Page 27 of Jagged Line Paradise

“I BELIEVE YOU.I do. But I’m gonna need you to be straight with me, Andrés.”

My eyes narrow at Officer Simmons as I try to work out exactly what he’s hoping I’ll say that I haven’t already said. I came into the police station voluntarily to file a missing persons report on Avalon—Cindy certainly wasn’t going to do it—because she’s been missing all night, and maybe all day yesterday as far as anyone knows.

Jack Simmons might not know me or Lonnie on a personal level, but he does walk a beat at Paradise Park. He knows every person in our community—the good, the bad, and the ugly. He at least had the good sense to recognize that it didn’t make any sense at all that Avalon Briar would have just walked away without a word to anyone.

But this process seems to be taking too fucking long. I’ve given them my statement twice, written it out on paper, and hours have passed with no progress. I sat in a nasty, uncomfortable chair outside of reception all night, waiting for them to do something…literally anything.

But nothing.

Nothing until a half hour ago when Jack asked me to come back and talk to him in an interrogation room. I was okay with it when I walked in here, but now, with the way he tilts his head, sitting unnaturally still, hands folded in front of him on the table, and watching me discerningly...I’m starting to think he’s suspicious of me and I have no fucking clue why.

“I’ve been straight with you. I don’t know what else I need to tell you to get you out there looking for her. Something’s wrong. Iknowit.”

His head bobs in something resembling a nod. He sighs, glancing down at his folded hands and twiddling his thumbs. “So, tell me what you know, son.”

I show him my palms. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

“What’s most important here is that we find Avalon, okay? We just need you to tell us where she is.”

My lips pull back in a tight smile of annoyance. “I don’t know where she is. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’ve been sitting out there all night waiting for you to fucking find her.”

He leans back, dropping his palms flat on the table. “I don’t think I have to tell you that someone saw her get in your truck yesterday morning.”

“Mytruck? I don’t have a truck.”

His partner, whose name I don’t know, slides him a tan file folder and he opens it, flips through a few pages, and pulls out a document. He slips it across the table to me and I lean forward to look at the line he points to with his fat finger.

“That’s your name there, isn’t it? On this title for the 1995 red Chevrolet Silverado?”

I slide the page back toward him. “That’s my dad’s truck.”

“Then why is your name on it?”

I lean forward, slamming my elbows a little too harshly on the table, and I fold my forearms down onto the surface as my fingers steeple together. “Because I fucking bailed him out when it got impounded a year ago. It was repo’d and we both needed it for work. Because I actually save my cash, I paid for it under the condition that he add me to the title. Take another look,Jack.You’ll seehisname on there, too.”

Jack looks at the document and nods. “Sure. It’s there, but so is yours.” He slides the page back into the folder. “And you were the last one to see her, weren’t you?”

“We’re best friends.”

“Is that all?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re just friends? That’s all?”

I push away from the table with a huff, leaning back in my chair. I cross my arms over my chest, then drop them again into my lap. “I mean…we hooked-up the night before last.”

“Where?”

“What do you meanwhere?”

“Where did you hook up?”

“Shit. Are you serious?”

“I’m just trying to piece your story together, Andrés.”

“It’s not a fucking story.” I slap my hand on the table, my irritation peaking. “I don’t know where she is. I want to find her. I wantyouto fucking do your job and find her.”

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