“If she was, she never showed up. Now get out.”
Ken wasn’t sure whether to believe him. But she didn’t seem to be here now, and that made him wonder if he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. “You’d tell me if she did, right? Because if I find out you’re lying, I’ll be the one taking the swings.”
“Are you threatening me?”
Ken didn’t bother denying it. “Damn right.”
“You don’t see her, do you?” A scrawny cat wandered into the room to see what all the fuss was about. Baker moved it to one side with his foot—a none-too-gentle motion—but he seemed to be calming down and he’d lowered the hand with the lamp. “Because she’s not here. I don’t even know what she looks like.”
What did that mean? Had she already left the area? Hitchhiked out? Possibly. She’d hitchhiked here to begin with, hadn’t she? But the idea of her alone on the road again upset Ken. It was so dangerous. And how would he ever find her? “Shit!”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” The smugness in Baker’s voice irritated Ken but at least the idiot had put his broken lamp on the table. “Now, will you go? I shouldn’t have to point out that you’re trespassing.”
“Sorry.” Suddenly Ken felt foolish for strong-arming his way in without proof that Cierra was here. “I’ll pay to replace your back door. The lamp’s on you. If you’d answered when I knocked, this could’ve been avoided.”
“I don’t have to answer your knock if I don’t want to. There’s no law that says I can’t ignore you. But I can fix the door myself,” Baker grumbled. “Just get out and leave me alone.”
“Fine.” Shoving a hand through his hair, Ken headed back the way he’d come in. But he had enough reservations about what Baker had told him that when he passed the kitchen, he snapped on a light.
“What are you doing?” Baker snarled.
“I can’t see,” he said. But he’d really been thinking about all the time Cierra had spent in his kitchen. He knew that if she was here that was the first thing she’d clean.
Unfortunately, the kitchen was as filthy as the rest of the house.
Convinced at last, he was about to turn off the light when he stepped on something—something so small he wouldn’t have noticed it otherwise. But when he glanced down to see what it was, he was awfully glad he’d put his foot where he had.
Baker was lying.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
KEN LEFT BAKER’S HOUSE with the knuckles of his right hand scraped and bleeding.
His mother and Gabe both opened their doors when they saw him. “What happened?” Hannah called. Gabe said nothing. He simply waited until Ken climbed behind the wheel for an explanation.
“The bastard told me she never came here,” he said, smacking the steering wheel.
Two thuds sounded as they shut their doors. “You don’t believe him?” Hannah asked.
Straightening his leg so he could reach inside his pocket, he pulled out the porcelain Christ child he’d found on the floor and handed it to his mother in the passenger seat. “This proves she did.”
She studied it. “This is her figurine?”
He didn’t explain that it was actually his. He didn’t care about the decorations; he’d bought them for her. “Yes.”
Hannah motioned toward Baker’s shack. “So what happened in there?”
Ken shook the pain from his hand, then started the car. “Nothing much. One punch and Baker was ready to tell the truth.”
Hannah put the Christ child in the tray on the console. “And that is?”
“She was here, but now she’s gone.” Making a U-turn, he drove toward the main highway.
“You’re sure she’s gone?” Gabe asked.
Ken sighed as he drove. “I searched the whole place. Baker said she came for a couple of hours but decided not to stay.”
“Why wouldn’t he tell you that from the beginning?”
“That’s what has me worried. I’m guessing he doesn’t want me to find her, doesn’t want me to talk to her. Maybe I won’t be happy about what I hear.”
Hannah turned on the heat. “So where did she go?”
“Who knows?” he replied. “Supposedly, she left with two old women. But that’s probably a lie, too. She doesn’t know anyone else.”
“Did you ask Baker for any names?”
“I did. He said he didn’t get a close enough look to recognize who it was.”
His mother frowned. “What were they driving?”
“A red ’57 Chevy. But I’ve never seen a truck like that in Dundee.”
“I have,” Gabe said. “It belongs to Deanna and Darla Channing.”
The pain in Ken’s hand suddenly vanished. “Who?”
Gabe smiled. “Two old women. They live up the canyon from my place—your place now.”
They’d reached the main road, but Ken didn’t turn. Letting the engine idle, he used the rearview mirror to look at his stepfather. “You’re positive about that? There aren’t a lot of those trucks on the streets anymore. I would’ve noticed it had I seen it around here.”
“You haven’t been home long enough. They just inherited it from their father, who lived in Boise. They haven’t had it more than six months.”
Feeling a resurgence of hope, of purpose, Ken glanced at the Christ child Cierra had taken and lost. “How do I get to their place?”
“Just head on up the hill. I’ll give you directions from there.”
KEN HAD EXPECTED finding Cierra to be the most difficult part of his day; he hadn’t expected her to refuse to see him once he did.
“She’s here, but…she won’t come down.” Deanna shrugged apologetically when she returned to the living room, where he and his parents were waiting.
Ken blinked in surprise. “Why not?”
Deanna moved closer. “She’s pretty upset,” she whispered. “She was running down the street when we came upon her, with Stu Baker chasing her. She won’t say what happened but…judging by the bruise on her cheek, there was a tussle.”
“A tussle?” Ken repeated.
“That’s how it appears. We didn’t get to hear Stuart’s side. As soon as he saw her get in the truck with us, he took off for the house.”
No wonder Baker wouldn’t open his door and had tried to hit him with a lamp. He’d probably assumed Ken knew Cierra had been hurt and had come for retribution.