Page 98 of Spooked

Her words sent a chill through me.

“Most of them.Mostof them show up in a few weeks. What happens to the ones who don’t?”

“Fifty bucks says the reports sit in the bottom of a file cabinet somewhere, gathering dust. Do we have any potato chips?”

“Potato chips? Who cares about potato chips?”

“An army marches on its stomach.”

But we weren’t an army. We were a small group of people searching for a needle in a Portuguese haystack. Meera had been missing for ten days already, and we were running out of time.

* * *

Mercado was a riot of colour, cocktails, and crowds. Music thumped from hidden speakers, so loud that I could barely hear Brax speaking next to me as we dodged our way across the room. He pointed toward the bar, and I got the message—we needed to talk with the bartenders. Ari had stayed outside with Tulsa to tackle the door staff. Chase and Jerry were dancing. I had no right to complain because they’d taken time off work and travelled halfway across the world to assist, but I couldn’t help wishing they’d take Meera’s disappearance a tiny bit more seriously. And maybe I was a tiny bit jealous of their dancing ability as well. I had two left feet, and if I spent longer than five minutes on a dance floor, someone would end up with a broken toe.

“Hey, Meera!” The nearest of the three bartenders greeted me with a grin. It was slightly quieter here, but we still had to shout. At least he spoke English. Was his accent Australian?

“I’m not Meera, but we’re looking for her.”

He leaned closer, squinting. “Damn, you two could be twins. Try Quinta do Lago—she works there most days.”

“No, she’s gone missing. She hasn’t been at work.”

“Can we speak in private?” Brax asked.

“No way, mate. It’s packed in here.”

Brax held out a hundred-euro bill, and the man’s eyes lit up. He called to his colleagues, “Back in five,” and beckoned us through a door at the side of the bar.

“Is this about Meera?” he asked when the door closed behind us. “I haven’t seen her this week.”

We were in a storeroom piled high with boxes. A table and chairs sat against one wall, and a sink in the corner held dirty plates. Brax did the talking, and I was grateful. Tiredness was beginning to catch up with me.

“How about last week?” he asked.

“Yeah, maybe?”

“Think hard.”

“She came on Wednesday for the salsa club, I’m ninety percent sure. She was dancing with Miguel, and then Miguel’s girlfriend showed up, and there was a fight. Not, like, a physical fight, but words, you know?”

“Was the argument serious?”

“I doubt it. The girls had both been drinking, and I bet they forgot about it by the morning.”

“What does Miguel look like?”

“Dark hair, ponytail, kind of skinny. Always wears a bandana around his neck like a cowboy.”

Not the man we were looking for, then.

“After the fight, what did Meera do?”

“Carried on dancing, probably.”

“Did you see her with any other men? We’re particularly interested in a blond man with a French accent who might have been present that night.”

“I don’t remember anyone like that, but you should talk to Lucia. She’s got a thing for French guys, and she was working behind the bar as well.”

---