The Night She Disappeared (5 page)

There’s all kinds of rumors. Someone tried to break into Kayla’s parents’ house. Last night, a pizza driver from Papa John’s disappeared. The cops want all the guys who work at Pete’s to dress like girls and deliver pizzas as bait. Someone saw Kayla walking down Pine Street in Seattle. Pete is going to shut down and declare bankruptcy.

I just listen. It’s clear nobody knows anything.

Gabie stands in the doorway a second. Then she takes the chair next to me. No one else is sitting near me. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but is it because I let Kayla go out on the delivery? Because I took the guy’s order like it was real and let her drive off?

It was so crazy last night—especially after Courtney quit—that Gabie and I didn’t have a chance to talk. I was going to offer to walk her to her car, but Pete did before I could say anything.

Even though Gabie wasn’t there Wednesday, I think she understands how I feel. After all, she was supposed to be working. And the guy asked for her. Me? I was the last one to see Kayla, but I can’t even remember her last words. They were probably something ordinary, but now they seem important.

If only I could remember what they were.

Of course, Kayla’s last words probably weren’t whatever she said to me as she picked up her keys and the three red insulated boxes. And they probably weren’t words at all, but a scream.

Thoughts like these are the reason I’m not sleeping anymore.

Gabie sits with her shoulder curled over, chewing on the edge of one fingernail, with her hair falling in her eyes. Her legs are jigging up and down. I have a feeling I’m not the only one who isn’t sleeping. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her what the guy said. But how could I not? Besides, the cops probably told her first thing.

Pete comes in. He’s a little guy, about five foot five, with black hair, a big nose, and a belly. Behind him is one of the cops who talked and talked to me. At the sight of his uniform and the black gun on his hip, the room goes completely quiet.

“This is Sergeant Thayer,” Pete says. “He’s here to answer your questions.”

Beside me, Gabie takes a deep breath. She raises her hand. “Have you found Kayla?”

“Not yet, Gabriella.” A jolt of electricity goes through the room. Everyone realizes this cop knows her name. “We still don’t know exactly what happened. We know some guy called in a pizza order to an address that doesn’t exist. We found Kayla’s vehicle near that road, so we believe she must have been trying to find it. She didn’t run out of gas. As far as we can tell, there are no mechanical malfunctions. Maybe someone flagged her down. Maybe someone stopped on the pretense of giving her directions and then grabbed her. Maybe she got tired of looking and decided to go smoke a joint by the river.” There’s some nervous laughter. Thayer looks disappointed. Like we should have straightened up and put on horrified faces at the very idea.

And me? I wonder who told. Was it Gabie? I cut my eyes sideways at her. She’s looking straight ahead. But her knees are still jiggling away.

I think of Kayla and me that one time in the cooler, and Gabie outside, ready to wait on the customers that weren’t coming in. In the cooler, there’s only one bulb overhead, so it’s dark in the corners. We stood between crates of cheese and pepperoni and passed the joint back and forth. When I took it back from Kayla, it was wet with her spit. My lips and even my tongue were touching something she had just touched. I wanted to kiss her in the worst way. But I didn’t. She was still with Brock then, and he went out for practically every sport. Even though he always looks half asleep, he’s all muscle. He probably has fifty pounds on me. So Kayla and I just leaned against the cold cement wall, our shoulders touching.

I realize the cop is looking straight at me. Like he wants me to break down and say there’s a big drug ring at our school. Which is so stupid. Someone took Kayla because they wanted a girl, not because they wanted drugs. Kayla might have had a joint or two in her purse. Maybe. But no more than that, and they didn’t take her purse anyway. She doesn’t sell anything, and as far as I can tell, she doesn’t buy, either. People just give her weed. Like I did that one time.

Thayer finally breaks the long silence. “We need to look at every possibility. At this stage of the game, we can’t afford to overlook anything.” He scans the room. With his sharp, long nose, he looks like the hawks that circle over the freeway looking for roadkill. “There have been reports that a white pickup was seen in the vicinity that night, so we’re talking to owners of white trucks.”

White truck?
I’d bet every tenth car in Portland is a white pickup truck. Good luck with that one.

