Night Edge (4 page)

“She owe you money or something?”

“No,” Beau said emphatically, looking up again. “I’m just trying to get in touch with her.”

“Oh. Well, she works at a bar not too far from here on Sunset Strip. Hey Joe—you know it?”

Beau scrubbed his palm over his stubbled jawline and nodded. “I know the place.”

“She’s got a boyfriend, though—Johnny. And he’s good to her. So whatever you’re after, might be best you just walk away.”

“Thanks for the tip,” he said dryly.

“Sure. Now, what can I get you?”

Beau cocked his head. “What?”

She pointed her pen at the menu. “To eat, honey.”

“I don’t care.” He slid it away. “Whatever you recommend. Breakfast food.”

“Coming right up.”

He considered leaving. If Dina thought Lola was still with Johnny, she was worse off than him. She waddled over to the counter, ripped off his ticket and refilled a water glass at the only other table with a customer. Beau didn’t want breakfast food. He wanted to find Lola.

His cell vibrated in his pocket, and he answered it immediately. “Bragg?”

“More dead ends. I can’t find anyone named Lola Winters staying in the area. I can go national, but can you give me some kind of direction? Maybe a favorite spot?”

Beau had nothing. He could probably rule out Las Vegas since she’d been there. Apparently, that was how well he knew the woman he’d fallen in love with. “Motels?” Beau asked.

“Nope.”

“Airports? Car rentals? Fucking train stations?”

Bragg was silent.

“Damn it,” Beau said.

“There’s one thing I haven’t tried. Hospital and jail records.”

Beau looked down at the table. For a shameful moment, he preferred that to the alternative. In jail, in a hospital, she would need him. There’d be no pretense. He could handle those situations better than anyone he knew, whether it was getting her the best care or paying off whomever he needed to if she were in trouble. Anything was better than not knowing why. Or where. Or if. If she’d really left on purpose, or if this was all some big misunderstanding.

“Search them,” Beau said. “Every few hours until we know more.”

He hung up as Dina set an oversized dish of French toast in front of him. It must’ve been a joke. Lola had to be watching from the kitchen, laughing at him in her carefree way. Like the time she’d thrown her body into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist.

“…come have breakfast in bed with me,” she said.

“If you insist, though I don’t really see the point.”

“There’s no point. This isn’t a negotiation or a board meeting where there needs to be an explanation for everything. There’s absolutely no fucking point at all, and that is the point.”

Beau understood that conversation better now, after having spent more time with her. He was the one who’d set parameters around his life, and he was the one who could tear them down. Breakfast for dinner. Eating where he slept. They were childish things, but they weren’t illegal—he’d gawked at her as if they were.

“Come on. Eat up,” Dina said. “It was Lola’s favorite. Mine too.”

Beau took a reluctant, painful, memory-filled bite. His mouthful of syrup tasted like Lola.

“Can I get you anything else?” Dina asked.

Beau needed her to keep talking so he could survive that French toast. For the first time in two days, he didn’t feel an ounce of anger. “Did she grow up near here?”

Dina glanced around the diner. Her other customer had his eyes glued to the overhead TV set. “Five or so minutes away,” she said. “How’d you say you know her?”

Beau wiped his mouth with a napkin and cleared his throat. “I guess you could say we worked together once.”

“Oh.” Her mom nodded high, keeping her eyes on Beau. “I see. Well, Lola only worked at two places in her life, so I got a pretty good idea what you’re getting at.”

Beau didn’t look away, though he wanted to. When had he ever faced the family of someone he’d screwed over? Beyond Johnny, he’d never considered how hurting Lola might extend to those who loved her.

“Hang on,” Dina said. “There was that 7-Eleven she worked at for a while as a cover up for what she was really doing. She must’ve thought I was dumb to believe money like that came from selling bubblegum and cigarettes.” Her smile fell. “Completely slipped my mind. But no, I’m not about to believe that’s where you know her from.”

Beau smiled thinly. “It’s not.” Walking into a 7-Eleven years ago and coming face to face with a young Lola might’ve changed his life. Before his money, he’d been like any other boy trying to get a girl’s attention. For the most part, he was too distracted by work to care, but he couldn’t imagine walking away from Lola back then, before he’d ever tasted power—or rejection.

