“You are the Lifesaver candy I always believed in.” Renée had her arms wrapped around Tony’s neck, eyes shimmering with relief and delight, openly displaying her gratitude. She nearly glowed—a rare sight in my recollections—untouched by the gray cell walls left empty inside the Eureka police station.

The three of us headed straight over for a celebratory meal at Faye’s diner. Odors of comfortable foods and personal warmth embraced us like old friends. 

Renée chattered incessantly, unable to keep her eyes off my compadre, shamelessly talking with her mouth full as she forked country-fried steak into her face. 

I watched in wonder, trying to recall the last time she ate with such gusto. Her rail-thin frame transformed the undertaking into a slapstick comedy bit. 

“Jail sucks,” she told him. “I could lick your face.”

We all laughed raucously, though my humor was tempered by anxiety. Her joviality was as peculiar as the abnormal feeding binge. The last time I’d heard her crack a joke, we were in high school and her full-on crush for Tony resulted in awkward pubescent humor that had me blushing.

“Don’t do it, my sister from another mister,” Tony said with a jab to her undernourished shoulder. “My wife might misunderstand your thankfulness.”

“Not a chance, lover boy. Juanita knows I could never hurt her beautiful family. But they should make you Sheriff of Custer County. I’ll send a letter.” She shoveled in another mouthful. 

As much as I loved watching her eat a genuine meal, the scene gave me shivers. It was reminiscent of those childhood episodes of Renée huddled over the toilet bowl, her colorless face purging the remnants of whatever little she had eaten, while I tried to comfort her out of a major depression.

“That Sheriff de Lude,” Tony said. “What a character. Seems a bit out of sorts.”

“They got a real circus going on up here,” I said.

“Ride the express rail out of town,” Tony said. “Good line that. Harkens to the Empire Builder train run. Guy’s poetic.”

“Poetry isn’t finding that little girl.” I took a sip of coffee and toyed with the flakes of crust on my pie.

“Maybe they’re right,” Tony said. “It’s a family feud and the girl will show up. Seen it before.”

Renée dropped her fork with a shriek. “No! You have to find her! This isn’t the same. I’ve been around these people. This isn’t how they do it!”

“All right, Renée,” I said, giving her my full attention. “You know the child. You’re attached. Tell me what I’m missing.”

“Yes, I’m attached! You can’t just abandon her! She’s precious and I want her to be okay. If you go, nobody does anything.” Her scowl bludgeoned me with disappointment.

“Give me something to go on. I’m running out of time. The Sheriff doesn’t like me, there are cars to sell and I have a court date in Miles in two days.”

Renée’s face contorted at my revelation. “A court date? What court date? You didn’t mention any court date. How did you get into more trouble?”

“Why do you assume I’m in trouble?”

Tony interjected. “What did you step in this time, brother?”

I attacked my apple pie. “You two are steeped in cynicism. It’s scary.”

“So?” Tony asked. “What other court date would you be unable to put off?”

I sat back, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. “Am I on trial? A guy’s got a life beyond hunting lost children in the mountain wilderness.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Renée said. She’d deflated, stopped eating, arms crossed behind her plate, eyes taking in the damage her unexpected appetite had done. “I know Sheriff de Lude has crosshairs on you, for interfering and making him look bad,” she said in low tones. “And crazy Aidan… why do they even listen to his complaints?” Her face turned darker as she shook her head. “He’s always harassing people on the street, and I’ve never seen him go to jail.” She tipped bright blue eyes up and at me. They burned with hope. “Please, Connor, you have to stay. At least another day.”

My heart thumped once, hard enough to feel it hit my ribcage. Helping Renée had been my whole life before I left town for the wild blue yonder. When I returned home, the rescue missions restarted instantly. Twelve years apart without a hitch in her expectations. I stared into the street, searching for relief. 

A beat-up, light blue, 1989 F-150 rolled past and startled me to my feet.  Afternoon light flashed off the windshield and obscured the driver long enough for the truck to disappear, unidentified. 

Tony gave me the look that knows better than to ask the question in mixed company. I felt for my wallet and simpered before sitting back down. 

“I’ll call my lawyer. The judge really appreciates the Corolla I sold him for his son. Maybe he can put off the hearing.” The hole had gotten deep enough that getting out without scarring my reputation was impossible.

Renée tossed her napkin on the plate. She left the half-finished meat and gravy in a huff, muttering fears about my commitment and mumbling she didn’t want to handle it herself.

Tony watched her go. “That girl’s got the temperament of a feral pony,” he said, and then he stood. “Rough tangle. I’d stay and console you, but I promised to meet a couple in Libby this evening to share artistic takeaways from the retreat.” He nodded toward the street. “Anything you need to tell me?”

I gave a quick head shake. “Nah. A minor mystery that snagged my attention on the way up here. It can wait.”

His big mustache conveyed affection as he slapped my back. “Keep it between the lines, partner.”

“Says the artist.”

“Everything I know I learned from coloring books,” he said. “I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. Try not to get into any more trouble before then.”

I watched him leave and then scurried into the restroom.

Scratched into the stall partition next to the urinal, among dozens of spurious or unsavory offers I found an odd phrase. 

“Are we selling our children without conscience?” Rank bathroom odors underscored the social scrutiny. 

A shiver rattled my spine, sending a wave of fear up into the base of my skull. What if Kayla was already in the hands of traffickers? The idea raised the stakes considerably, compounding the urgency to solve this mystery with every ticking second.  

Another option jumbled the mess. If her disappearance had nothing to do with trafficking, did she even want to be found and placed back in the histrionic whirlwind at her mother’s house? 

The conflicting emotions churned inside me, stealing focus away from the primary task. I cleaned up, assessing my tired face in the mirror. 

At the end of the day, it didn’t matter. I had to push harder and find her. Before none of the questions even mattered.