minutes. What in hell was he doing in there?
“That’s it,” he muttered. He was going in. As he opened the door, a little bell rang over his head. A young woman was standing at the counter, smiling at him. Liam scanned the room for Amish. There were some canned goods on shelves, a few refrigerators, and one of those machines that made icy sweet drinks in bright, vivid colors. Amish must have gone to the bathroom. “Ah, excuse me,” Liam said, “do you know where that young man went, the one that was just in here?”
“What young man?” She blinked.
“Dark hair, wearing a light blue t-shirt and white shorts? He was just in here.”
“You’re the first customer I’ve had today,” she told him.
“No. That’s impossible.” Liam walked over to the counter. “Where is the old man?”
“Old man?” She was staring at him now. “What old man?”
“The old man who works here.” Liam insisted. Then he started to laugh. “Okay, I get it. This is a joke, right? Amish is playing a joke on me. Okay, where is he? Amish?” He turned around and called out. “Very funny. Ha, ha, come out now.”
“Sir, shall I call someone?” the girl asked.
Liam began to panic. Where was he? Where in the hell was Amish? “He must be outside then,” he said. “Is there a back door?”
“Yes, but customers aren’t allowed—”
Liam hurried toward the door at the back near the refrigerator.
The girl followed him. “Sir, you can’t use that door. It’s the emergency exit. There’s an alarm.”
Liam pulled on the door. He looked at her. “Where is he? You must have seen him. What have you done with Amish?”
“Sir, if you don’t leave, I’m calling the sheriff.” She raced back to the counter as if he would chase her and picked up the phone.
Liam kept pulling on the door. “Good,” he called over his shoulder when he heard her on the phone. “Call the police. Something is wrong. Very wrong.”
A police car rolled up a half-hour later. The clerk had told him to leave, so he was pacing back and forth outside when a tall, lanky man in his mid-forties stepped out of a patrol car.
“I’m Sheriff Palmer. You the fella causing the disturbance?”
“I’m Liam Macdonald, Dr. Liam Macdonald. I’m not causing a disturbance. I’ve lost my partner. He went into this place here and never came out again. The old man was—”
“Hold on there,” the sheriff put up a hand. “You got any identification, Mr. Macdonald, driver’s license, registration? This here your vehicle?” He looked through the window of the SUV.
“Yes, yes,” Liam said, taking out his wallet. “Here”—he handed the sheriff several cards—”but we’re wasting time. We have to look for Amish.”
The sheriff studied the cards. “This your current address, Mr. Macdonald?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Give me a minute, sir.” He walked back to the car and got in behind the wheel.
Liam groaned. He looked around, feeling desperate. What was going on? Where was Amish? It was like he had vanished into thin air.
The sheriff returned, handed Liam his cards. “Okay, Dr. Macdonald. Now, just what is the problem? Slowly now.”
“My partner is missing. We stopped here for gas. There was an old man. Amish went inside to get some drinks, and I was filling up the tank. He never came back. Now, I can’t find the old man either, and that young woman inside claims she never saw Amish or the old man.”
The sheriff eyed him. “What is this fellow’s full name?”
Liam balked. Amish wasn’t going to show up on any databank. “Ah, he’s not from here.”
“Where is he from?” The sheriff took out his notebook. “Is he an illegal?”
“No. I mean, not really.” Liam bit his bottom lip.
“Not really? What is his name?”
“Ah, Amish, Amish Handover.” At least that’s what Amish said his last name was.
“Your relationship with this Amish fellow?” The sheriff looked at him.
“We are partners, lovers, best friends.” Liam met the sheriff’s gaze.
“Okay. So, he lives at the same address.”
“Of course.”
“What is his date of birth?” He paused. His pencil was poised above his pad.
Ah, one million gazillion years old. Shit. How was he supposed to know?
“Mr. Macdonald? What is your partner’s date of birth?”
Should he make it up? He had to tell him something that made sense. “It’s December twenty-fifth, nineteen ninety... ah five.”
The sheriff’s eyebrow shot up.
“Yes, I’m older than he is,” Liam said. He had to tell the officer an age that was believable. Amish resembled a man in his twenties.
“What does he do for a living?”
“Amish