Page 30 of The Missing Half

“Huh.” He leans back into the booth, gazing at his beer as he makes lines in the condensation with his fingertips. “I don’t know. Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Really? She worked there for a few years.”

“Nah, can’t seem to place her.”

“You don’t even recognize the name?” I say. “It was pretty well-known there for a while.”

McLean doesn’t respond.

“Back in 2012, she was all over the news. Jules Connor was one of the girls who went missing from the side of the road. Not far from here, actually.”

He pulls his phone from his back pocket, glances at the screen. “Shoot. Ladies, I’m sorry, but I have to get this.” He slides out of the booth.

Jenna and I lock eyes. It’s a phony call, it has to be, and we can’t lose him now. But just as I’m turning around in the booth to make sure McLean doesn’t walk out on us, he’s back. He sits, tucking his phone into his back pocket, and takes a sip of beer. When he puts it down, it seems he’s found his footing, like he knows how he’s going to play this.

“Sorry about that,” he says. “Now, where were we? Oh, that’s right, the Missing Mishawaka Girls. I remember that story.” He looks at Jenna. “One of those girls was your sister? I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.” Jenna pulls her phone out of her bag, taps the screen, and holds it out over the table. “This is her.”

McLean shoots the screen a fleeting glance. “Huh.”

“Do you remember her now? You were probably her manager when she was there, right?”

“How long ago are we talking?”

“Ten years,” Jenna says. “She worked there for three years and left in 2009.”

“Ah, Jesus.” He chuckles. “I can’t remember what I had for breakfast today let alone some girl I worked with a decade ago.”

I know he’s lying. I can see it in every line on his face. I want to hurl myself across the table at him, use my fingernails as claws. “It’s weird, because women you work with definitely remember you.”

I expect him to bristle at this, but instead he barks out a laugh. “Oh, I get it. You two got my name from some touchy little chick I used to work with and you tracked me down, huh? You fancy yourselves a couple of Nancy Drews.” He has the bravado of a man who’s gotten away with a lot over his life, and it’s unnerving to sit across from him. Pepper spray or not, Jenna and I can’t force him to tell us the truth if he doesn’t want to. We can’t force him to do anything. “Who did you talk to?” he says. “What is this said woman’s name?”

Jenna and I are quiet. Our drinks finally arrive, and the moment my wine touches the table, I grab it and gulp half of it down.

“Ah, come on, Nancy Drew,” McLean says when the waiter walks away. “You’re not gonna tell me who I made such a lasting impression on?”

“I can’t remember,” I say. “But I do have another name for you.”

He lifts his eyebrows, his mouth quirking upward. “Consider me intrigued.”

“Kasey Monroe.”

“Kasey Monroe…Kasey Monroe…Oh shit! Yeah, I do remember her.” I’m expecting him to say he remembers her from the news, the other missing girl, but he doesn’t. “She used to work at that little record store by the restaurant. Oh my god, yeah. That name is like a goddamn bell in my head.”

I feel Jenna look over at me. “What do you mean?” I say.

“That name, Kasey, Kasey, Kasey.”

I’m enraged by the flippant way he’s saying my sister’s name, but more than anything, I’m confused.

“I used to work with this uptight little bitch, right? And this chick would not shut up about Kasey Monroe. Name was always in her mouth.” He takes a sip of beer, clearly enjoying the rapt audience. “Those two were—oh, what do you call them nowadays?—frenemies! That’s it. Best friends who hate each other. She would just talk and talk about how she was so sick of her friend, Kasey. How Kasey was ruining her life. How annoyed she was by Kasey. My god, it went on and on. Finally, I had to bring her into the office and tell her nobody gave a shit.”

I open my mouth, close it again.

“Who was this?” Jenna says.

He cocks his head. “You know what? I can’t actually remember her name. She wasn’t bad to look at though. Petite little thing. Long blond hair she always wore in a ponytail. Freckles on her nose and cheeks. Cute, you know, but uptight. Not very fuckable.”

---