Page 100 of Wicked Pickle

I open my maps app and locate the pin I dropped. “About two miles ahead, you’ll turn left. There’s nothing until then.”

She nods.

I clear the map in case I missed Diesel’s response. There’s nothing.

We reach the side road. Marietta signals and turns. The car bumps along, kicking up dust. I switch the air flow to circulate inside the car.

The cluster of houses appears. At first, it’s hard to see the situation in the haze, but then we’re in front of them.

“Should I turn in their drive?” Marietta asks.

“Sure.”

She pulls in front of Diesel’s house. There are no vehicles out front, not the truck nor their motorcycles. That’s three vehicles for two people.

My stomach clenches. That makes it seem like they left for good. But wouldn’t they have told Jake? How can the bar go on without them?

I stare out the window as Marietta shoves the gearshift into park.

“You going to knock?” she asks.

I glance at the phone again. No response. I type again.

Me: We’re at your house. Not trying to be a stalker, but I’m worried.

I look up at Marietta’s concerned face. She reaches out to squeeze my hand again. “I think he’s turned it off, honestly.”

“But he wrote Jake. He had to have seen my messages.”

“He could be in meetings. Not able to handle a complex conversation. Just firing off the primary message.”

She’s being so nice about it.

After another minute, I unbuckle and open the door. “I’m going to knock.”

“You want me to come?”

“No. I don’t think anyone’s here. I just want to check.”

She nods.

I get out and take a moment to straighten my skirt. I don’t believe the brothers are here, but I also don’t want to look bad. They might have a camera on the door. He might be watching me approach.

I reach out to push the doorbell with shaky fingers. It reverberates inside.

I listen, but there’s no sound. No door opening. No footsteps.

Nothing.

I glance back at the car, but I can only see the back side of it closest to the door. Marietta can’t see me.

Does he have a camera? The doorbell is normal. There’s nothing in the corners of the porch.

How will he even know I was here? It feels vital that he does, that I validate the text I sent.

The other houses are quiet and still. There’s no traffic on the road we came in on.

I don’t have any hope of finding him.

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