The Orange Cat & other Cainsville tales (14 page)

“They smell awesome.” Ricky looked at me. “Have you had one?”

“Not yet. Save me one, please.”

“I will.” He turned to Owen as he set down his coffee mug. “Now, you were saying something about my bike and my girlfriend. That wasn’t a threat, was it? It kinda sounded that way, but I’m sure I was misunderstanding.”

“I’m telling your girlfriend here to get out of town.”

Ricky’s lips twitched. “By high noon? Or sunset?”

“You think that’s funny?” Owen stepped up to him. “Take your bike and your girlfriend and get out of here before someone messes one of them up. Understood?”

“Mmm. I think so. Let’s see . . .” Ricky eased back, as if considering. Then his fist shot out, hitting Owen in the jaw so hard the young man slammed into the wall.

Owen spit blood, sputtering, “You—you—”

“
That’s
what my sort do. If you want to hit me back, go ahead and try. But if you miss, I’m going to hit you again, and we’ll continue that way until either the cops come or I pound some sense through your thick skull. The alternative is that you decide you’re going to have a polite conversation with my girlfriend while I go inside and save her a scone.”

Owen stared at him, hand cradling his jaw.

“He thinks I’m trying to take Krista’s money,” I said. “I was explaining otherwise.” I turned to Owen. “I am not taking a penny from Krista. As your smart-ass comments about Ricky’s bike should make clear, we don’t need her money.” I waved my wrist in front of him. “Not to be a stereotypical trust-fund brat, but this watch is worth ten times what Krista was offering. I was trying to be helpful. Look into Maggie’s disappearance. Ask around. Then, if I was concerned that the police might not be handling it properly, I’d make suggestions for alternatives. Alternatives that don’t involve hiring me or anyone I know. Is that acceptable, Owen?”

He straightened. “No, it’s not. You’re building up Krista’s hopes. False hopes. I know what happened to Maggie. A rich couple like you two came to town. People who are used to getting whatever they want. What they wanted was a baby. They figured a couple kids wouldn’t miss her, so they took her, and there’s nothing we can do about that.”

“Um, yes, there is. I can think of few crimes
more
likely to be prosecuted. If you have some reason to think that’s what happened, someone who made a suspicious comment about the baby . . .”

He went quiet, and this look filled his eyes. The look of someone who’s not accustomed to being crafty, trying his best to be exactly that. When I saw that look, every hair on my body rose. I glanced at Ricky, who was peering at Owen, his eyes narrowing.

For ten seconds, I was sure Owen was going to say yes, that’s exactly what happened. A stranger had talked about wanting Maggie.

He was going to lie.

But then his look changed to uncertainty, worry. The realization hit that if he said that, we’d ask for details, and he’d have to think fast, and if he failed, it would look bad.

It already looked bad.

“No,” he said. “Nothing like that. But everyone always said Maggie was a cute kid, and there are lots of people who want babies. That’s what happened. Someone saw her and took her and didn’t leave any clues. She’s gone, and we don’t need people like you saying otherwise. Getting Krista’s hopes up. Getting Mrs. Lyons’s hopes up. Getting my parents’ hopes up.”

“And yours?”

A moment of hesitation. Then he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I know better.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, I do. Maggie’s gone, and the sooner everyone accepts that, the sooner we can get on with our lives. I only hope that whoever took her is a good person. Treats her well. Maybe gives her stuff we couldn’t, like that fancy watch.” He nodded, as if to himself. “That’s what I hope. What I
know
is that she’s not coming home.”

Thirteen - Ricky

It was nearly lunchtime, and they hadn’t left town yet. Ricky was fine with that—he wouldn’t have gone even if Liv had asked, because he knew she wouldn’t want to.

Liv worried that her fae blood made her cold, insensitive. It didn’t. It just meant she didn’t go out of her way to find people in need and help them. Which, as far as Ricky was concerned, would be stupid, pointless and ultimately a lot less satisfying than one might think. Yeah, obviously he had some of that fae blood, too, but it was also just common sense. The way he saw it, most people who did that were only looking for self-satisfaction or a pat on the back. Liv honestly wanted to help Krista, and so did he. Now that they had an actual lead, they were staying.

They’d spent the morning getting a better sense of Owen’s role in this co-parenting arrangement. The truth wasn’t as cut-and-dried as Krista made it seem. Or, Ricky figured, more like it wasn’t as cut-and-dried as Krista thought.

