It Wasn't Always Like This - Joy Preble Page 0,40

his knees. Out of the corner of her eye, Emma could see his f ingers tense.

“And who, exactly, are you undercover for?”

“That’s not something I can tell you,” she said. “I’m sure you understand.”

Meehan scratched his head, thick hair barely moving as he did so. Did he use product? She was pretty sure he must. Charlie had never used anything on his hair, that wild mess of hair she had loved so much.

Outside the open door, Mrs. Creighton was still jabbering to someone, punctuating everything with little whoops of laughter.

Meehan lowered his voice. “You’re with the media, aren’t you? You people come in here trying to dig up mud when a girl is dead? Shame on you, Emma. What do you think you’re gonna f ind? If you want a reason for a tragedy, I suggest you look in the mirror. If you want me to pray with you, I can do that. I’d like to. But if you’re looking for excuses as to why this girl was killed, I don’t have anything for you. Evil doesn’t discriminate. However old you really are, you look old enough to know that.”

He really was a poker player. Or was he? The last part about her age threw her, she had to admit. It could have been intentional. But if he was bluff ing, he was doing a good job of it. And there was another possibility, of course: Maybe he was exactly who he said he was. Maybe he’d taken off his mask to get rid of her because she’d taken off hers. If that were the case, she was half-tempted to hug him. Authenticity was a rare bird in this world, past or present.

“Fine, then,” she said. “Just one more question: Are kids safe here?”

Meehan stood quickly. “Unless you have a warrant of some sort, we’re done.”

Emma swallowed and stood, too. Then she went for it. “Do you know a girl named Coral Ballard? She doesn’t go here, I don’t think. But I—”

“Coral Ballard?” he interrupted. A sharp, curious look crossed his face. “I saw her parents on the news. That’s why you’re really here? Then maybe I was right not to kick you out before you sat down.” He hesitated, chewing his lower lip. “You look like a bright girl, Emma. Too bright to make assumptions. I’m the youth pastor. That’s what I do. I also have an economics degree from SMU and ten years service in the Navy. Special Forces.”

Emma fought to ignore his peppermint breath. He was probably telling the truth. It would be too easy to check. That she had not already looked into this was a failing on her part, not his.

Best to cut to the chase.

“I think Coral’s still alive,” Emma said. “I’m trying to f ind her.”

“Isn’t that what the police are doing?”

“They don’t know everything.”

Meehan’s eyes narrowed. “True enough,” he said, then walked to his desk, returning with a card. “My personal number.”

He and Emma stared at each other for a few long beats. For a girl who hated making mistakes, the list of things she’d been off about over so many years was long and distinguished. Then again, she might not be off. He might be a lying bastard.

Still, she held out her hand and took the card. “Thank you.”

He arched a brow. “Someone at a church didn’t treat you right, Emma O’Neill. I would say that’s my professional estimation.”

It wasn’t often anyone dug this close. Did he know about her? Was that possible? Or was she suddenly somehow that transparent? She thought about mentioning the name Kingsley Lloyd just to see how he reacted, but decided against it.

She shrugged. “That’s not why I’m here.” And that, too, was the truth.

“Another time, then,” Meehan replied, escorting her to the door. “If you want to talk.”

Chapter Thirteen

Dallas, Texas

Present

The nightmare was always the same. First Emma was talking to Charlie.

“There must be an antidote for it,” he would say. “Some way to counteract, like for poison.”

She would tell him, “No.” And her heart would pound, and then she’d start smelling smoke, thick and acrid. They would row back from the island. But she would lose her shoes, and her feet became slick with coated mud. Every time, she slipped on the grass and fell heavily to her knees.

The dream shifted then to the museum. “Hurry!” she told Charlie. “Oh, God, Charlie. Hurry.” The smoke assaulted her lungs. Flames had engulfed everything. In her dream, she ran faster, pulling ahead of Charlie, the heat of the