Chapter 12 Cara
TWELVE
CARA
This is Troy Silverman, your future sheriff.
Me and my team were just part of a boots on the ground operation in the hunt for missing convicted murderer Cara Campbell.
I can tell you firsthand this whole thing is a disaster.
Jordan Burke’s bozos have bungled this from minute one.
And they nearly got me killed in the process.
Watch this space for a livestream update.
—Silverman for Sheriff Facebook page
Cara leaned back on the utilitarian bench seat as Devin and Sanjay’s Jeep moved swiftly along the narrow mountain road.
Her immediate relief at leaving the search dogs and fireman behind was tempered by her lack of a master plan.
Where was she going to go? What was she going to do when her rescuers’ phones got service and alerts from their news apps started pinging?
All she could think to do was keep the back doors unlocked so she could jump out from either side the second they figured out she wasn’t Karoline Bell from the South Bay but Cara Campbell from Beverly Hills.
The fall would probably kill her, and that would be that. But what else was new?
Devin reached for the dashboard stereo and pressed the radio button.
Shit.
“Driver’s choice,” he said, choosing the preset for the Sirius Grateful Dead channel.
Sanjay rolled his eyes as the wheezy harmonies of Sugar Magnolia filled the cab.
“My hus—ex-husband really likes the Dead,” Cara sputtered.
“Hope it’s not too bumpy back there,” Sanjay said. “This road sure is twisty.”
Her car sickness was definitely Dramamine-worthy, but at least the rough road and the loud music had masked her flub. “Totally fine.”
Sanjay chatted amiably about Devin’s new Jeep (not very practical in the city but perfect for here!) and the increased fire danger (my throat is starting to bother me, how about yours?) He also kept checking the phones to show her they didn’t have service.
“Sorry the route is taking us further out of cell range,” he said, seemingly trying to ease her mind about being in a car with two virtual strangers.
She couldn’t express just how not worried about them she was, or how downright happy she felt to be sitting in a vehicle heading swiftly away to anywhere.
As Devin slowed down to navigate a tricky bend with a steep drop-off on her side of the car, Cara slid over, just in case she had to make a quick exit.
After a while, the road straightened out and they rolled into a tiny town with a gas station, a crystal shop offering tarot readings, and a country store. It gave her an idea.
“I’m sure there’s a place I can make a call around here,” she said.
A fake call to connect with her “boyfriend” enabled her to make an excuse and say goodbye.
That would give her some breathing room to figure out where to go and who, if anyone, she could trust to help her.
Her rescuers had moved her precious miles away from her pursuers, but she couldn’t stay with them much longer.
And she had thirty dollars to help her survive the day. It felt like a fortune.
Sanjay pointed to a roadside café and gift store called Grits ‘n’ Gifts. “Let’s try that diner. I’m hungry, anyway.”
Devin pulled in and parked.
One step inside the place and Cara was nearly overcome by the dizzying aroma of burgers, fries, coffee, and pancakes with maple syrup.
It was all she could do to stop herself from opening the rotating dessert case and face-planting into a slice of chocolate cream, Dutch apple, or strawberry rhubarb pie.
“Do you have a pay phone?” Devin asked the hostess before she could.
“In the hallway between the restrooms, but someone’s on it,” said the hostess, whose youth and purple hair reminded Cara of Bree. “Table for three?”
“Yes, please,” Sanjay said.
“You don’t have to feed me,” Cara said. That definitely wasn’t part of the plan. “I’ll just wait here and—”
“Drool over pie?” Devin said. “Come on. Sit down with us.”
The purple-haired girl grabbed three laminated menus and led them into the crowded, wood-paneled restaurant.
Cara had no choice but to lower her head, doing her best to hide her swollen eye, and follow her hiking companions.
She was hoping for a table in the back, but their booth was right up front.
Cara slid into a cracked brown Naugahyde bench with her back to the hostess stand.
Sanjay and Devin sat down opposite her as a waitress appeared with a black plastic carafe. “Coffee?”
Sanjay nodded and she put it down on the table. “Be back in a sec to get your order.”
Cara had given up caffeine and dairy three years ago, but after the first sip of perfect diner coffee, she couldn’t remember why.
