The sofa was old and ugly. The pattern so dingy and unwashed the paisley seemed to bleed together. It strained the eyes to stare at it. It hurt even more to sit on it. It sunk like quicksand when I sat down. I didn't want to, but it was the polite thing to do I guess. I clutched my purse in my lap as I waited-careful to touch as little as possible.

All the other furniture in the room was a mismatch of yard sale bargains and thrift-shop throwaways. Dust sat comfortably on most of the surfaces. The carpet and wallpaper screamed for a good scrubbing.

Leonard McBride's slippered feet slithered around a greasy kitchen floor. "You want something to drink?" he called to me. "I don't got nothing but tap water and Jack Daniels."

"I'm fine." When I half-turned toward the kitchen the couch groaned like it was ready to end it all. I tried to adjust myself but got scared it would collapse beneath me if I moved too much.

Leonard walked back into the living room with the glass in his hand extra full and plopped down on the striped armchair across from me. He took a long swig of his drink and released a strained breath. "How did it happen?" he said flatly. "The news only said she was murdered."

"Bludgeoned to death."

He smirked behind his whiskey, "That's terrible."

"Yeah."

"And Peter did it?"

"That's what they say."

"I'd believe it," he insisted with a purse of his lips. "She had it coming."

"You're her foster son, right?"

"Was."

"And Peter?"

"No relation."

As I leaned forward, the couch creaked. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little confused. Neither of them mentioned you."

"Only knew Peter for seven months before I aged out of the system."

"Were you close?"

"I guess," He reached down to scratch at his upper thigh. I got nervous for a moment, but when that dirty robe parted I was relieved to see he was wearing shorts underneath. "He came to stay with me once after he ran away."

"Why did he run away?"

"He probably just got fed up. He was...sixteen....seventeen, I think. Old enough." He threw his head back and drained the last drop from his glass. "I let him crash with me, but I had roommates back then and they didn't like having an extra mouth to feed."

"How long was he with you?"

"About three and a half months."

"Didn't the Bergman's care that he was gone?"

He laughed. "No."

"So I take it the Bergman's were abusive?"

"Trudy," he retorted. "Ken was a saint."

"How was she abusive?"

Without any warning he rose from the chair and lumbered back to the kitchen. I waited in a cloud of uncertainty as cabinets opened, glasses clinked, and liquid poured. I drummed my fingers on my purse, shifted my feet, and checked a wall clock that hung over a dusty bookshelf. When he came back, he gripped a full glass in one hand, and the whole twenty-five-ounce bottle of whiskey in the other.

He sat back down in the chair, tossed the bottle on the coffee table, and took another great gulp of liquor before he settled back to tell his tale.

"My dad-my real dad-used to beat the hell out of our mother. One night my oldest brother couldn't take it anymore, so he tried to stop him and he beat the hell out of him too. The screaming was so loud the neighbors called the cops." His fingers griped the glass like he was going to drink again but he didn't. He only stared into the glistening liquid like it was a crystal ball that saw into the past instead of the future. "After that me and my siblings were in and out of foster care."

He sighed at the memory. His shoulders slumped under the weight of it before he broke and reached for the whiskey bottle with trembling hands. I watched as he poured. He took a drink. Thought about it and took another. Then he sat both down and continued.

"You just tell yourself there are worse homes to be in, you know?" He looked up at me for reassurance. I nodded despite this being beyond my own experience. "I was with one family that would pinch pennies by under-feeding us. Another family might push me around a little. Or lock me in a closet when they were sick of me."

"...And Trudy?"

"It started small. One day, while Ken was out I walked past their bedroom and she was standing there naked. I thought maybe she forgot I was home, you know? Forgot to close the door while changing. She was real sorry. Asked me not to tell Ken."

"Did you?"

"No. It was embarrassing. And an accident...or at least I thought it was. Then it was other things. Walking in on me in the shower. While I was changing...Leaning in all close to me. Then one night, while Ken was out of town she slipped into my bed and started...playing with me. I was thirteen." He paused again, grimacing as if he was in physical pain.

"After that, every time Ken was out of the house...it was like a game. She had me kiss her. Finger her. Go down on her... Eventually we started having sex." He swallowed so hard his whole body shook with the effort. His eyes stayed lowered like he was having trouble looking at me. The corner of his eye glistened but he hardened himself and refused to fully tear up. I wasn't sure if it was because he didn't want to cry about something he might've cried about many times before, or if he simply didn't want to cry in front of me.

"You don't have to keep going if you don't want," I offered gently.

As he spoke his breaths began to get shaky like he was struggling under some great labor. "I thought I was lucky. Can you believe that? I used to think, 'how great is this? Probably the only kid in seventh grade getting laid'...but I felt so guilty...about Ken."

