Never Smile at Strangers (4 page)

LUKE’S DINER WAS never empty. Someone was always sitting at a table or lingering at the counter between the hours of six o’clock in the morning and eleven o’clock at night. Sometimes it was the attendant from the gas station across the street who hung out there to avoid her husband. Other times, it was some lonely widower, blue-collar worker, or weary person or family passing through town.

Lazy-eyed Chris Robicheaux owned Luke’s, and black and white photographs of his family and Grand Trespass adorned the walls. Among them was a nearly life-size photo of his late daughter, Luke Anne, who had died two years earlier in a drowning accident on Trespass Bayou.

Haley found something eerie about the little girl’s gaze. Every time she saw the photograph, she was forced to turn her eyes away. Maybe it was the fact that the girl had died so young. She just looked too wise in the photo, too knowing. Her image made Haley wonder if the dead knew more than the living.

Chris was in his mid-twenties, but didn’t seem old enough to have a child. Especially a dead one. Usually when folks had kids, they had a haggard look about them. As though they were simply aging faster or had grown up in a way that was impossible for those who were childless. Chris didn’t.

Haley had stopped at Tiffany’s house before her shift that morning to find the usually well put-together Mrs. Perron naked of her daily face spackle and in her robe, clutching their poodle, Lucky, so tight that he yelped. Seeing Mrs. Perron, incoherent and with dark circles beneath her swollen eyes, she had a flashback of her own mother in the hospital the night of her father’s accident.

Haley took two food orders and passed the slips through the window to the kitchen trailer out back. Standing in front of the coffee urns, she massaged her temples. There was an excruciating pain behind her eyes, the pressure she always suffered when she’d had too little sleep or was under too much stress. She’d managed to get only an hour of sleep the night before. The Nyquil she kept at the side of her bed for insomnia no longer did the job.

Her fitful sleep had been shattered with nightmares. A macabre series of troubling puzzle pieces. Someone banging at the front door. Her opening it to find a brittle, elderly woman on roller skates clutching Tiffany’s disembodied head by her once-beautiful, but now matted strawberry-blonde hair. . . Opening her mother’s bedroom door only to find it barren of everything but a dark cloud of love bugs. . . Running through the woods, fleeing a screaming, faceless person.

She stroked the heart-shaped pendant that hung around her neck, the replica of Tiffany’s, and whispered: “
Where are you, Tiffany?”

“You say something?” Austin asked, setting the food order on the counter. “You look like you’ve left the state of Louisiana.” The diner’s main cook looked at her curiously.

Haley jolted. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize you were there. Was just talking to myself, I guess.”

He flashed her a crooked grin. “I wouldn’t let that get too out of hand. We’ll have to start worrying about you.”

He studied her and the sparkle in his blue eyes faded. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

It was a lie. She was far from fine. Two nights had come and gone since anyone had seen or heard from Tiffany. Several men were now at city hall with the Perrons. At nine o’clock, a search party would begin scouting the woods.

“You sure you’re okay?” Austin asked. “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m sure.”

He grabbed a newspaper from the counter, fished out the crossword puzzle and folded it in half. Before returning to the kitchen trailer out back, he rested his hand on the trailer door. “If you need anything, just holler. You know where I’ll be.”

She nodded.

The cowbells dangling from the front door of the diner rang out and the owner, Chris, appeared. He was dressed nicely in a crisp navy button-down shirt and black slacks. His face was, as always, fresh-shaven and, even in the distance, his strong cologne cut through the usually-comforting aromas of brewing coffee and frying bacon.

Chris was always well dressed, more so than the rest of them. Maybe it was to take some emphasis off of his lazy eye which was so out of harmony with the other eye it was difficult to tell exactly what he was looking at.

Haley shielded her eyes from a ray of sunlight that found its way in through one of the diner’s dusty windows, and went to pour him a cup of coffee. As she sat the pot back down on its burner, she felt Chris’s hand on her shoulder. Chris had always been hands-on. Perhaps a little too much. But as much as she didn’t like it, she knew he meant no harm.

“Just heard about Tiffany,” he said. “Any new word?”

She shook her head and handed him the coffee.

“Sweet Jesus,” he murmured. “You know, when you mix with folks you shouldn’t mix with, you’re just asking for trouble.”

“She isn’t with Charles. Sheriff said he spoke with him last night.”

Chris mumbled something under his breath and reached beneath the counter for the shift schedule. “If you want, you can go on home. Kim can cover the floor before Erica’s shift. She should be in any minute.”

“No, it’s okay. Better to keep busy,” she said, wiping the counter.

He stood with the schedule and studied it briefly. Then, his good eye met hers while the lazy one seemed to study the two customers behind her. “I’m sure she’s just run off and is in one piece. No need troubling yourself anymore than you already are with your daddy and all.”

