Well, she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. No matter how tempted she was. She was the one in the family who was going to do it the right way, not like her mother, who had three daughters—Faith, Hope and, what else, Charity—and hadn’t bothered to get married until all three were old enough to be bridesmaids.
It was embarrassing to come from a family of not just old hippies but screwballs. Was it any wonder Mitch was scared to death to marry her and have children, given her genes?
That was why she had to show him. He’d been surprised when she’d gotten her journalism degree and started her own newspaper. Now all she needed was a Pulitzer-prize-winning story. She would change the family’s image, even if it killed her, by doing everything the way it should be—right down to the wedding in white.
“Charity, tell them,” Betty called to her from across the café. “Tell them about all those Bigfoot sightings going years back and all over the world.”
“It’s true,” Charity said, pulling herself away from her daydream. “A creature like Bigfoot has been reported in every state except Hawaii and Rhode Island. More than two hundred sightings going back to ancient man and probably untold numbers of people who have seen something and kept it to themselves because they were afraid of being ridiculed.”
“Yeah, then how come no one’s ever found any Bigfoot bones?” another customer asked.
“Maybe they bury their dead,” someone replied.
“Or the bodies decay too quickly in this kind of climate,” someone else suggested.
“Or Bigfoot is nothing but a myth,” still another said.
“Charity, you really believe Bigfoot exists, don’t you?” Betty asked as she refilled her diet cola.
A woman who hung on to the belief that one day she’d get Mitch Tanner to marry her? Oh, yeah. “He not only exists, but one of these days I’m going to prove it.”
“You do that!” Betty said, and shot an indignant look at the customers who laughed.
Charity could just imagine a photo of Bigfoot on the front page of her paper. Imagine the look on Mitch’s face. He’d have to take her paper seriously then, wouldn’t he? And her, as well.
But he’d also have to apologize to his father. Lee Tanner had become the laughingstock of Timber Falls a few years ago when he’d stumbled across a Bigfoot on his way home from the bar—and reported it. No one had taken him seriously because he’d been drunk. But Charity had seen the truth in his eyes. Lee had seen something out there that night. Something that scared the hell out of him.
“A confirmed Bigfoot sighting could really put Timber Falls on the map,” said Twila Langsley.
Twila had put Timber Falls on the map six years back when Charity and Mitch had discovered some of Archibald Montgomery’s mummified remains in the huge carpetbag Twila carried, the rest of him in a trunk at the end of her bed.
Archibald had been Twila’s beau, and she, it seemed, had killed him more than fifty-odd years ago to keep him from running off with her best friend, Lorinda Nichols. Archie, the slick devil, had been romancing them both.
Twila did five years at the state pen. She got out on good behavior in time to celebrate her ninetieth birthday.
No one in town felt any ill will toward her. She just wasn’t allowed to bring her old carpetbag into Betty’s—even if all she carried in it now was her knitting.
“I don’t think even Bigfoot could put Timber Falls on the map,” Betty said.
“If there is a Bigfoot, it’s got to be smart,” one of the customers noted. “Smart enough to know we’d cage it or kill it if it came near us.”
Betty laughed. “Smarter than my ex-husbands, then.”
Charity thought about having another piece of pie, unable to get the image of Mitch Tanner in the tux out of her mind. Did she dare hope it meant what she thought it did?
She finished her soda and had started to leave when she saw the black pickup again. Her heart lodged in her throat as the pickup slowed. She could see the shadow of someone behind the tinted glass just before the driver sped away. One thing was certain. Whoever was driving that truck was following her.
“DID YOU FIND HER?” Florie asked from the doorway of the ransacked Aries bungalow.
Mitch shook his head. He didn’t find a body, but he feared Wade was right about Nina Monroe’s being in trouble.
“I told you I was picking up weird vibes,” Florie said.
Mitch was picking up more than a few of his own.
The bungalow was tiny, just a living area, bedroom, bath and kitchenette, all furnished with garage-sale finds.
In the bedroom at the back sat a sagging double bed and a scarred chest of drawers beside an open closet door. The bath had a metal shower, sink and toilet. No storage.
It was obvious someone had searched the place, looking for something that was small enough to conceal under a couch cushion. Or in a toilet tank. Or at the back of a drawer. Drugs? It was Mitch’s first thought.
“Any idea what they might have been looking for?” he asked Florie on the off chance she’d done more than pick up bad vibes.
She shook her head. “The girl didn’t have much. I don’t even think she owned a suitcase. The day she checked in here all she had was that old compact car and whatever she had stuffed into a large worn backpack.”
He glanced through the open door of the bedroom. A stained and frayed navy nylon backpack lay on the floor, open and empty. “She talk to you about where she was from?”
“Didn’t talk at all. I barely saw her. Got up early and came in late.”
“Any friends stop by?” He knew Florie kept a pretty good eye on the comings and goings of her tenants. The crystal-ball business was fairly slow in a town the size of Timber Falls.
“There was a guy. A couple of nights ago.”
Mitch’s ears perked up. “What did he look like?”
“Didn’t get a good look at him. It was too dark. She never used her porch light. But he was tall as you, wore dark clothing. I got the impression he didn’t want to be seen.”
“What did he drive?”
Again Florie shook her head. “He must have parked down the road,” she said. “But they had one heck of a fight.”
“About what?”
“That, I can’t tell you. I could just hear the raised voices for a few moments, then nothing.”
“You didn’t recognize the man’s voice?”
“That darn Kinsey had her stereo on too loud in the Aquarius bungalow next door,” Florie said. “You know she’s gone and dyed her hair cotton-candy pink. Like I’m going to let someone with pink hair cut my hair.”
He nodded. Kinsey had come back from beautician school determined to make her mother’s shop, the Spit Curl, hip.
Mitch moved to the bedroom, wondering who the man was Nina had been arguing with. Florie stayed in the bungalow doorway. Only a few items of clothing hung in the closet. Probably just what had fit into the backpack. Either Nina couldn’t afford more or she hadn’t brought all her belongings to Timber Falls.
A bell jangled outside. “It’s my private line,” Florie announced. “I’m going to have to take it. One of my clients needs me.”
He could tell she hated to leave. This was probably the most excitement she’d had in years. But money was money.