“Excuse me,” Amber says. She only works weekends. “I heard he asked for the girl in the Mini Cooper. Doesn’t that mean he really wanted Gabie?” She looks over her shoulder at Gabie and whispers “Sorry!” as if she has revealed a secret. And it’s clear that for some people in the room, this is the first they are hearing about this.

Gabie freezes. At least the top part of her body does. Even her knees still for a minute.

The cop says, “We’re looking at every possibility, but we think it’s more than likely that this guy targeted Kayla Cutler. He may have said something about Gabriella’s Mini Cooper to throw us off the scent, but he still took Kayla. Whatever happened, Kayla pulled her car to the side of the road, put it in park, set the emergency brake, and left her purse on the seat. These are the actions of a young woman who feels comfortable with her surroundings. We believe whoever was with her that night was someone she knew, or at least a familiar face. It might have been a friend, someone she knows from school, or a regular customer who is acquainted with the young women who work here.”

Girls suck in their breath. Amber’s eyes get wide, like she’s about to cry. She pretty much only works delivery.

“That’s why we need your help,” the cop says. “While we’ve already talked to most of you, in the next few days we’re going to interview everyone again. We’re especially interested in hearing about any delivery customer—or any customer at all—who has made you nervous. At this point, we want to know everything, even your gut feelings.”

“How are you going to keep us safe?” an older woman named Sunny demands. She works days, and mostly right here in this dough room. It’s hard to imagine she’s in danger; she waddles.

Pete clears his throat. “I’m changing the schedule. No more girls doing deliveries. It’s going to be guys only. Guys with cars, it goes without saying.”

Crap! What’s that mean for me? All I have is a skateboard.

“Here are the new schedules.” Pete hands a stack of papers to people in the front row. They pass them back as the meeting begins to break up. When one comes to me, I see how bad it is. Lately, I’ve been working four days a week (and filling in whenever)—and now it’s down to two.

Gabie moves her finger down to my name. “Wow—they really cut your hours.”

“Yeah, it’s going to suck,” I say. Which is an understatement. A lot of the other kids work at Pete’s for spending money or maybe to add to a college fund. For me, my hours mean food on the table and lights that come on when I flip the switch.

Before, I worked on Tuesdays and Wednesdays with Gabie. Kayla and I worked together Friday nights. And pretty much everybody worked Saturdays. But now I’m only scheduled on Fridays and Saturdays. And the two weekdays I normally work with a girl who does deliveries have been given to Miguel. I look over at him. He’s still staring down at the schedule. He’s a senior, too, but he’s always looked older than any of us. He’s over six feet tall, and his dark hair is buzzed right down to his scalp. His long, close-trimmed sideburns follow the angle of his jaw. Miguel’s been shaving since sixth grade. He catches me looking at him, and I turn away. But not before I see his mean little smile.

Gabie looks up at me. “Do you have a driver’s license?” Her eyes are an unusual color. Not green, not blue, not gray, not hazel. They’re the kind that can look different depending on the day and the lighting and the color of a sweater.

I shrug. “Yeah, but what difference does that make? Pete doesn’t have a car we can use for deliveries.”

“You could use my car,” she says, and then looks away.

I can’t believe it. Gabie and me, we get along fine, but it’s not like we’re good friends. I don’t even know why she works. She doesn’t need to. Her parents have money—they’re both doctors. Surgeons, I think. Her black Mini Cooper is probably only six months old.

Most of the rich kids at our school are popular, too. But Gabie’s not in that group. She’s not part of any group, really. She’s quiet, always holding back, always watching.

Kind of like me.

“No,” I say, but it comes out too hard. She flinches. Mentally, I curse myself. “I mean, sorry, but no thanks.”

She straightens up so we’re almost eye to eye. “I’m serious.” She looks around until she spots Miguel. He’s in the front, talking to Thayer. She turns back, and her voice gets lower. “I would much rather work with you. When I work with Miguel, all he does is slack off. Plus, he’s always making vulture pies.” Vulture pies are pizzas so bad they’re suitable only for vultures or employees. “And then at the end of the day he takes them home. I’ve seen him do that with as many as three pizzas.”