She hadn’t run off. Haley was sure of it. But she was too tired to argue, so she said nothing.

Chris’s hand was on her shoulder again. He gave it a little rub and Haley tried not to shrink away from his touch. “Change your mind about taking off early today, let me know. I’ll be out back.”

BY TWO O'CLOCK, the lunch crowd at Luke's had moved out. Chris and Austin were scrubbing the grills in the trailer out back, preparing for the dinner crowd, and Erica was working the floor. As she walked through the front door of Luke’s for her shift, Haley was leaving, too rattled to finish out the day.

Erica hauled a rack of clean silverware from the kitchen and set up at the counter to roll it, all the while mulling over the possibility that something could have really happened to Tiffany Perron. She’d heard men shouting the girl’s name in the woods that morning and wondered what was going on. The word was she went out on Saturday night and no one had seen her since.

Most of the townsfolk who frequented Luke's that morning didn't seem quick to get excited about her disappearance. The ones who knew the girl seemed to suspect she was just off somewhere with a boy. It was the people who didn’t know her who seemed to be doing the majority of the worrying.

Grand Trespass, albeit small, wasn’t innocent of its share of crime. Erica’s mother, having done exhaustive research on the town for her mystery novel, used to tell her about the ugly goings-on that most tried to hush. An estranged spouse planting a bomb in a mailbox. Domestic disputes resulting in six bullet wounds to the head. Drunk driving fatalities, home invasions, check fraud, ritualistic acts involving the town’s domestic animals. Grand Trespass wasn’t a close-knit town by any means. Rightfully, people tended to be mistrusting. They kept to themselves, shielding their private business from town criers—and the smart ones locked their doors. Her mother had speculated that boredom, rampant alcoholism and general malaise were the chief culprits of the town’s woes.

The plump, 50'ish attendant from the gas station across the street sat at the counter talking with Kim Theriot, Luke's assistant manager. Erica listened to the two as she rolled the silverware.

“What do you suppose happened to the Perron girl?” the attendant asked, lighting a cigarette. When she exhaled, Erica could see that the butt bore a disgusting red ring from the woman's lipstick.

Kim wore a Houston Oilers t-shirt and was squeezed into a pair of blue jeans. She sat slumped next to the cash register, focusing on a crossword puzzle. “No tellin',” she muttered. “Tiffany has ants in her pants. Always has. Probably up and left the state, knowin' her. That's all she ever talks about anyway. Goin' off. Leavin'. Becoming some big movie star.” She chuckled. “As if.”

Erica hated Kim more than she did Tiffany. And that was saying a lot. Kim was two years older and had been one of the nastiest bullies Erica had to deal with growing up. In grammar and high school, Kim picked on her relentlessly, spreading rumors and labeling her a devil worshiper. Once in the school’s bathroom she even threw a live cockroach in Erica’s hair. But Erica always acted as though she didn't give the older girl a second thought. She'd never admit to Kim or anybody that she could be hurt.

“
Show them your weaknesses, and you'll be forced to own them. That's all they'll be able to see in you
,” her mother had told her. She’d been right, but still, it hadn't protected her from the constant pain.

Chris wandered in from the trailer and went quietly to the front door. He stared at the sugarcane field across the street.

“A bunch of folks from Chester and Truro just began a new shift in that search of theirs,” the attendant said. “A man from Lafayette and some hounds of his are out there with them.”

“Sounds like the sheriff is takin' this pretty serious,” Chris muttered.

“He's just protecting his ass is all because she’s Julia Perron’s daughter,” Kim grunted, setting the puzzle aside. She unwrapped a piece of gum. “Knows he won’t have a peaceful dinner ‘til she has some answers. But you mark my word. There's goin' to be a lot of pissed off people when they find out she's just out gallivanting. That girl's lived a charmed life. She always will with those looks of hers.” She shook her head. “It’s a shame. All those poor folks spendin’ their blessed Monday not getting paid a red cent because they’re tryin’ to find her. They already have trouble enough puttin’ food on the table.”

Kim popped the gum in her mouth and looked up. A sliver of bright sunshine danced across her face, emphasizing the cavernous pock marks sprinkled across her blotchy cheeks. “Those windows are filthy,” she said, shielding her eyes and scooting her stool a foot to the left. She winked a beady eye. “Mind takin' some cleaner to them, Miss Erica?”

Erica’s face burned. Although technically she knew she shouldn’t argue with Kim because of her status at the diner, she also knew Chris would have her back if she did. He’d done it a number of times before. “Not in my job description,” she muttered, avoiding Kim’s eyes. “But it might be in
yours
.”

The attendant giggled heartily, streams of smoke flying out of her nostrils.

Kim straightened in her seat and squinted. “Excuse me, ma'am? Care to say that again?”