I was careful with the next question. "He...wasn't a part of it?"

"God no! Ken was a good guy. He taught me how to ride a bike. Took me fishing. We'd talk about guy stuff together. I think he always wanted a son, you know? He treated me like I was his own." For the first time since I'd arrived Leonard smiled a genuine smile. "That's why I couldn't tell him. Even after I wanted it to stop. It would've broke his heart."

"Did Peter...did Peter ever tell you..."

"Yeah. They were trying to adopt me when I left. I ain't want to hurt Ken like that, but I couldn't stay in that house anymore." He shook his head. "A few years later Peter knocked on my door. Ken had died, and without him...Pete couldn't take it anymore."

"Was Peter ever violent?"

"Not to me but my roommates complained about him a few times. I came home to find a hole punched in the goddamn wall. They said he freaked out when one of them touched him. His last day with me he got into a brawl with two of my roommates. They wouldn't let him stay after that."

"Do you know where he went?"

"No. I tried to get him to tell someone. Like a social worker or someone, you know? But he told me I couldn't talk. I hadn't told anyone either...That hurt."

"Did you know he had a child?"

He nodded. "Yeah. A few months after, her and Trudy showed up trying to find him."

"You met the mother?"

"Yep."

"Do you remember her name?"

"Chelsea something...hold on." He pushed himself off the chair and disappeared down a short hallway. After some movement he came back with an old school address book. His brow knit together as his fingers flipped through the tiny pages. Once he found it his eyebrows raised in triumph. "Chelsea Greer. Apparently, she was his girlfriend and when he ran away he disappeared before she found out about the bun she was carrying. They were trying to put the kid up for adoption, right?"

"Yeah. They ended up giving him to Trudy."

"Christ."

"You think she adopted Derek to-"

"I'm sure she did," he said grimly. "I know it's wrong to speak ill of the dead but I'm glad she's dead. She deserved it. It's just too bad Pete's gonna go down for it."

"...I agree."

"He was doing so good. He got a job. A fiancée. He was moving on. What on Earth would make him go back?"

Derek. The name tossed about in my brain, gnawing at me from the inside out. Peter went to meet Trudy because of Derek. He only knew about Derek because of me...

I left Leonard McBride with Chelsea Greer's probably defunct phone number and a lot to think about. Trudy hadn't seemed abusive when I met her but then I'd only met her once. She wasn't some dysfunctional, slovenly creep. She was pleasant and clean, if not a little melodramatic...Then again maybe I'd confused melodrama with manipulation.

She had been laying those tears on a little thick...

************************

My head was fucked up for the rest of the day. I moved through Taste Teas polite but removed as thoughts of Peter, Trudy, Derek, Leonard, whether to keep pursuing this thing or let it go, and if I should tell Manny or not kept invading my brain. After the day had wrapped up I got a call from him.

"Come to the mall with me," he said through the phone.

"I'm sorry, am I dating a teenage girl from nineteen nighty-six?"

He laughed. "I need some new towels, smartass."

"Oh. We're going to Dillard's then."

The Dillard's in question was in the Garland Grove Mall. Garland Grove was a suburb of Burenville that housed no more than eight thousand people. There were four malls in Burenville, and all of them were struggling to stay relevant in the age of online shopping. All but this one. I theorized that had to do with it's location. Right in a shopping hub next to a main drag that had six lanes of always congested traffic.

I hated that side of town. Mostly because of the traffic, but I wasn't driving so I relaxed and let Manny battle it out on the mean streets while my mind kept turning over all I had learned. Being attracted to a child was not only monstrous to me but baffling. I hadn't found fifteen-year-old boys attractive since I was fifteen. And even then it was getting old.

How could any grown woman be into teen boys? They literally had nothing to offer. Everything I liked about Manny was about how grown he was. He was all broad shouldered, deep-voiced, and came with the type of assertiveness that only developed with experience. He could take care of himself, God bless him. One of the most underrated quality in adults if you asked me.

When we got to the mall, we roamed Dillard's with the casualness of two people who didn't have shit to do. Manny rattled on about his day, mundane as usual but not too bad. I happily listened, eager to stop thinking about my own problems. Once at the Home and Kitchen section I drifted off while he went about fondling various towels.

I was wondering around, lost in thoughts of Peter Daugherty when I saw it. The necklace hanging from the display stand would make the designer people of Ponte Vista turn up their noses, but it caught my eye all the same. The silver gleamed under ambience lighting. I loved silver. But what I loved most was the pendant at the end of the chain: an owl, its eyes and belly bejeweled with gemstones. I reached out and ran my fingers over the cold surface, feeling the polished finish.

"You like it?" Manny was so close to me I could feel his breath on the back of my neck.