“I’m surprised Pete hasn’t figured that out yet.” Pete’s incredibly cheap. Once Danny found some glass in a five-pound can of mushrooms. Instead of telling him to throw them out, Pete offered him a dollar for every piece of glass he found. Danny ended up with fourteen bucks and a big cut on his thumb.

Gabie shrugs. “Pete’s been taking inventory more often, so he might be catching on. So please? Please use my car and save me from Miguel?”

I hesitate. The truth is, I need the money. Sometimes I even think about doing a fake pizza order myself. Even though by now I’m totally sick of pizza. Pete already lets us make a personal pizza for our breaks if we work more than four hours. Lately, I’ve been putting anchovies on mine or leaving off the cheese and putting on twice as much sauce. Anything so it doesn’t taste like the thousand pizzas I’ve eaten before.

Gabie takes a deep breath. Then she says in a rush, “Besides, I like working with you.”

I’m so surprised that for a moment I don’t say anything. When we work together, she has a cautious way of looking at me. Like she thinks I might be dangerous. If I make a joke, she waits a second before she laughs. It always makes me wonder if she
is
going to laugh.

And then when she does, low and throaty, it’s the kind of laugh you want to hear again.

“Would that really be cool with your insurance?”

“I could check and see.” Gabie shrugs. “Besides, if you didn’t get into an accident, it wouldn’t matter. Nobody would know. And I’ll bet you’re a careful driver.”

Is Gabie Klug flirting with me? With me, Drew Lyle?

“You’ve never seen me drive. How do you know I’m careful?”

“I can tell.” She looks up at me through her lashes.

I can’t believe it. She
is
flirting. “Why would you do that for me?”

And then she’s suddenly serious. “Because I’ve seen enough to know you deserve it.”

The Fourth Day

Gabie

DREW AND I
have to wait to talk to Pete. Amber is talking to him, or more
at
him, waving her hands.

Finally it’s our turn. “Can we talk to you about the schedule?” I ask.

“Both of you?” Pete looks at me, then Drew, then back at me.

“Yes,” I say firmly.

“Come into my office.”

Office is kind of an overstatement for a space that’s ten feet by ten. The desk is covered with receipts and a printing calculator. Boxes of pineapple and olives are stacked next to the walls. Since there’s only one chair and Pete sits in it, Drew and I lean against the boxes.

I take a deep breath. “I think you should give Drew back the days you cut.”

Pete shrugs. “Sorry, but he doesn’t have a car. And I’m not letting you or any girl make deliveries.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Not after what happened to Kayla.”

“He can use my car.”

Pete looks as surprised by this news as Drew did a few minutes ago.

“I don’t know….”

“Come on,” I say. “I don’t want to work with Miguel.”

“Why not?’

“Because I wouldn’t feel safe with him. If any bad guy came into the restaurant,
I
would have to be the one to protect Miguel.”

It’s true, too. Miguel may look like an adult, but when Danny cut his thumb, Miguel almost passed out. And if it was a choice between protecting me and running away, Miguel would run so fast his shoes would smoke.

Pete puts his hand up to his mouth, but not before I see the smile underneath his big black mustache.

“Well, I can’t afford to have you decide you don’t want to work here, too. Amber just told me she’s not coming back.” He looks at Drew. “So obviously that schedule I passed out is already out the window. Would you be interested in extra hours?”

“Sure.” Drew never says no to extra hours.

“I appreciate you guys sticking it out. I can see how it might affect you. Both of you,” Pete says. His eyes, which turn down at the corners, make him look like a sad hound dog.

“That’s all I think about,” Drew says softly. I don’t say anything, just nod.

Pete leans closer. “I’ll tell you guys something, but you can’t tell anyone.”

“Okay,” we both say. Drew shoots a glance at me, and I can tell he feels like I do. Like maybe he doesn’t really want to know.

“They found a spot down by the river, not far from Kayla’s car. A place where the river bank was all torn up. Like there was a struggle. They also found a rock about the size of a fist with blood on it. They’re running tests on it now. They’re getting DNA from Kayla’s toothbrush or something to see if it matches. But if it
is
blood, it’s probably hers.”

“A rock?” Drew echoes. “Next to the river?”

Pete nods. I don’t know about them, but I’m thinking about the river, how deep and wide and fast it is. Parts are over a hundred feet deep. The spring snowmelt has been high this year.