Page 83 of That's Not My Name

Her eyes scan me from head to toe, making it clear she means that in more than one way. I turn away so she won’t see me frown. Not because she isn’t cute—the eyeliner looks good on her—she just isn’t Lola.

I stop and pour some coffee into a disposable paper cup. I stir it with one of those wooden sticks, trying to cool it down, and freezemid-stir when I see what’s on the bulletin board. It’s completely covered with missing person posters. All of the same person.

My stomach drops.

The smiling face of an elderly man named Ben Hooper stares back at me in black and white. The poster says he was last seen two days ago while on a walk. The number for the Alton police department is printed at the bottom, but his face takes up the most space. His smile cuts into me as I sip the coffee. It tastes like dirt, but I force it down anyway.

“I don’t remember these being here last night,” I say to the girl behind the desk.

She rolls her eyes. “They weren’t. His wife’s been posting fliers on literally every surface in town. She came in super early and took over the whole thing. No wonder he took off. She seems a little out there.”

I know exactly how that feels, to be running around posting fliers so you can feel like you’re doingsomething. But the flippant way this girl talks about it makes my stomach churn. Like it doesn’t matter. Like his frantic wife is strange for looking for him in the first place.

Or maybe that’s my baggage weaseling into someone else’s life.

I swallow the coffee-flavored bile coming up my throat and look away from the missing man’s face. I snag a few bananas for Autumn and Max. “Thanks,” I say, heading for the door.

“Sure, but I—”

The door cuts her off as I step outside.

Max and Autumn meet me at the Liberty, and Max tosses me the car keys as I toss him the bananas. Autumn clutches my little pile of “evidence” to her chest as she gets into the car, riding shotgun this time. Max doesn’t protest. He gets into the backseat, eating his banana. He offers the other one to her, but she makes a face, so he eats that one too.

The drive to the precinct is short and full of heavy silence. The nerves twist my already unhappy stomach. I have no idea how this is going to go. During our strategy session last night, Autumn thought that connecting the jacket to the diner will be enough to convince the police to talk to Meredith and Eloise. I hope she’s right because we don’t have a backup plan.

The precinct comes into view two blocks ahead. It’s a little one-story building with a small parking lot in front. Only two cruisers and two sedans parked in it. The Alton Police Department sign, painted with a gold badge, sits beside the door, and I’m suddenly back in Washington City, hearing the doors of Roane’s precinct slam behind me as everyone inside glares daggers at my back.

My whole body breaks out in a cold sweat.

Fuck. I really don’t want to become a suspect in yet another county.

I roll to a stop at a red light.

If this goes south, I’d like to think I’ll keep going, find someone else to listen, but what if nobody will see my side? What if there’s nothing I can do to bring Lola home, and I’m making everything worse? What if Roane is waiting with handcuffs, and I won’t have another chance to follow the clues we’ve gathered? What if—

“Yo, dude. The light is green,” Max says from the backseat.

I blink out of my spiral and force my foot off the brake. I ease the Liberty toward this building that’s looking more and more like a black hole by the second. I park in the lot, as far from the door as I can, and Autumn raises an eyebrow at all the empty spots beside us.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Nope.”

“Drew,” she says, holding up the papers. “It’s not just your word anymore. You have us, and we have two other witnesses who saw her.The police have no reason to ignore this, and they have even less reason to set their sights on you.”

“Unless Roane shows up and convinces them you’re a sociopath,” Max says from the backseat.

Autumn spins around and glares at him. “Shut. Up.”

He shrinks back and gets out of the car.

“Don’t listen to that nonsense,” Autumn says. “We’ve got this. Remember the speech: we’re here with information about a missing girl. We give them the photos, and tell them about Meredith, about Eloise. They’ll take it from there.”

I take a breath and follow her out of the car, but I drag my feet. It’s easy for her to feel confident—she has less to lose. If they don’t believe her, she goes home and gets grounded. I could be arrested.

We cross the parking lot, and I hesitate at the door.

Max claps me on the shoulder. “Let’s do this thing.”

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