Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
E mery
“Do you have enough iron pills?” my mother asks from the speaker of the rental car I’m sitting in.
“Yes, Mother.”
“Are you sure? You know how dangerous it can be to not take your pills.”
Even though she can’t see me, I stifle the frown that tries to make its way through. Frowning causes wrinkles, Emery. Is that what you want?
Her words echo through my mind. I never remind her that I’m only twenty-six. A little too early to worry about wrinkles. She would just remind me that it’s never too early to mind one’s appearance.
“I take them every morning,” I assure her.
Instead of approving, a heavy sigh pushes through the car’s speakers. “For the life of me, I don’t know why you insisted on taking that silly internship. What is Billy to do for these six weeks while you’re absent?”
I bite my tongue to keep from telling her for the third time that Billy is the one who asked for a summer break from our so-called relationship.
“He’s concentrating on studying for his medical exam so he can get into the internship of his choice.”
“You should be here helping him,” she comes back. “Not out in the middle of nowhere, playing with rocks and dirt or whatever it is you’re doing.”
I go to reply but hold my breath when a young couple passes my car, giggling loudly. I do a quick scan of the parking lot. In the rearview mirror, the neon green sign of the bar and restaurant flashes brightly.
Mike’s .
I’m a few hours outside of Miami. Far from the Colorado mountains where my mother believes I am. She wouldn’t respond well if she knew I was in Florida.
And that would be before I even told her the reason. If she knew why I came to Florida, she would completely lose it.
Your sister is so irresponsible!
I know she wouldn’t react well if she knew that Ashley had come here first. So, I choose to keep that information to myself. Besides, finding Ashley is my priority. As soon as I make sure my sister is okay, I can take her back home to Upstate New York and get back to my anthropology internship.
“Anthropologists don’t simply play in rocks,” I remind my mother.
She huffs out a breath. “Whatever. What am I supposed to tell the Kings about your absence?” The Kings are Billy’s parents.
I want to tell her that she doesn’t have to tell them anything at all. Or better yet, she could go with the truth. But seeing as how I’m not even telling her the full truth right now, I opt to keep my mouth shut.
“I can only imagine how awful your hair must look right now. Are you even able to find a proper stylist down there? You’re not letting the color fade, are you?”
On instinct, I peer up into the rearview mirror and smooth down the already smoothed edges of my hair that I’ve styled into a tight high bun.
I run the tips of my fingers over the spot of my hair that’s dyed the same dark-brown color as the rest of my hair. No one who doesn’t know me would ever know this part of my hair is naturally and permanently gray.
Ever since I was a child.
It’s been years since I’ve worn unruly hair in its natural state, though.
My makeup is just the way my mother taught me. Not too heavy but applied well enough to hide any blemishes that mar my skin. Not that I have many of those due to the bi-weekly facials and skin treatments she insists we attend.
“A woman must always look presentable,” she says out loud while I recite her mantra in my head. She’s drilled it into me and Ashley since we were children.
“I know, Mother. I’m making sure to keep up with all of the regimens you taught us.”
“And your iron pills?” she asks yet again.
“Yes, including my iron pills.” I clear my throat. “It’s getting late, and I have to get up early tomorrow for a meeting at the university,” I lie. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow evening.”
“Make sure that you do. I’m sure your father will want to say hello when he gets home from the medical convention.”
“Okay. Bye.”
She hangs up and I push out a relieved sigh. I have to remind myself that my mother only wants the best for me and Ashley. It’s what all mothers want.
That thought brings the memory of my birth mother smiling at me to mind. I was probably no older than two or three years old. In the memory, she mouths that she loves me as she tickles me, which makes me giggle.
I quickly shake that thought from my mind. I don’t think much about my birth parents anymore, so I wonder what that sudden memory is all about.
I shrug it off because there are more important things to worry about. Like, where the heck my sister is.
After doing a scan around my surroundings, my attention lands on the bar behind me. It’s a typical dive bar. People stream in and out. Some are obviously drunk.
“What was Ashley doing here?” I mumble.
It doesn’t make any sense. Before getting out of the car, I opt to listen to the voicemail my sister left for me just over a week ago.
“Hey, big sis. So, don’t be mad at me,” she says. “But I didn’t go on a trip to Mexico like I told you guys.”
Ashley’s spring semester of college trip was supposed to be to Mexico with friends. That’s where she should be right now. I should’ve known something was off when she told me she was going with a group of friends on vacation.
Ashley doesn’t have many friends. Especially not many at the prestigious all-women’s college that our parents sent both of us to.
“I’m in Florida. Don’t be mad!” she says again. “I just had to come. I think I found out something about our past. I met a guy who knew Mom and Dad. I’m meeting him tomorrow night at a bar called Mike’s. After I speak with him, I’ll give you a call and tell you everything. I love you. Bye!”
I never received that call.
I’ve called my sister at least a dozen times and left half as many messages. Eventually, her phone started going straight to voice mail. After three days of no answer, I called the local police department of her last known location. They refused to even start looking for her, saying she was probably just a college student out having a good time.
But I know my sister.
Even if she were out having fun, she would answer my phone calls. She always does.
I get out of the car and straighten out the perfectly pressed khaki pants and button-down top. As I stroll toward the bar’s entrance, I realize I don’t have a clue as to how to go about getting the information I need.
Ashley didn’t even give me the name of the guy she was meeting. There isn’t a bouncer or any type of security at the door, so I breeze right in. As soon as I do, however, it’s like everything stops.
