A chunky turquoise necklace hung around her neck. She looked like she was here for a blind date, not a meeting that might bring terrible news.

Sloan avoided greeting Felicity and turned her attention to Dylan. “Hi.” She extended her hand. “I’m Sloan.”

Though Dylan stood to introduce himself, he didn’t raise his eyes to meet hers. She felt for him. This couldn’t be easy. Not the media attention and not this strange meeting with two sort-of sisters. Sloan wondered how much Felicity had told him about their unique situation.

Sloan wanted to cut to the chase. To get to details about the kidnapping. Timelines, locations, other boys, but that’s not how they did things in Texas. For a state that touted everything was bigger here, people sure seemed to like small talk.

“So, Felicity tells me you’re a music teacher?”

“Yeah.” Dylan smiled slightly. He had a long thin face with small sleepy eyes and high sharp cheekbones that left deep hallows on both sides of his face. “At Mallowater Middle School.”

“He’s a musician himself,” Felicity chirped up.

Dylan’s cheeks reddened. “I play a little guitar.”

He had an unusual voice to match his appearance. Quiet and raspy, like Sloan’s teenage crush, Christian Slater. He even had that same ’90s heartthrob hairstyle, mid-length, messy, and parted down the middle.

“Oh?” Sloan took a sip of her water. Getting to the harder questions was going to require a harder beverage.

“Yeah, I play guitar and write the occasional song.” He spun his straw around. “What about you?”

“I don’t write anything,” Sloan said.

Dylan laughed. “That’s not what I meant. What do you do for a living?” He made eye contact for the first time in the conversation.

“Sorry. I teach fifth grade.” Sloan felt heat in her cheeks. “In Houston.”

“So, we’re all educators.” Felicity’s singsong voice rose above the noise of the restaurant. “Small world.”

Sloan didn’t want to talk about education. She wanted to talk about Ridge. She hoped Felicity might take the lead in this conversation since she had arranged this lunch. Since she “knew” Dylan, but obviously, this was all going to be on Sloan.

She flagged down the server, and they made their orders. After Sloan took her first gulp of a Long Island Iced Tea, she gathered her courage. “So, I’m not sure what Felicity has told you, but my brother disappeared in the fall of 1988.”

“Yeah, I remember the case. I mean, I remember it happening.” Dylan wrapped his hands around his coffee cup. “I hate to have to give a disclaimer, but my lawyer would flip if he knew about this. I’m not supposed to discuss this without him present. I want to help you both, help your dad if I can. I mean, the truth matters, but this can’t leave the table.”

“Of course not,” Sloan said. “It won’t.”

Dylan nodded. “Alright then. Ask away.”

“When were you . . . taken?” Sloan barely got the words out.

“February 1992.” His eyes stayed glued to the tabletop.

“The police believe our father killed Ridge, but it’s never added up,” Felicity said. “They never found a body. There were no leads, but now, hearing about Eddie Daughtry, I wondered if Ridge was also a victim.”

Dylan swallowed. “I don’t remember a Ridge. But Daughtry gave everyone fake names.”

Sloan dug a picture out of her purse. “This is him. A few months before.”

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