Ethan
But whenever he looked again, the shape was gone.
Ryan raised an eyebrow. “You met him before?”
Fernanda said, “Frank O’Shea told me the same story. I thought the twins must have somehow renovated this place behind his back. The land would be cheap, I assumed.”
Ryan said, “Stanley had the same problem. His daughter told me all about it. Stan’s mother and Frank’s mother both vanished on the same night.
The two women sold makeup together. They were driving back from a cosmetics conference in New Mexico and stopped somewhere in the area for the night. No one ever saw them again.”
“Why would they stop here?” Kyla said. “Stockton’s not two hours away.”
“The ladies were an item. Not that anyone says that part out loud.” Ryan chewed a piece of okra. “Frank and Stanley like to make out like their moms were kidnapped or murdered, but I’d always assumed those two girls had just run off to Mexico together.”
“No. They didn’t. I met them last night.” Tabitha’s face strained at a thought. “Or rather, not last last night. English isn’t really built for this kind of paradox. Or maybe the brain isn’t.”
“Let’s not get hung up on details.” Kyla sat at the bar, pulling loose a handgun from behind her back and placing it near the shotgun. Ethan did the same with his Python, Fernanda with her own pistol. It was a relief to sit without chunks of metal digging into their backsides.
Tabitha said, “It’s a shame Sarah isn’t alive. She could probably explain this better than I can. She was a physicist. A very good one, at that.”
Ethan said, “Sarah Powers was a scientist? I thought she worked for Frank.”
“She was a tenured professor from Austin.” A small, sad smile crossed Tabitha’s face. “My brother and I were so proud when we learned that today. It’s strange—we felt rather paternal about her, proud of our little cousin, when she was almost a decade older than us. Depending on how you count.”
“What the hell was a tenured professor of physics doing working for Frank O’Shea?” Ryan said.
Kyla said, “One thing at a time. Twelve people checked into this place in 1955, right? And let me guess—they got stuck living the same night over and over again, just like us.”
“I believe they did, yes,” Tabitha said. “We don’t exactly have a way of checking. There were eight guests that evening. A pair of newlyweds, the two women selling makeup, two young hikers, an insurance salesman, and a professional Negro.”
The woman really is from 1955, Ethan thought. Everyone blinked at the word.
Everyone except Kyla. When an awkward pause threatened the cafe, she twirled two fingers in the air, the universal sign for keep it moving. “Eight guests. Plus you and your brother. And I assume your dad was here?”
“Yes. It had been Father’s idea to buy this place.”
“That makes eleven,” Kyla said. “Who was the twelfth person?”
“Our father’s business partner. A strange man. He must have told us his real name at one point, but I forgot it ages ago. We always called him The Chief.”