When Snow Falls (Whiskey Creek #2)(66)
Author: Brenda Novak

“Shit.”

“Exactly.”

“She didn’t react well to the news, huh?”

Cheyenne didn’t correct him. “Something’s up.”

“I’ll help you look for her.”

“What about work?”

“What about work? I happen to have an in with the boss. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

* * *

“Can you go in this direction first?” Cheyenne asked.

Riley glanced at her. After making a big deal about the dark circles under her eyes, he’d insisted on driving. “You want to go away from town? Why? What’s down there, besides a dead end?”

The Amoses, for one. Cheyenne wanted to believe that Aaron would’ve told his brother Presley had contacted him. But the truth was she didn’t really trust Aaron. Given that he was also on drugs, he wasn’t the most reliable person in the world.

She supposed she didn’t fully trust Dylan, either, because she was also eager to see if he’d gone to the shop as he’d said—or if he’d just wanted to escape her place. “She has friends down this way.”

“What kind of friends?” he muttered as if only sketchy people lived on the river bottoms.

Normally, Cheyenne wouldn’t have thought anything of encountering such a sentiment. She basically agreed with it. Today, however, his attitude irritated her. “Not everyone down here is a lowlife,” she said. “I live here, don’t I?”

Her mother had also been a river bottoms resident, and Anita definitely fit the stereotype, but he didn’t point that out. “Of course not. Sorry.”

She didn’t answer. She was too busy scrutinizing Dylan’s house. She’d never really looked at it in the light of day—and certainly not through the eyes with which she was seeing it now. It was as well-maintained on the outside as it was inside, she decided. She saw no frills, no flower beds or Christmas wreaths or welcome mats, but she didn’t see the broken-down cars, or cast-off tires and batteries that characterized so many of the other homes in the area, either. Someone had recently repaired the fence and the house had been painted, probably last summer.

Dylan’s Jeep was gone. That made her feel slightly better, although she didn’t want to think about why. But there was no trace of her sister’s Mustang.

She had Riley stop so she could get out and trudge around back. She planned to check the barn where Dylan had hidden her car that one night, just in case. She had no idea why her sister’s Mustang would be in that spot, but she had to start somewhere.

There were no hidden vehicles, no signs of Presley at all—just some free weights and a boxing bag in the barn. Judging by a radio, a water jug and a cast-off sweatshirt, someone used the equipment on a regular basis. Maybe more than one person.

Cheyenne tried imagining what her sister must be feeling, only to shy away from it. She didn’t want to consider the implications of what she’d found in her mother’s room, especially because she’d destroyed the evidence, and that put her on the wrong side of the law, as well.

Dylan’s dogs were barking and jumping against the sliding glass door. They knew she shouldn’t be there. She paused to stare at them. As a child, she’d pleaded for a puppy. Anita had once allowed her to take in a stray, more by tacit approval than actual agreement. Then she’d dragged Cheyenne away from Albuquerque and made her leave the dog behind.

Cheyenne had often thought about getting a pet now that she was older, but taking care of her mother had become her primary focus. And she wasn’t sure her future rental would permit animals, at least not without a hefty deposit.

Maybe someday, she told herself, and tapped the glass. “Hey, boys.” She had no idea if they were both male. But they were big.

“You okay?”

She turned to see that Riley had followed her. “I’m fine. Presley’s not here. No one is.”

“This is where the Amoses live?”

She nodded.

“Not bad. Beats the hell out of where I’m living at the moment.” They walked back to his truck together. “Where next?”

“Carl Inera’s, I guess.” She knew she was retracing Dylan’s steps from the night before but something could’ve changed since then.

Riley took her hand. “Have you told Eve about your mother?”

She hauled cold air into her lungs. “Not yet. I didn’t want to ruin the rest of her trip.”

“She’d want to know.”

“There’s nothing she can do about it now. Let’s wait until she gets back.”

He pulled her to a stop. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “All I want is to find Presley.”

“We’ll find her.” He seemed confident, but she was beginning to wonder. She couldn’t see Presley being able to live with what she’d done.

Cheyenne wasn’t sure she could live with what Presley had done, either. Or what she’d done to cover it up.

23

Joe was in front of the station, talking to a customer about an oil change, when his father leaned out of the minimart. “Come in here when you’re done, will ya?”

Martin called him in all the time. Sometimes he had an idea for some way to improve the station. Or he thought they should hire or fire an employee, like the kleptomaniac Mindy they’d had to let go a couple of years ago. Joe wasn’t particularly concerned. After scheduling the oil change, he strolled inside. “What’s going on?”

Joyce Weatherby, a local schoolteacher, stood at the register, buying a pack of gum. Martin told her to have a good day and waited until she was gone before responding. “Have you heard the news?”

“What news?”

“Cheyenne lost her mother.”

Joe hadn’t been aware of that. He hadn’t called her yet. He’d been too caught up in making plans with his girls. He was supposed to pick them up in an hour and a half and keep them for a few days. “Who told you?”

“The hospice nurse stopped by to get gas a few minutes ago. She was on her way over with a hot meal for Cheyenne and Presley. She asked me to let anyone who might be friends with them know, so they could get some emotional support.”

“Have you called Gail?”

“No, but I will.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “So Anita’s finally gone.”

His father gave him a stern look.

“There’s no use pretending,” he said, and checked the time. His ex was expecting him at seven. Maybe he could talk Cheyenne into driving to Sacramento with him. He could take her and his girls to dinner while they were there. A night out just after her mother had died might not sound very appealing to Cheyenne, but with her friends in the Caribbean her alternative would probably be staying home—alone if Presley had to work. That couldn’t be much better.