The Same Place (The Lamb and the Lion #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,62
messages. “Why?”
“Because she didn’t want to,” Jem said, “because something changed in her personal life, or because she couldn’t.”
“Because she’s dead.”
“Or hurt,” Jem said gently. “If she was in an accident, she might not be conscious.”
Tean shook his head. “Her last Playmates date was on April 17 with night_rabbit2000.”
“That sounds like a sex toy.”
“There’s a phone number,” Tean said. “And in one of the messages she says her first name is Becca.”
“You should order your own personal night_rabbit2000 before your date with Orion.”
Tean copied the phone number and placed the call. It rang four times before a woman picked up. “Hello?”
“Yes, I’m trying to get in touch with Becca.”
The call disconnected.
“Of course,” Jem said, “maybe Orion already sent you a picture of his night_rabbit. Maybe you won’t need to order the night_rabbit2000.”
“What is going on with you?”
“So he did send you a dick pic?”
“No. What are you—wait is that a real thing? Or are you just making it up like you did with that swipe thing?”
“It’s called a claw. Somebody claws you. Did Orion claw you?”
“I honestly don’t even know if we’re speaking the same language.”
“Give me that,” Jem said, taking Tean’s phone. He placed another call to the same number. This time, it rang and rang until voicemail picked up. Jem said, “Yes, this message is for a woman named Becca who communicated with Joy Erickson and met with her on April 17. I’m calling pursuant to an ongoing police investigation. Please return this call immediately. Thank you.”
When Jem handed back the phone, Tean said, “Pursuant?”
“I heard it on Dragnet.”
“You can’t pretend to be a police officer. You could get in trouble.”
“I didn’t pretend to be a police officer. I implied I was a police officer, but I just stated the facts. She can interpret them however she wants.”
The phone remained dark.
“Did they agree on a place to meet?” Jem said.
“Yes. The Kneaders—it’s just south of here, the other end of Heber.”
“Let’s go take a look.”
The Kneaders looked like every other Kneaders in the state: a brick and stucco exterior, plate-glass windows, a dining area with vinyl-covered seats and melamine tabletops. A bell jingled when they stepped inside; the smells of yeast and cinnamon hung in the air. It was half past six, and the dinner rush had slowed, but the dining room was still open: a pair of teenage girls who were probably sisters, wearing identical tracksuits and both bent over their phones; a family of eight, grandpa presiding at the head of the table, all of them shouting to be heard as they exchanged opinions on Aunt Claire; an elderly man who turned the pages of an Auto Trader with visible trembling. What little space in the restaurant hadn’t been taken up by display cases was filled with baskets. Baskets, baskets, baskets. Most of them were filled with plastic fruit and loaves of bread with little price tags, in case—like any normal person—you were suddenly seized by the need to do some home decorating while you were ordering a grilled cheese sandwich.
Six people waited ahead of them, and Jem rolled his eyes when Tean took a place at the end of the line.
“What?” Tean said.
“Just wait here.”
Jem walked past the waiting people, several of whom shot him dirty looks, and approached a girl who was wiping down a table. He spoke to her quietly, and the girl nodded and hurried back into the kitchen. Jem came back, caught Tean’s arm, and moved him to stand in a quiet corner of the dining room.
“We could have just waited.”
Jem snorted.
“That’s the whole point of a line.”
“Did you want to order a turkey bacon club?”
“No.”
“Did you want to order an éclair?”
“No.”
“Were you going to buy me a peanut-butter-chocolate-chip cookie?”
“Maybe,” Tean said. “Your eyes get really big when I give you sugar. It’s cute.”
Jem actually blushed, but then he grinned and said, “Ok, smoothie. Save some of that for Orion.”
The woman who emerged from the kitchen had dark hair in a ponytail, lines webbing the corners of her eyes and mouth, and skin the color of Tean’s Keens. Her name tag said Kristine and, underneath, Manager. She gave them a big smile and shook hands with both of them.
“You must be Dr. Leon,” she said, pumping his hand.
“Yes.”
“Well, anything we can do for the animals, we’re just really thrilled we can help.”
“Right. For the animals. Well, we’re looking into some strange activity, and we’re wondering if you’ve seen this woman.” He pulled up Joy’s picture on his phone.