“She never worked here?” he asked.

“This place? You mean the diner with quicksand floors?” She laughed at her joke. “People get stuck here. Mario in the kitchen came in to use the restroom twenty years ago. I didn’t want that for her. She can do better than her old lady.”

“Lola’s very smart,” Beau agreed.

“Pity she got stuck on the Strip,” she said.

“At Cat Shoppe, you mean?”

Dina eyed him. “No. I’m talking about Hey Joe, where I said she works now. Not that I did any better for myself, but I wanted her to become something. She was a proud little girl, though.”

“Pride’s not always a bad thing.”

“You don’t watch out, pride’ll get you. Lola didn’t want nobody telling her what to do, especially me. Thought she knew better. She had a fighting spirit. Too much. Then she hooked up with Johnny, and he calmed her down lots, but while she’s with him, she won’t go much of anywhere.” Dina was barely looking at him anymore. “Johnny’s a good man, but sometimes I wonder where she’d be now if she hadn’t met him. Maybe this whole side of town’s quicksand.”

A hint of thickness in her voice made Beau wonder if she missed her daughter. “Why don’t you two speak?”

Dina shook her head slowly and looked up at the ceiling a moment. “I wasn’t a good mom. I know that. She knew it too since she was little. Like you said—she’s smart. Smarter than anyone in my family.”

Beau’d heard enough of Lola’s childhood to know Dina could’ve done better. The fact that she kept Lola out of the diner said something, though. She saw the same potential in Lola Beau had. “I’m sure you weren’t as bad as you think.”

She snorted. “When I got pregnant with her, I quit smoking. Not because I was worried about the baby, but because it made me sick. Nausea, heartburn, all that. I was pissed about it, thought it was unfair. I loved my cigarettes. What’s that say about me?”

One of her bushy eyebrows crinkled. He wanted to tell her that everybody made mistakes and that most people never copped to them. They went on thinking they’d been good people. Beau had seen it in business time and time again—those who owned their mistakes, like Beau, were successful because they didn’t make them a second time.

“Anyway, when I found out about the stripping,” she continued, “I told her to stop. Said I hadn’t done much for her in my life, but I was putting my foot down. I think that made her want to do it more.”

So Lola had been stubborn from the start. It didn’t surprise him, and he understood why someone like Johnny had tried to tame her. Wild horses were as easy to lose as they were to love. “Were you ever close?”

“No. I never planned for her. It was her dad who wanted a kid until he had one. He bolted when he realized it wasn’t all fun and games. Took me a lifetime to get over it, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want good things for her.”

It’d been a while since Beau had taken an interest in anyone’s life when it didn’t benefit him. Even Brigitte. He set down his fork and got comfortable in his seat. “Tell me more.”

“Not much to tell. She was young when he left, and I got all the responsibility I never wanted. And no money, either. He took what little we had, the low-life scum. Anyway, I’m not trying to dump the past on you—not like I even think about this anymore. You asked why we don’t speak—answer’s that we just don’t got anything to say to each other. She lets Johnny do the talking.”

“Sounds like the same bull-headed Lola I know.” Syrup dripped over the sides of his toast, pooling on Beau’s plate. “Knew, I mean.”

“You work downtown?”

Beau looked up again. Dina’s eyes were narrowed on him. “Am I that obvious?” he muttered.

“You don’t look like you belong in these parts.”

“These parts? This is Hollywood, for God’s sake. It’s not like we’re on Skid Row.”

“You just don’t look like it.”

“I grew up not far from here,” Beau said defensively. He was beginning to think it was more than just his suit that gave him away. It shouldn’t have bothered him that he’d risen so high above his social beginnings, he was unrecognizable to his peers—he’d worked hard for that kind of esteem—but it did. He’d been one of them once. And his success hadn’t come without struggle or sacrifice. “For twenty-seven years, I barely had enough to get by. I didn’t grow up spoiled or privileged. Why is that so hard for everyone to believe?”

Dina’s face was harder now. “Tell me what you’re really doing here.”

“I already did. Looking for a girl I used to know who told me once her mother worked at The Lucky Egg.”

“Sounds suspicious as get out to me. Not sure what you’re after, but if it’s good for Melody, I hope you find it. If it’s not, you’ll have Johnny to answer to.”