“Chicken-fried steak for me,” Devin said after briefly scanning the menu. “I mean, when in Rome . . .”
“Et tu, Karoline?” Sanjay asked.
“I’m thinking the all-day country breakfast.” She looked up at the clock and noted it was just after two.
“I’ll order for you so you can make your call. How do you like your eggs?”
“Scrambled, please.”
“Sausage or bacon?”
“Bacon. Thanks.”
Cara stood up and headed for the front hallway.
The OG payphone hanging from the wall was so authentic, it even had a worn phone book encased in an aluminum cover hanging from a metal cord.
Sanjay and Devin couldn’t see her from their table, so she spent the time it would have taken to make a call to instead go into the ladies’, where she washed her hands and face—and as luck would have it, scored a tampon from a woman who was on her way out.
When she returned, only Devin was at the table.
“Where’s Sanjay?” she asked.
“He’s never met a gift shop he couldn’t get lost in. Did you get ahold of whoever you needed to?”
“I had to call directory assistance, which amazingly still exists, to get the number for my boyfriend’s company,” she said, inventing details with increasing ease.
“Jordan’s administrative assistant will leave messages for him and a couple of the other people on the hike, telling them to meet me here. ”
“You must be really relieved.”
“So relieved.” She took a long sip of coffee and chased it with ice water. “I really do plan to pay you guys back for all your kindness as soon as I get to my phone. What’s your Venmo?”
“Just pay it forward,” Devin said.
She really couldn’t have stolen from nicer people.
“Seriously.”
“You’ll never remember mine, but Sanjay’s is @thejay.”
“Got it.”
Could she even access her Venmo? And what about her spending account?
The police would be alerted immediately.
Even if Fugitive Cara could open a new bank account, how was she going to make any money to deposit?
She pictured herself washing dishes for cash under the counter, like a road-weary criminal in a black-and-white noir movie. Or worse.
Neither of them said anything for an uncomfortably long beat.
Finally, Devin spoke. “It could take a while. Do you think we should let the local authorities know, just in case—”
“None of the people on the hike brought their phones, either, so they can’t contact anyone and won’t be able to hear the messages until they make it out,” she said quickly.
“Well, that could take hours.”
“I’m totally fine. If I get bored, I’ve got the gift shop. Or I can head down the street to the crystal shop. I’m just happy to have food and a bathroom.”
She wasn’t lying.
“Speaking of the bathroom, I need to wash my hands,” Devin said.
The waitress arrived with three overflowing plates of food a moment after he left.
Devin’s chicken-fried steak was smothered in gravy alongside a pile of thick-cut fries.
Sanjay had apparently ordered a Cobb salad with a waffle on the side.
Cara was dying to dig into her eggs, or cut into her pancakes, or eat one of the fries that had fallen off Devin’s plate onto the table.
She tried to wait.
Couldn’t.
Cara allowed herself one, then two bites of her home fries, which were every bit as crunchy, salty, oily, and delicious as she imagined. She took a tiny taste of her eggs before she made herself stop. She really couldn’t keep eating—not without letting them know their food had arrived.
Reluctantly, she got up from the table and went looking for Sanjay in the gift shop. She saw him right away, but before she could say his name, she saw Devin with him, partially hidden by a row of mugs and decorative shot glasses.
“You assume everyone is in some sort of crisis,” Devin was telling Sanjay.
“We found her alone in the woods, desperate enough to wear your filthy T-shirt.”
“You hate that shirt. I would have thought you’d be happy to have it stolen.”
“Be serious, Devin. We both saw how banged up she is. She tried to hide when she changed, but I saw her. It looked like someone beat the shit out of her and dragged her around.”
“She seemed happy enough on the hike out.”
“When people are in real trouble, they deflect. And she never made that phone call. I saw her go straight into the bathroom.”
Shit.
“But she didn’t want me to call the local authorities.”
“Because they’ll just deliver her into the hands of the monster who caused those injuries. The lady at the register told me there’s a family crisis center in Merced. Let’s feed her and then we’ll drive her there.”
She had to go. Now.
With one last, longing look at the pie case, Cara waited until the hostess glanced down at her cell phone, then slipped out the front door.