Soon, you'll be gone
, Erica reminded herself, trying to remain calm. You'll be out of Grand Trespass, and you'll never look back. And Kim, she'll remain here with her crossword puzzles and bad skin. . . and rot.

“You ever wonder why you get such a kick out of bullying people younger than you?” Erica asked. This time she met Kim’s glare. “Because it’s pretty pathetic if you ask me.”

Chris appeared amused, but interrupted anyway. “Now, now, girls. Although I usually enjoy a good cat fight, today’s not the day.” He grabbed some paper towels from beneath the counter and walked to the door that led to the trailer. He regarded them again and although they stood just a couple of feet apart, due to that damn lazy eye, Erica couldn’t tell if he was looking at her or Kim. “Let’s enjoy some peace and quiet today with everythin’ goin’ on out there. Forget the windows. I’ll get ‘em myself.”

***

MOMENTS LATER, THE cow bells clattered and Rachel Anderson, the creative writing teacher from the community college walked in. Rachel, wearing a floor-skimming lavender skirt, her long, blonde hair pulled into a neat French braid, scanned the diner. Settling her sunglasses on the top of her head, she went to the counter and politely addressed the group. “Good afternoon.”

Erica noticed Kim and the attendant glance at each other.

Everyone in Luke's knew about Tiffany's affair with Rachel's professor husband, Tom, and they knew that Rachel only came in to intimidate her. Before learning about the affair, she'd never stepped foot inside Luke's. Erica admired the woman for being so confrontational, visiting her husband's mistress every day. She had balls and was taking a stand. There was no mistaking that the woman was strong and Erica liked strong.

“Just a cup of coffee, please,” Rachel said to Erica, smoothing out her skirt and sitting down.

Soothed by the woman’s presence, Erica reached for the pot of coffee.

“They’re out searching the woods by the Johnston's old place now,” the attendant said. “I hear the brush is so bad out there, it could take hours to cover just a few-hundred feet.”

“Searching the woods? Am I missing something?” Rachel asked, tearing open a packet of sugar. Erica studied Rachel's long, thin fingers, her polished nails, clear and beautifully shaped. She admired the elegant way her hands moved as she tore open the small square package. Rachel was perfect, just like her mother.

“Tiffany.” Kim announced, “She’s gone missing. You didn’t hear?”

Rachel's eyes darted from Kim to the attendant. “Missing? What do you mean
missing
?”

“No one's seen her in two days. She left her Mustang in the parking lot over at Provost's Saturday night. Never made it home.”

Rachel dropped the sugar packet she was holding and granules spilled onto the counter. She stirred her black coffee although she hadn't dropped any of the sugar into the cup. She looked disturbed and Erica noticed a tremor in her hand. “They have any idea where she could be?”

“Sheriff talked to her boyfriend,” Kim said. “He says he don’t know where she is. No one knows much else.”

The diner went silent.

The attendant pulled her tube of lipstick from her pocketbook and smeared it against her thin lips. As always, she smeared it just outside of the lines, in hopes of making her lips look fuller, when all it did was make her look like a clown. Erica noticed that every now and again, she would study Rachel. She wasn’t sure if it was out of envy, curiosity. . . or suspicion. People in Grand Trespass were generally suspicious of folks who stood out and most women didn't seem to particularly care for Rachel, but Erica believed it was only because they were jealous. Like Erica's mother, Rachel didn't talk like the other ladies. “Sugah,” “sugah dahlin,” and “
cher
,” this and that. “
Cher bebe
and
Mon cher
!” She didn't dress in muumuus and walking shorts and leave the house in old sweats. No, Rachel had pride, grace, style, and an education. . . assets that ruffled the feathers of so many of the women in Grand Trespass.

Erica had admired her since taking her first writing course at the community college. And now she was taking a writing course for each of the summer terms. She was one of the few people Erica had ever grown to like. And she liked her a lot. She was the closest thing to her mother she had ever known.

“Haley Landry was the last to see her. They went to Provost's together,” the attendant said. “Sheriff’s been making his rounds, talkin’ to folks. The Perrons organized a search party. Folks have been searching the woods all day.”

“Any signs of foul play?” Rachel asked, fingering a gold tennis bracelet on her wrist.

“Not that we know of,” Kim said. “That’s why I think all of this is bullshit. If she was someone else, no one would get questioned for at least another day or two.
I’m
convinced she’s just run off. Either a stunt for attention or she’s found some new boy.”

The attendant shook her head, lipstick stuck to a yellowed top tooth. “I don’t know. Haley and Tiffany are best friends. She’d know if Tiffany just ran off. Poor gal looked like death when she left. And after the horrible, horrible way her daddy died, bless her little heart. I hate to say it,” she said, crossing herself. “But I don't have a good feelin' about the Perron girl. Not a good feelin' a'tall.”