I jumped. The necklace fell into a swing from the end of the hook. "Oh...no-"

"Let me get it for you." He placed a hand on the small of my back. Gently. Comforting.

I backed away from his hold. "It's expensive," I said without looking him in the eye.

He chuckled, "Evie, it's forty dollars."

"It's forty dollars that could be spent on something more important than silly trinkets."

"Like what?" He adjusted the short stack of towels in his hands before they slipped to the floor.

"Like bills."

"I'm paid up."

"Something always comes up."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "I can handle it."

"Then your savings account can get forty dollars richer-"

"Why do you always try to talk me out of buying things for you?" His eyes narrowed. Not from anger. He was studying me.

"It's a necklace," I insisted. "It's not a necessity."

"So?"

This conversation was officially making me anxious. "Gifts make me feel uncomfortable."

"Why?"

He asked so sweetly. But the day had left me too exhausted to get into it. "I'm sorry. I know it's silly. I've been stressed."

"About what?"

"Nothing..." My first impulse was to fill the awkwardness with a joke so funny he moved on...but my mind and heart were so heavy I was struggling to fake it. But why should I fake it? Isn't this exactly what we talked about last night? Being more honest... "...Well..."

He grabbed my hand and squeezed. "Whatever it is, you can talk to me."

The floodgates opened, and the words poured out of me. "I got a call from Peter Daugherty's fiancée asking me to find him before the cops so I went to visit his foster brother and found out that Trudy Bergman was a child molester and now I feel conflicted about whether I should keep getting involved 'cause it feels like it's partially my fault, you know, and then of course there's the three thousand dollars she's willing to pay me to find him and I do love money-"

"Evie, stop!" He held up his free hand like he was directing traffic. "It's only been twenty-four hours."

"That's about all the time it takes."

He reached for my hand again and led me toward a cashier. "Okay, so, Trudy was a pedophile. Peter was a molestation victim. And his fiancée..."

"Rachel."

"Rachel asked you to find him before the cops?"

I laced my fingers with his, a little more relaxed now that the cat was out of the bag. "That's the gist of it."

"And did you say three thousand dollars?"

"Yes..."

"That's a lot of money."

"She's desperate."

"Clearly." We put a pause in the conversation while he payed for his towels. The brunette behind the register kept cutting her eyes at him like she was ready to fight me for him, but I was barely paying attention. The smell of patent leather and factory fresh clothing had triggered memories of my grandmother. The other grandmother. I hadn't thought of her in forever...

"I'm glad you told me," Manny was saying as we started walking back toward the exit.

I released a tense breath and snapped back to the present. "Me too."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"You're not gonna make me stop?"

"I'm your boyfriend, not your father." When we made it out into a dark night's sky he pulled me closer. "And I doubt I could stop you anyway."

"One part of me wants to help him. The other part of me wants to forget about it. I washed my hands of this shit."

"'Washed your hands of this shit'?"

"It was a whole bit. You weren't there...because it was in my head." He smiled but let me continue. "I just feel so responsible."

"Baby, you didn't kill her." He seemed like he was looking over all four of our shoulders at once as we strolled across the darkened parking lot. "And to be frank, it doesn't sound like it's some great loss to humanity. No matter what they keep saying at work."

"...What do they keep saying at work?" He literally cringed. I used my sweetest voice and said, "We promised to be more honest with each other remember? And I know you can't tell me every little thing-especially active investigations, but office gossip doesn't count."

"Trudy was married to Kenneth Bergman."

"Yeah, so?"

"Ken was the former sheriff of Burenville Sheriff's Office."

"Uh oh."

"Yeah. They're out for blood." He unlocked his pickup and we got in. He hit the door-lock almost before the doors closed.

"But she wasn't a police officer," I said once we were settled in our seats.

"No, but she was the family of one." I must have scrunched my face up something terrible, because he immediately answered my thoughts. "I know how you feel about police...favoritism. But if we were married-"

I gasped. "Gosh, this is so sudden!"

He smiled but ignored me. "If you were my wife and someone hurt you it would be the same thing."

"And I would feel the same way about it. Prioritizing crime against themselves, their loved ones, and other people who are deemed more important than regular-ass people they don't personally care about isn't right."

"Maybe. But they aren't machines, Evie. They're humans. And humans will always be a little biased."

Damn it, he had a point. "...Maybe."

"The late Sheriff Bergman was beloved."

"Did you know him?"

"No. He was retiring right as I was coming in," he said with a shake of his head. "That's not all. His wife was known for her philanthropy in certain circles in the city."

"What kind of circles?"

"The elite kind."

"Ah." I suppose a sheriff's wife would enjoy some residual renown from her husband. "Her names on a few plaques around the city I take it."

