“Uh-huh. And where do you suggest we look for her?”
The voice on the other end of the line was quiet for another full minute.
“That reporter. He should have some kind of notes about her. He was going to write a story about her and how she is connected to my aspirations, correct? There might be a clue to her whereabouts in his notes. Go to his house and look around.”
Grayson laughed. It was a wet throaty sound that echoed through the garage.
“You really think he left some map on his computer that says ‘Look here for a party slut?’ Come on, man.”
“Since you asked me for suggestions on how to find her, I’m going to assume you don’t have any better ideas. And no, I’m not asking you to be cartographers. I’m asking you to be what we both know you are. Killers. I’ll text you his address.”
The line went dead. Grayson closed the phone and put it in his pocket.
“Fucking prick,” he murmured before firing up his bike.
SEVEN
Ike took a bite of his pancakes, then sipped his coffee. Mya sat across the kitchen table with a Newport dangling from her lip as she read the paper. The smoke floated around her head like a gray halo.
“What you and Arianna gonna do today?” Ike asked. Mya didn’t look at him.
“I don’t know. It’s my last day off from the hospital so I wanted to do something nice with her, but I can’t think of anything,” she said. Ike sipped his coffee again. He thought about suggesting they go to Kings Dominion, but he didn’t want Mya to snap at him again. Lately, any input he had about Arianna was met with disdain.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he said. Mya knocked some ash off her cigarette into a teacup she was using as an ashtray.
“I don’t know. I can’t seem to get my brain to work.” Ike didn’t touch that one. Mya took a long drag off her cigarette. The tip glowed red like a dragon’s eye until she exhaled.
“I don’t think they are ever going to catch them,” she said. Ike looked up from his pancakes. She had folded the paper and put it on the table. Her honey-brown eyes seared into him.
He let out a sigh, finished his coffee, and got up from the table. He’d lost what little appetite he had. He went to the sink and rinsed out his cup before putting it in the dishwasher.
“What?” Mya asked.
“What do you mean ‘what’？”
“That’s your ‘something is bothering me’ sigh. What is it?” Mya asked
Ike leaned against the counter.
“Derek’s daddy came by the shop last week.”
“What did he want?”
Ike sucked his teeth. “He told me the cops had marked Isiah’s case ‘inactive.’”
“I know. I talked to Detective LaPlata on Monday. It’s been two months as of last week,” Mya said. Ike closed his eyes. He hadn’t talked to LaPlata since right after the funeral. He hadn’t been out to the grave, either.
“Well, Derek’s dad thinks we should go looking for them,” Ike said.
“Are you?” Mya asked.
“What? Go looking for them? You know I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Mya asked. Ike worked his jaw. He listened to the ligaments pop.
“You know why. I made you and Isiah a promise. If I go looking I might find them. And if I find them, I’ll kill them,” he said. The words came out plain and without much inflection. She’d known him since he was fifteen and she was thirteen. Mya knew he wasn’t exaggerating.
Ike waited for her to say he couldn’t do that. He stood there waiting for her to say let the cops handle it. He waited and waited. The ice maker kicked in, breaking the silence.
“I’m gonna go wake up Arianna,” Mya said finally. She stubbed out her cigarette in the teacup. She rose from the table, then slipped up the stairs.
Ike watched her climb the stairs. Her steps seemed weighted down by a burden she obviously thought she was carrying alone. Maybe Mya was right. Maybe he didn’t deserve to grieve Isiah. It didn’t seem fair for a man to mourn someone abundantly that he had loved so miserly.
Ike grabbed his lunch container and was about to walk out the door when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen. He didn’t immediately recognize the number, but it was his work phone so he answered.
“Hello.”
“Hello Mr. Randolph, this is Kenneth D. Adner at Greenhill Memorial Cemetery.”
“Yes,” Ike said.