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Authors: Meira Pentermann
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case they might one day again be useful.
Amy closed the distance between them and touched his arm. “We’ll figure it out,” she whispered, surprised at her use of the pronoun we. “We’ll find her.”
Chapter Seven
They rode in silence as they made their way back to the Shanti Motel. Amy had a headache, and she shielded her eyes from the sun. Sam had a broken heart, perhaps a broken soul. Amy glanced at him every once in a while, but she couldn’t get a read on his mood.
“Let’s have lunch,” he said.
“Okay.”
They pulled into the parking lot of a Mexican place. Amy immediately craved a margarita. She chastised herself. Really? Last night wasn’t enough? On the other hand, she thought, this morning has really sucked so far. She reviewed the events in her mind – waking up with a strange man in her motel room glaring at her, discussing the plight of Emma Foster who has haunted Amy since she found the yearbook, and confronting Brent. She wasn’t sure which was worse – standing in Brent’s presence or stepping onto the property where the nightmare had taken place. She shuddered.
“You okay?” Sam asked.
“Yeah. It’s just been quite a day.”
Sam nodded. Amy could only imagine the thoughts racing through his brain.
They settled into a booth in a corner of the restaurant. Sam buried himself in the menu. When the waiter arrived, he ordered a margarita.
“On the rocks, with salt.”
Amy raised her eyebrows.
“You want one?” he offered.
“Yeah, but uh—”
“We deserve it.”
“Right.” Amy turned to the waiter. “Yes, I’ll have the same. Rocks, salt, et cetera.”
“Absolutely, amigos. I’ll be right back.” Then he slipped away, whistling.
“So…” Amy placed her hands on the table. “What now?”
“I’ll talk to the detective and see if he’ll reopen the investigation. At least he can tell me if they ever interviewed Brent. The detective was really good to us, you know. He’ll probably share the notes from the interview if he can slip them to me. I can’t imagine they’d let political connections thwart justice.” He was silent for a moment. Amy considered the idea that political connections enabled people to circumvent justice all the time.
The margaritas arrived and Amy wasted no time getting busy with hers. Sam merely poked the straw around his glass.
“I just believed,” he began. “I believed she was okay. It was a feeling. I almost convinced myself I heard the voice of God.” He looked away. “I know that sounds stupid.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Emma was the spiritual one. She was the one who believed God was watching out for us. I was a snarky skeptic when she disappeared.”
“Your sister disappeared, and then you found God?” Amy asked. The remark sounded callous, but she could not withdraw it. “I’m sorry.”
Sam said nothing.
Catching the eye of the waiter who was just returning to take their order, Amy subtly pointed to her almost-empty margarita glass and nodded. The waiter retreated again. Sam was clueless to the entire exchange.
“I was lost for a very long time, Amy. Especially after Emma disappeared. I quit school. I pissed my life away. Then four years ago… It’s hard to explain.”
“Talk about Emma,” Amy said, hoping to lead him out of despair and back into that sense of calm he had when he believed she would be okay.
He tilted his head, his eyes filled with sadness. “She was a light, always smiling, but something changed.”
The waiter arrived, plopped another margarita in front of Amy, and took their order. Sam ordered quickly. He didn’t seem to notice the second drink, and he remained quiet until the waiter left. Then he resumed his story.
“In the spring before she disappeared, Emma became very moody. Sometimes she was full of joy. Sometimes she seemed sad, and she talked about God’s love in a sort of pleading way. I was at the University of Colorado, staying in a dorm, but when I joined my family
Amy closed the distance between them and touched his arm. “We’ll figure it out,” she whispered, surprised at her use of the pronoun we. “We’ll find her.”
Chapter Seven
They rode in silence as they made their way back to the Shanti Motel. Amy had a headache, and she shielded her eyes from the sun. Sam had a broken heart, perhaps a broken soul. Amy glanced at him every once in a while, but she couldn’t get a read on his mood.
“Let’s have lunch,” he said.
“Okay.”
They pulled into the parking lot of a Mexican place. Amy immediately craved a margarita. She chastised herself. Really? Last night wasn’t enough? On the other hand, she thought, this morning has really sucked so far. She reviewed the events in her mind – waking up with a strange man in her motel room glaring at her, discussing the plight of Emma Foster who has haunted Amy since she found the yearbook, and confronting Brent. She wasn’t sure which was worse – standing in Brent’s presence or stepping onto the property where the nightmare had taken place. She shuddered.
“You okay?” Sam asked.
“Yeah. It’s just been quite a day.”
Sam nodded. Amy could only imagine the thoughts racing through his brain.
They settled into a booth in a corner of the restaurant. Sam buried himself in the menu. When the waiter arrived, he ordered a margarita.
“On the rocks, with salt.”
Amy raised her eyebrows.
“You want one?” he offered.
“Yeah, but uh—”
“We deserve it.”
“Right.” Amy turned to the waiter. “Yes, I’ll have the same. Rocks, salt, et cetera.”
“Absolutely, amigos. I’ll be right back.” Then he slipped away, whistling.
“So…” Amy placed her hands on the table. “What now?”
“I’ll talk to the detective and see if he’ll reopen the investigation. At least he can tell me if they ever interviewed Brent. The detective was really good to us, you know. He’ll probably share the notes from the interview if he can slip them to me. I can’t imagine they’d let political connections thwart justice.” He was silent for a moment. Amy considered the idea that political connections enabled people to circumvent justice all the time.
The margaritas arrived and Amy wasted no time getting busy with hers. Sam merely poked the straw around his glass.
“I just believed,” he began. “I believed she was okay. It was a feeling. I almost convinced myself I heard the voice of God.” He looked away. “I know that sounds stupid.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Emma was the spiritual one. She was the one who believed God was watching out for us. I was a snarky skeptic when she disappeared.”
“Your sister disappeared, and then you found God?” Amy asked. The remark sounded callous, but she could not withdraw it. “I’m sorry.”
Sam said nothing.
Catching the eye of the waiter who was just returning to take their order, Amy subtly pointed to her almost-empty margarita glass and nodded. The waiter retreated again. Sam was clueless to the entire exchange.
“I was lost for a very long time, Amy. Especially after Emma disappeared. I quit school. I pissed my life away. Then four years ago… It’s hard to explain.”
“Talk about Emma,” Amy said, hoping to lead him out of despair and back into that sense of calm he had when he believed she would be okay.
He tilted his head, his eyes filled with sadness. “She was a light, always smiling, but something changed.”
The waiter arrived, plopped another margarita in front of Amy, and took their order. Sam ordered quickly. He didn’t seem to notice the second drink, and he remained quiet until the waiter left. Then he resumed his story.
“In the spring before she disappeared, Emma became very moody. Sometimes she was full of joy. Sometimes she seemed sad, and she talked about God’s love in a sort of pleading way. I was at the University of Colorado, staying in a dorm, but when I joined my family
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