redheaded girl stopped us. According to her, we wouldn’t be allowed to take our bags on the search. I had a backpack and Audrey had a big bag that also carried her camera.
I’m like, “But we have our snacks in here,” and the redhead goes, “Sorry, they said no bags. I guess they don’t want people smuggling anything in or out. Besides, they’re going to provide hamburgers for lunch.”
I’m like, “Hamburgers? Cool.” And that was it for the guilt over quitting my job. Hamburgers for lunch—that had to be some kind of sign that I was doing the right thing.
I ran the bags back to the car while Audrey stayed and chatted up the redhead. I was only gone for about two minutes, but they seemed like buddies already by the time I got back.
Turned out the girl’s name was Trix Westwood. Trix was short for Beatrix, she said, an explanation that she’d obviously tossed off so many times before it was practically part of hername by now. It wasn’t hard to see why Audrey was grinning at her. Trix had the artsy flair Audrey would be attracted to—her red hair wound into pigtails just like Audrey’s, blue lipstick, black top, short black skirt with black-and-white-striped tights underneath, and clunky black shoes—a cool look but not really great hiking attire. “Trix goes to Hollister,” Audrey informed me. Hollister is the rich-kid private school Ashton Browning also attended.
“Where do you guys go?” Trix asked.
I’m like, “How do you know we don’t go to Hollister too?”
“Oh, please,” she says. “You guys are much too cool to go to Hollister.”
She didn’t follow up on where we went to school, and I didn’t volunteer the information either. Not that I was ashamed of our high school, but it’s quite a few cuts below a place like Hollister.
“You don’t like Hollister much?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding?” Which obviously meant that she didn’t. “So, you guys just decided out of the goodness of your hearts to help find Ashton Browning?” she asked.
“That and we’re doing a story for our school paper,” I told her.
“I’m the photographer,” Audrey said. “Guess since I had to put my bag back in the car, I’ll have to use my phone.”
Trix goes, “A story for the paper, huh? That’s cool. Stick with me. I’ve done this before.”
I’m like, “Really? You’ve gone on a missing-girl search before?”
She nodded. “Yeah. When I lived in California. A missing twelve-year-old. It didn’t turn out well.”
That seemed like an odd coincidence, that Trix would be around when two different girls in two different states went missing. I glanced at Audrey to see if she might be thinking what I was, but no—she just grinned at Trix, obviously with other things on her mind.
At the check-in area, we signed our names and gave our phone numbers and addresses, both real-world and virtual. A huge cop asked us a few questions, which needless to say jangled my nerves a bit. What if he looked me up on the computer and found out a couple of his cop brethren once suspected me in the death of Hector Maldonado? Maybe he’d think I was somehow involved with the disappearance of Ashton Browning too.
I didn’t like the looks of him, and he didn’t like the looks of me either. He stared at my hat like it was a suspect all by itself. He didn’t arrest me or anything, though, and we squeezed through into the big blue-and-white tent where the cop in charge was about to give instructions for the search.
The place was nearly full—the local news was even there—so we had to stand in the back. The crowd wasn’t what I would call diverse. By far most people looked like rich kids or rich kids’ parents or maybe the rich kids’ parents’ employees. There was little doubt that, except for maybe the cameramen and some of the cops, Audrey and I were the only ones who came up from south of Tenth Street.
The cop in charge—Captain Lewis—looked pretty smooth with his
I’m like, “But we have our snacks in here,” and the redhead goes, “Sorry, they said no bags. I guess they don’t want people smuggling anything in or out. Besides, they’re going to provide hamburgers for lunch.”
I’m like, “Hamburgers? Cool.” And that was it for the guilt over quitting my job. Hamburgers for lunch—that had to be some kind of sign that I was doing the right thing.
I ran the bags back to the car while Audrey stayed and chatted up the redhead. I was only gone for about two minutes, but they seemed like buddies already by the time I got back.
Turned out the girl’s name was Trix Westwood. Trix was short for Beatrix, she said, an explanation that she’d obviously tossed off so many times before it was practically part of hername by now. It wasn’t hard to see why Audrey was grinning at her. Trix had the artsy flair Audrey would be attracted to—her red hair wound into pigtails just like Audrey’s, blue lipstick, black top, short black skirt with black-and-white-striped tights underneath, and clunky black shoes—a cool look but not really great hiking attire. “Trix goes to Hollister,” Audrey informed me. Hollister is the rich-kid private school Ashton Browning also attended.
“Where do you guys go?” Trix asked.
I’m like, “How do you know we don’t go to Hollister too?”
“Oh, please,” she says. “You guys are much too cool to go to Hollister.”
She didn’t follow up on where we went to school, and I didn’t volunteer the information either. Not that I was ashamed of our high school, but it’s quite a few cuts below a place like Hollister.
“You don’t like Hollister much?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding?” Which obviously meant that she didn’t. “So, you guys just decided out of the goodness of your hearts to help find Ashton Browning?” she asked.
“That and we’re doing a story for our school paper,” I told her.
“I’m the photographer,” Audrey said. “Guess since I had to put my bag back in the car, I’ll have to use my phone.”
Trix goes, “A story for the paper, huh? That’s cool. Stick with me. I’ve done this before.”
I’m like, “Really? You’ve gone on a missing-girl search before?”
She nodded. “Yeah. When I lived in California. A missing twelve-year-old. It didn’t turn out well.”
That seemed like an odd coincidence, that Trix would be around when two different girls in two different states went missing. I glanced at Audrey to see if she might be thinking what I was, but no—she just grinned at Trix, obviously with other things on her mind.
At the check-in area, we signed our names and gave our phone numbers and addresses, both real-world and virtual. A huge cop asked us a few questions, which needless to say jangled my nerves a bit. What if he looked me up on the computer and found out a couple of his cop brethren once suspected me in the death of Hector Maldonado? Maybe he’d think I was somehow involved with the disappearance of Ashton Browning too.
I didn’t like the looks of him, and he didn’t like the looks of me either. He stared at my hat like it was a suspect all by itself. He didn’t arrest me or anything, though, and we squeezed through into the big blue-and-white tent where the cop in charge was about to give instructions for the search.
The place was nearly full—the local news was even there—so we had to stand in the back. The crowd wasn’t what I would call diverse. By far most people looked like rich kids or rich kids’ parents or maybe the rich kids’ parents’ employees. There was little doubt that, except for maybe the cameramen and some of the cops, Audrey and I were the only ones who came up from south of Tenth Street.
The cop in charge—Captain Lewis—looked pretty smooth with his
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