Chapter 7

SEVEN

Moe's has outside seating and a magnificent view of Port Townsend Bay with its sailboats and cabin cruisers and the comedy of tourists needing directions. A lot of Moe's clientele are coming from or going to the marina and drawn to the smell of burning grease and hot fries. Moe's is popular with tourists and locals and a hangout for hungry cops who eat free. Today is no exception. I count no less than three police cars in the lot.

Ronnie is sitting at a booth by the window, and Moe is leaning on the counter chatting her up. Moses Adamos. He's in his early thirties, olive complexion, Mediterranean dark curly hair.

"Hi, Megan. Your regular?" Moe asks.

"I didn't know I had a regular, Moe."

"Coffee, cinnamon bun, two eggs over greasy, two pieces bacon semi-crispy, white toast buttered lightly."

"Sure. Sounds regular enough for me."

He brings coffee for me and refills Ronnie's mug before taking my order to the back. The cops exchange a look, get up, and leave. I might have yelled at one of them at a crime scene for being a dumbass. Of course he won't tell his buddies he was a dumbass. He'll say I'm hormonal. Screw them. They won't say it to my face.

One other couple, teens, horny teens, sit in the corner thinking they're hidden by the booth. They're all over each other like stink on sweat socks. I want to yell, "Stop that at once!" But it will take Moses to separate them like parting the Red Sea.

Grease is my friend now, but when my pants are too tight, I'll curse my weakness. "So what's the dilemma?" I ask Ronnie a little sharply, and then regret it.

"What's wrong, Megan? Can I help?"

I'm ashamed. She asks for my help and when I snap at her she offers to help me. That's Ronnie. "Bad morning," I say. "Got up on the wrong side of the Red Sea."

"What?"

"Never mind. You said you needed to meet." She's quiet. For Ronnie, silence is as unusual as Congress working. "Whatever it is we can fix it." I don't know what needs fixing. But that's what you're supposed to say when a friend is feeling down.

A tear falls into her coffee, and I say, "Tell me. You'll feel better."

"It's my mom."

You too? Sheesh!

"You know I'm not super close to my family." Ronnie stirs several teaspoons of raw sugar into black coffee, then adds enough creamer to half fill the mug.

Ronnie is dressed in one of her best outfits and has traded her work boots for moderate high heels. Her makeup is perfect, not that she needs any. She is a beauty and I've taken advantage of her appeal many times to get things from men.

"Are you going somewhere?" I ask.

Using a manicured fingernail to remove a coffee ground from her mug, she doesn't seem in a hurry to tell me why we're here. Instead she excuses herself to use the restroom. "Give me a minute, Megan."

Moe comes with a carafe and casts several looks at Ronnie's retreating figure and shakes his head. "That girl is troubled, Megan. You take good care of her."

I just nod, and Moe disappears into the back room.

Ronnie returns from the washroom and sits looking out of the window.

"Ronnie," I say and reach across the table taking her hand. She takes a breath before turning toward me. Her eyes are red from crying. Her cheeks are red and puffy.

"Ronnie, do you want to talk here or back at your place?"

She sniffs and dabs her eyes with a napkin. "We can talk here. I don't want to be alone right now."

She'll tell me when she's ready so I sip my coffee to brace for what might be coming. I'm just hoping she's not pregnant. Marley Yang. Or, God forbid, Hayden.

"It's my mom," Ronnie finally says.

Welcome to my world.

"She's missing and my sister thinks she was kidnapped."