Page 57 of A Little Luck

Her notebook is clutched to her chest, and she chews her bottom lip, hesitating. She’s so vulnerable. She’s about to tell me something, and I’m ready. I want whatever this thing is out in the open. I’ve felt it so strongly over the last few days, every time we’re together, and I do my best to ease her fears while also bracing for it.

“You see… back when we were in school… well… this thing happened—was happening. I never said anything to anyone because…”

A loud, brisk knock on the door cuts off her words.

“Hi guys! I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” It’s Jemima’s cheerful voice, and I swallow the growl rising in my throat. “I went to the paper office, but it was locked. Dang, it’s a mess in here! Did you meet with the contractor? Is his name Santa Claus?”

Jemima giggles, and I feel like I can see Piper’s invisible shield of practiced professionalism snap back in place. I’m frustrated she didn’t get to finish that sentence.What was happening? What did she never say?

“I’m sorry.” Piper turns to her. “What time is it?”

“It’s after nine, chief!” Jemima does a little salute. “You didn’t say what time I should be here this morning, but I figured the news never sleeps, right?”

“It’s after nine? Holy shit, we’re late.” Piper still clutches that notebook to her chest as she hurries to where Jemima’s waiting at the door. “The answer is yes, I was meeting with the contractor—ChuckClaus. I guess it went longer than I expected.”

“Understandable.” Jemima looks up at the hole in the ceiling. “What happened?”

“I bought a hundred-year-old house is what happened.” Piper puts her hand on Cass’s sister’s arm. “I got a heck of a deal, though.”

“It’s what you’d call a fixer-upper?”

The two head to the newspaper office leaving me standing in the wreckage trying to figure out what I missed so long ago.

* * *

“So you thinkthese fellas might know something?” Marshall is in the passenger’s seat of my old Jetta.

The windows are down, and his short brown hair blows around his temples. It’s not as cool today, and the scent of rain hangs in the air. He’s dressed as usual in his tattered trench coat, white shirt and tie, but I’m more casual in loose jeans and a long-sleeved tee.

I’m driving us out to the old Jones place. Bull and Raif Jones are the “usual suspects” when it comes to crime in Eureka, and while it might not be entirely fair that anytime anything goes wrong, everyone in town points to them as the reason, they don’t do anything to downplay their reputations.

“Bull Jones has connections with certain groups around the waterfront,” I explain. “If anyone was hiding out or on the run, I expect he’d know about it.”

“Are they like the Teamsters?” Marshall squints at me with one eye. “I do my best to avoid those guys.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think they’re that organized.”

They’re more like a loose band of thugs and ex-cons, but I’ve somehow gotten invested in Marshall’s case, and now I want to know as well whatever happened to…

“What’s this missing person’s name?” I glance at him as I turn onto the narrow dirt road leading to the Jones property.

They’re technically outside of Eureka, in the unincorporated part of the county. It’s one of the few reasons Aiden doesn’t bother them—unless they come into town.

Marshall shifts in his seat. “I’d rather not have too much information out there until I at least know her whereabouts.”

“I don’t know what you’re worried about with me.”

“You’re sleeping with the editor of the paper.”

It’s my turn to squint one eye at him. “How did you know that?”

“I caught her slipping out last night, so I followed her straight to your place. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. I’m not that old, and you’re both attractive young people.”

I turn into the short driveway leading to a rusty, double-wide trailer where the brothers live with Thad, their father. He’s as rough as they are.

Ratty lawn chairs are arranged around a small fire pit behind a tree. A few tractor tires have flower beds planted in the centers, as if someone has taken an interest in fixing up the place, but whoever it was didn’t make it very far.

An El Camino is on cinder blocks by a small shed where a motorcycle is parked. Something smaller is under a tarp, probably an ATV. A pile of trash is growing beside an overflowing garbage can, and on the porch are a few scrappy-looking hound dogs.

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