Page 41 of Another Girl Lost

DAWSON

Saturday, July 13, 2024

8:00 p.m.

Dawson sat at the bar and smiled as the bartender set his favorite draft beer in front of him. He’d spent most of the afternoon on the Sandra Taylor case, rereading his notes on the teen’s missing persons investigation, which felt woefully incomplete now.

A decade ago, his sources had described Sandra as a troubled young woman who partied hard and hated her homelife. So much like Scarlett and Tiffany Patterson when they’d been teens.

Next, he’d keyed in on his notes about Tanner. Polite. Neatly dressed. Seemed concerned. Tanner had grown up in a two-parent middle-class family. His father had been a carpenter and his mother a clerk in a hardware store. There were no siblings—just some distant cousins and a few aunts and uncles. He’d opted out of college for trade school and by nineteen was earning a six-figure income. He bought the house in Moyock, North Carolina, when he was twenty-one. The kid was a success.

No arrest record. No missing family animals, no complaints filed against him for sexual assault. Whatever he’d been planning, he’d kept it locked in his head until he was ready to act it out.

On June 12, 2014, Dawson had gotten a tip that Sandra had gone on a date with Tanner. Following the lead, he found Tanner at a jobsite—a home renovation project. What he’d not realized was that the jobsite was across the street from Scarlett Crosby’s house and Scarlett had already been missing for six days. There’d been no missing persons report, so no red flags. Maybe if he’d knocked on more doors, someone might have mentioned Scarlett hadn’t been seen in nearly a week. If he’d realized Scarlett was also in trouble, he’d like to think he’d have zeroed in on Tanner and saved both girls. However,maybes, like unicorns and birthday wishes, didn’t mean much.

Since he’d separated from his wife last winter, he came here often. The bar was dark and didn’t really attract tourists or the younger crowd but working-class folks who were either cops, navy, or dock or construction workers. The drinks were strong, and people left him alone. Most patrons were midthirties or older, and most were like him: they wanted to drink and hook up. He could always count on a cold beer and better-than-average odds that he’d find a woman close to last call.

A woman took a seat next to him and ordered a white wine. He caught the whiff of perfume, and peripheral vision revealed a thick shock of blond hair swept away from an angled face. Long, elegant fingers accepted a glass from the bartender.

The woman beside him now didn’t look like the kind to linger, but he’d been fooled before. When she twisted in her seat and faced him, he damn near fell off his stool. “Margo Larsen?”

A smile curled the edges of her lips. “Detective Dawson. I thought that was you.”

“What brings you here?” Her blouse was fastened above her breasts, but discretion made the look sexier.

She smiled. “Same as you. How’s the food?”

“Burgers aren’t bad, but beyond that I’d be careful.”

“Not the kind of place to get a salad.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “No.”

Margo traced the stem of her glass. “You know this place well?”

“Well enough.”

“But you come here often.” She nodded thoughtfully. “You look comfortable, as if this is your place.”

The observation was slightly unsettling. “Maybe.”

She raised the glass to her lips. “Why do you come here so often?”

He shifted toward her. Their knees faced each other and were inches apart. “Same as the rest.”

“Then I chose well, I suppose.”

He wasn’t thinking about her as a cop or colleague. And they both were off the clock, so what the hell. “Where did you live before here?”

“I was in the DC area; loved it, but I like the beach and decided to mix things up.”

He tried to imagine a couple of her blouse buttons opening. If she were interviewing a suspect dressed like this, she might ask great questions, but anyone with a heartbeat wouldn’t hear a word she said. Hell, he was having trouble concentrating himself.

Her tongue barely skimmed the edge of her glass as she drank.

He cleared his throat. “How do you like being near the water?”

“I like it. Town is smaller. Finding a place to live is turning into a challenge. But I’m getting by. What about you?”

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