“What did you just say?” Beau asked.

“You heard me, young man. You’re not exactly someone I’d want to mess with, but neither’s Johnny, and he—”

“No, not that. Melody?” The name was vaguely familiar, something he’d heard recently.

“Oh. Lola’s a nickname her daddy gave her, but I call her by her given name when I get worked up. Doctor doesn’t like me to get worked up. I got high cholesterol, which you can probably guess—”

Beau stood, digging his wallet out of his jacket pocket. He remembered where he’d heard that name. He’d thought it was a stage name, and Lola had been teasing him in the strip club when she’d insisted he call her that. Maybe it’d been a clue—right in front of him the whole time.

“Hey, you barely touched your breakfast,” Dina said. “Don’t you like French toast?”

“I like it fine.” Beau set a hundred-dollar bill on the table.

“Honey, I don’t got change for that.”

“Said I’d pay you for your time.” Beau was nearly one foot out the door. He stopped himself from saying she’d earned it. Maybe it wasn’t his suit that gave him away, but comments like that. “Thanks for your help,” he said instead.

Chapter Six

In the past week, Lola had seen more of the world than she had in all twenty-nine years of her life. It was exhilarating, liberating, exciting. She covered her mouth for a yawn. Well, not all of it. Beau had been right about at least one thing—the world’s largest ball of twine underwhelmed.

Lola stared at the popular roadside attraction, trying to warm her hands in the pockets of her denim jacket. She’d only been there five minutes, and she was ready to leave, but she’d driven through far stretches of countryside to get there. It really was just a big, stinky ball, though.

Lola giggled as Beau’s comment came back to her.

“Big balls don’t do anything for me. But if they impress you, I can show you a couple—”

A grown man was now hugging the ball as a woman photographed him. Lola looked around to see if anyone else was having the same immature reaction she was, the one Beau would’ve had too if he were there.

Beau took himself too seriously, but he had his moments. In a way, because his silly side was infrequent, it made him more endearing. She couldn’t envision him letting his guard down that way with many other people.

Lola sighed and took a picture of the twine ball with a digital camera she’d purchased. If she’d had someone to text it to, she would’ve sent it along with some witty comment. Of course, she would’ve needed a phone for that.

“Want me to take one with you in it?” asked the woman with the ball-hugging man.

“No, thank you.”

“You sure? Take it from me—when you get home, the pictures with no one in them get old real fast.”

Lola suppressed a smile. Everyone else was doing it, but she couldn’t help feeling a little ridiculous. “Okay,” she said. “Why not.”

“Anyone you want in it?”

Lola shook her head. “I’m alone.” She handed the woman her camera. When it was her turn, she stood just in front of the ball and smiled. She refused to hug it.

“Good one.” The woman returned Lola’s camera. “You’ll be glad when you get back. That’s definitely going in the scrapbook.”

Lola thanked her and left. During her trip, whenever she’d remembered, she’d taken at least one photo at each stop. At a rodeo in Wyoming, she’d sat in the stands with her cotton candy and watched a roping competition. Afterward, she’d won a goldfish at the state fair and given it to a little girl, making her hold it up for the camera. Lola had never been much of a moviegoer, but in Denver, she’d spent two days in the dark, gorging on foreign films during a festival. She’d photographed the sun rising between two gray mountains. A group of oddly-shaped pine cones. Tree trunks floating in the fog. Those were all from an early-morning hike she’d taken. She wasn’t in any of the pictures, though, and she wasn’t sure why she had them. They weren’t for a scrapbook—or for anything, really.

Lola stretched her arms and legs before getting back behind the wheel. Driving an entire country could be hard on the body, and she was achy a lot of the time. She unfolded her map panel by panel, revealing America in seconds. Without a phone or GPS, navigation was a new skill for her. The options were many—Botanical Gardens in Des Moines, the St. Louis Arch, Chicago—but she’d already decided on the Ozark Mountains. After days of cities and crowds, solitude in nature sounded luxurious.

Lola put the car in drive and hit the freeway. Hours crept by, as endless as the yellow, rolling wheat all around her. Clouds skidded across the blue sky and as she drove into the afternoon, they began to gather, low and gray on the horizon.