"Hers and his."

"That would explain why it was plastered all over the news."

"Yep. Upstanding citizen. Pillar of the community. Good friends with the mayor's wife I hear."

"And pedophile."

"That's a dangerous accusation for someone of her caliber." He put on his seatbelt and put the key in the ignition. "And she was a woman too. Few people would believe it."

"Yeah, I know."

"Even if it was on record..." He trailed off while he concentrated on pulling out of the parking space. "It might be if he told someone."

"He told Leonard McBride."

"Hearsay. Think paperwork. Formal complaints with dates, times, details."

"Like from a social worker?"

"Yeah." When a slow smile spread across my face he shook his head. "Evie, come one."

"You were able to get all that info on me."

"That was different. This case isn't even mine. It's Kruse's."

He wasn't going to budge, but I guess I could understand that. "Fine. I won't ask you to risk your job." I relaxed back into the passenger's seat and thought for a moment. "If you were me, what would you do next?"

"Stay in bed and masturbate-wait! Masturbate naked in front of a mirror!"

"I'm serious!" I howled, though I laughed all the same.

When he stopped laughing at me he calmed himself and said, "You're on the right track. When people disappear, they don't really disappear. Most of the time their first stop is with someone they know."

"Like Leonard." I watched the street lights zip by as we drove. "Leonard said Peter ran away when he was a teenager too. Spent a few months with him before disappearing again."

"Hmm."

"What would someone do after that?"
"If he didn't know anyone else? Probably lived on the streets for a while. There's plenty of tent-cities full of homeless teens. Might have made a few friends."

"The only names I have to go on is Leonard's, his birth mother's, and his baby-mama's."

His eyes left the road to glance at me with bewilderment. "Baby-mama?"

"Like a good episode of Snapped had a hate-baby with a bad episode of Teen Mom."

"What's the story there?"

"Got knocked up by Peter as a teen. Gave the baby to Trudy."

"Closed adoption?"

"I don't know. No one said."

"If you're thinking of talking to her next, that's not a bad idea but I doubt she knows anything."

"Couldn't hurt to try."

"I guess." While stopped at a red light he got serious. "Evie, I want you to promise me you'll be safe."

I shrugged. "Of course."

"I mean it. Don't take any unnecessary risks out there. You don't owe any of these people shit."

"Okay." Today had been full of surprises, but none more than Manny being so calm about the situation. "I can't believe you're okay with me doing this."

"It's not like you'll find them."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's not that I think you can't. These things tend to wrap up quickly. Their faces are constantly on the news. The Amber Alerts have been sent. Somebody's probably going to spot him while he's at a damn vending machine or something. He can't hide forever."

That made some sense. You can't get far without leaving your fingerprints somehow. He could withdraw money from his bank and pay with cash but eventually he would need a more long-term plan. I wonder how Johnny does it...

"Maybe I should get you some pepper spray or something," Manny said almost to himself. "Maybe a pocket knife..."

"I don't need paperwork to carry around cutlery?"

"Knife laws allow you to conceal carry pocket knives so long as it's four inches or less."

"It's so sexy when you recite the law by heart like that," I teased.

He wasn't one to be distracted by a seductive tone. "Speaking of laws, try not to break and enter this time."

"How am I supposed to get anything done if I can't break the law?"

"You're resourceful." We fell into a relaxed silence. I fiddled with his radio-moving between classic rock and classic R&B channels. "You want something to eat?" He asked during a commercial.

"I never turn down a free meal."

"So it's cool if I want to buy you dinner, but you feel uncomfortable when I want to buy you jewelry?"

"I'm complicated. I got layers. Like an ogre." I smiled when he smiled. "And if you want to watch me masturbate, all you have to do is ask."

I could practically see him starting to sweat bullets over there. "That was just a joke-"

"Sure."

"I would never ask you to do that." He emphasized 'never' like he'd asked me to sacrifice a child in a satanic ritual or something.

"Now what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"If you have some kind of sexual request, speak now or forever hold your peace."

"I don't want to hurt you."

Well, that was ominous as shit... "...Okay."

"I mean I don't want to scare you."

"Well, okay..."

"I mean-shit...so what do you want to eat?"

I laughed so hard I almost forgot about the day I'd had. "Smooth transition. I barely noticed. Ten out of Ten."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. We can drop it for now." Though I'd bet it would come up again later. "And to the food question, I'm too tired for a sit down restaurant."

"Alright."

Once dropped me off at home with a bag full of Burger King I scarfed down half a Whopper and turned in for the night. Tomorrow, in between orders for cappuccinos and lectures to Jackson about customer service I'd start a search for Chelsea 0Greer. We needed to have a conversation about a baby.