Cold Death by Mary Stone (best e reader for android TXT) 📕

biker jackets. Like most dive bars, The Shanty was dark and reeked of stale beer, but the thick roll of cash poking out of the waitress’s black cutoffs suggested the grimy interior didn’t stop the patrons from leaving generous tips.

She leaned lower than necessary to set pints on the table between the bikers, a move Clay suspected she’d perfected to ensure an impressive amount of cleavage spilled from her skintight tank top. He passed the next few minutes fighting for patience while she tossed her blonde hair and chatted. Finally, after laughing at something the larger of the two bikers said, she patted his shoulder, winked, and strutted up to the small table where Clay and Luke were seated.

“Well, hello there. Don’t think I’ve seen either of you at The Shanty before. Pretty sure I’d remember a couple of handsome mugs like that. You boys new in town?” She cocked one hip and flashed a dazzling grin.

Clay returned her smile. “Just visiting. How about you? Are you from around here?”

“You know it. Spent my whole life within thirty miles of this area, give or take a few. What about you? Where you from?”

Close up, the waitress appeared older than Clay had originally guessed. Lines bracketed her mouth and fanned out around her eyes, and her thin, painted-on eyebrows were sharply arched, giving her face a perpetually surprised expression. Her skin was that cigar-shade of tan common in aging sun worshippers. “Here and there. Lived in Texas for a stint before moving to Charleston.”

Luke added nothing to the exchange but absorbed everything with alert ears even though his eyes were firmly on the table.

“Texas, the state where bigger is better.” In case her verbal flirting wasn’t blatant enough, she winked at Clay. He widened his smile. Best to lower her defenses, let her think she was reeling him in.

At least now he understood the massive wad of tip money.

He slid the sketch artist’s portrait of Caraleigh across the table. “I’m hoping you can help us out. Have you seen this girl before?”

When the waitress dropped her gaze to the sketch, her eyebrows lifted. For a couple of heartbeats, she went still. By the time she handed the picture back to Clay, her expression was wiped clean. “Sorry, never seen her before.”

Clay worked to keep the skepticism off his face. One of the earliest lessons he’d learned at the FBI Academy was…forget the words, read the body language. And the waitress’s body language said she was lying.

Luke must have sensed it too, because he bristled and balled his fists.

“You know, it’s not nice to fib to a federal agent.” Clay pushed the Polaroid of Caraleigh from Bob’s Burger Barn in front of her.

The waitress huffed at the photo and stuck her jaw out. Her lips thinned, but she didn’t reply.

That was okay. Clay was happy to do the talking for now. He draped his arm across the back of the chair to show just how little her antics fazed him. “The great thing about local business owners in these small towns is how they run the same places for decades. Like Frank. Funny, I figured his name would be Bob, given it’s Bob’s Burger Barn, but apparently Bob was his great-grandfather.”

She started when Clay dropped the name. Good. Progress.

“That’s right, Frank Slater, your old boss at the hamburger joint. Turns out he’s a real talkative fellow. In fact, Frank was more than happy to tell us all about Cara. Why, he even mentioned that he didn’t mind overlooking her lack of government-issued ID because she was such a good kid, if a little on the odd side. Said she was a real hard worker too, but the most interesting part was when he told us that she roomed with another waitress named Lori while the two of them worked together.”

Clay reclined in his chair with a friendly hat tip and waited. Frank hadn’t been quite as forthcoming from the get-go as Clay had portrayed, but the waitress didn’t need to know that. The older man’s initial reluctance to share that he’d paid Cara under the table made sense since tax avoidance was a federal offense. Once Clay reassured Frank that his inquiry was a labor of love on behalf of family versus a criminal investigation, the man had opened up. Claimed he was a family man himself and wanted to help.

The waitress stared at the sketch for a long time before her shoulders drooped. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Frank was the one who hired her. All I did was let her crash on my couch. Not like she could get an apartment anywhere without ID.”

Even though Frank had told them as much, Clay’s heart still leapt when the waitress confirmed the story. That made two people now who’d interacted with Cara after Luke was picked up by the rangers. His worst fear—that she hadn’t survived in the wilderness on her own—was put to rest.

His sister had found her way down the mountain and back to civilization. Alive and safe. At least for a spell.

“So, she couch surfed at your place while she waitressed at Bob’s Burger Barn. How long did that arrangement last?”

Lori pulled a surly face. “Not very long. She was weird, so she never settled in with the rest of us all that well.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Clay caught Luke’s glare. He squeezed the other man’s shoulder again. A reminder to keep his cool.

Now, to take his own advice. The waitress’s callous, offhand remark about Caraleigh was ruffling his feathers too. “When you say weird, what do you mean by that?”

The waitress sighed and cast a glance over her shoulder, like she hoped someone behind the bar might rescue her. “Just, she got upset over stupid stuff. Like when the music got too loud, or if guys tried to hit on her.” She rolled her eyes. “What kind of nineteen-year-old girl doesn’t like music and men? I mean, unless she was into chicks or something, but