The music that was blaring, turns down a few notches. The yelling dulls to a chatter and it’s as if all eyes shift toward me. Slowly, I look around and yep, out of the fifty or so people in this bar, more than half of them direct their attention my way.
I look down at myself to see if I accidentally left the zipper of my pants open or something.
It’s not that.
But as I direct my attention to others, I see a few women dressed in ripped jean shorts and bras that I suppose are passing as their shirt. A few men wear leather pants with chains around their waists.
Not only is their attire questionable but there’s an odd smell that fills the air. It doesn’t stink, not really. It smells of…outside. I can’t quite put my finger on it.
What the hell type of bar is this?
Among the stares, I straighten my shoulders, lift my chin and head directly to the bar. I haven’t spent much time in dive bars but from the movies I’ve watched, the person looking for answers always goes to the bartender.
So that’s where I go.
“Hello,” I greet with my biggest smile. My face falls, however, when the dark eyes of the bartender land on me. It’s not the unfriendly stare he gives me or the darkness of his eyes. Though, it might be the scars slashing across his face that give me pause.
I clear my throat and glance away to keep myself from staring. “Uh…” I’m completely out of my league and words stick in my throat.
“Drink,” he demands in a gruff voice.
“No, I?—”
“Drink.” His voice is dry and brokers no argument.
“Um, a beer,” I say. “Do you have anything on tap?” Before the question is fully out of my mouth, he slides a beer bottle in front of me. No glass to pour it in. Nothing. “I suppose not,” I mumble.
He starts to walk away.
“Excuse me.” I lean over the bar.
He turns that glare on me again as if he can’t believe I would interrupt him. When everything inside of me wants to pull away, I remind myself why I’m here in the first place.
For Ashley. I need to find my sister.
“Can you tell me if you’ve seen this woman here recently?” I pull out my cell phone and bring up one of the latest photos I have of her.
“No,” he answers, eyes still on me.
“But you haven’t looked at the picture.”
“Don’t need to.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” I hold my phone up higher and practically thrust it in his face. “Here. Please look.”
His stare lingers on me for a few beats, but eventually his eyes drop to my phone screen.
“She’s about five-nine, an inch taller than me, and shade or two lighter than me,” I say, noting my darker brown shading as opposed to Ashley’s more coppery tone. “She might have had her hair in multicolored braids.”
That was her hairstyle the last time we had one of our video calls, but that was a week before she left me that voicemail and Ash changed her hair almost as often as she changed her clothes.
“If not the braids, she probably had on something bright and multicolored.” Much to our mother’s chagrin, Ashley loved bright colors and patterns. She wears them constantly.
“Please.” I thrust my phone in his face again.
He stares at the picture and then shifts his gaze back to me. He doesn’t say anything.
“She hasn’t been here,” a voice from my left says, startling me.
I turn to see a less frightening man sitting on the wooden stool next to me. I give him my full attention.
“Do you work here?”
He looks me up and down. “Something like that.”
“Have you seen her?” I show him the picture. “Her name’s Ashley. She told me she was meeting someone here and I just need to find her.”
“When?”
“About a week ago.”
“Who was she meeting?”
“I…” I trail off because she never told me his name. “A man.”
His eyes narrow on me and then a smile covers his face. Before I know it, the grin turns into full-on laughter.
“A man?” he says in between guffaws.
Even the bartender, who’s remained stoic throughout our entire exchange, cracks a smile.
“Yeah, we know what kind of man she was meeting.”
His comment is biting and immediately, I become furious. “What are you implying?” I rise to my feet and glare at him.
I don’t ever curse, but the protectiveness I feel over Ashley overtakes me.
My anger makes him laugh even harder.
“This isn’t funny,” I insist. “She’s my sister and she’s missing and this is the last place she told me she was going.”
I push the phone in his face again. “If someone doesn’t start taking me seriously, I will get the police involved.”
So what if I’ve already tried to get the police involved. They don’t know that.
This sobers the guy up. He narrows his eyes on me.
“Now that I have your attention, can you please tell me if you’ve seen her within the last week in this place.”
I hold my phone up between him and the bartender. When neither of them says anything, I try a different tactic.
“Excuse me?” I say to the people sitting at the table nearest to me. “Have you seen this woman? Her name is Ashley?”
The couple shakes their heads and I go to the next table and the booth after that. Anyone within reach of my arms’ reach, I tap and show them the picture of Ashley.
“What the hell are you doing?” the man who was seated next to me at the bar demands.
“Getting answers,” I say flippantly while showing the picture to another couple.
“You’re looking for trouble.”
“And you’re hiding something,” I reply. I don’t know how I know this. I can feel it though. The silence from the bartender, the way this guy showed up at my side once I started pressing for answers, the way he implied my sister was some sort of prostitute or something.
It all leads me to believe he’s actively trying to dissuade me from finding something out.
“Where is my sister?” I insist, getting in his face. I’m not normally aggressive or particularly confrontational. But it’s different when it comes to Ashley.
I’m her big sister.
I protect her.
“You have three seconds before I call the police.” I press “9” as I say, “One…” My thumb hovers over the number one button. “Two…” I press one.
“Come with me,” he growls, grabbing my arm none too softly. He starts pulling me toward a back hallway.
“Where are we going?” I ask with a tremble in my tone.
His only response is a grunt as he tugs me harder down the hall. My heart rate begins to skyrocket as I wonder what I just got myself into.