Owen was a far more reluctant teen parent than everyone let on. Part of that seemed to be that people had a different set of expectations for mothers versus fathers. Ricky knew that first-hand. All his life, he’d heard how his mother was a monster for giving him up and his father a saint for raising him. Bullshit on both ends. It’d been an accidental pregnancy between a guy and a girl who’d been not much older than Krista and Owen. His dad had asked his mom to carry the pregnancy to term and give him the child, and she’d agreed, despite being in med school and feeling totally unprepared for motherhood. They’d both made a tough choice, a huge sacrifice, and he respected them both for it. Yet, if he told people that, they thought he was justifying his mother’s actions. And his dad? Totally the hero in this scenario . . . for deciding he wanted to be a father to his kid. Ricky wasn’t sure which one should be more insulted.

So, yeah, Ricky knew the expectations would be different for Krista and Owen. As the devoted teen mom, Krista was only playing her natural role. As for Owen, the simple fact that he played
any
role won him kudos. People praised him for that, saying it’d have been so easy to walk away or deny paternity “like some boys would.” It was the simple advantage of biology. Guys
could
walk away, their part done in thirty seconds. Girls didn’t have that option. Granted, the flip side was that guys didn’t always have his father’s choice—to
not
opt out. A complicated situation, and in Ricky’s case, he knew exactly how fortunate he’d been.

Krista and Owen’s case was far more typical of a “success” story for co-parenting. Except, when Liv dug into it, the arrangement had a lot more to do with devoted paternal grandparents than a devoted young dad. Owen’s parents were the ones who’d made sure he stepped up. Made sure he paid support. Made sure he had partial custody . . . while
they
were the ones seen pushing Maggie in her stroller.

Liv and Ricky’s last stop was to Owen’s parents, all the data compiled, time to test their suspicions. Sure enough, they only had to walk into the house for that, with pictures of baby Maggie on the mantle, a bassinet in the corner, an infant carrier by the door and two distraught grandparents, offering Liv whatever it took to get their grandbaby back.

Liv had been talking to the Parrs for about thirty minutes when a rap sounded at the door. It was Krista. Seeing Liv and Ricky, she gave an exaggerated start, as if shocked to find them there, though Ricky was sure she’d known exactly where they were.

“You’re taking the case?” Krista reached into her pocket and pulled out the wad of bills.

“I’m just asking questions,” Liv said. “I’m not licensed to practice—”

“I don’t care.”

“But
Liv
has to care, honey,” Mr. Parr said. “She could get in a lot of trouble for working without a license. She’s gathering information we can pass on if we decide to hire a private investigator. By
we
, I mean all of us. We’ll all pay our share. Everyone wants Maggie back.”

“I’m not sure about Owen,” Liv said.

Mrs. Parr jumped, guilt flickering. “What?”

“I’m not sure Owen would be thrilled about hiring someone,” Liv said. “He made it quite clear he thought it was a waste of time and money.”

“No, you’ve misunderstood,” Mr. Parr said firmly. “He’s frustrated. That’s all. He’ll pay his share. We’ll make sure of that.”

Whether he wants to or not.

“I was bringing this over.” Krista lifted a tote bag. “In case you stopped by. It’s the stuff from Maggie’s room. The crime scene. The police didn’t want it. They dusted for prints, but I think they were just doing it for show. They wouldn’t even take this stuff. So I bagged it all up.”

She held open the tote. Inside were a bunch of plastic freezer bags, all carefully sealed and labeled. Liv seemed ready to just make some noncommittal comment. Then she stopped and took out a plastic bag. Inside was a yellow baby blanket covered in cartoon lions.

“Oh, this is adorable,” Liv said. “I’ve never seen this pattern before. Is it local?”

Krista shook her head. “My mom made it. She ordered the fabric online from Toronto. It was a joke.”

Liv frowned.

“Lyons?” Krista said. “Our last name? Maggie Lyons. So”—she waved at the blanket—“Maggie’s lions.”

#

There was a message on Ricky’s phone. Several, in fact. One of each variety: voice mail, text and e-mail, each worded as if it were the first, on the presumption that clearly Ricky was not getting the others.

No, not a presumption. Ricky suspected Gabriel knew full well he was being ignored. But to admit that would suggest he had grounds for being ignored. That Ricky was pissed with him. Best to pretend as if Ricky’s methods of contact must be failing.

Ricky wished he had returned one of those messages earlier. Now his only option was to call back—after getting pissy about Gabriel suggesting he couldn’t keep Liv safe—and tell Gabriel they were about to do the one thing most likely to send him into a frothing fury.

Okay,
frothing fury
was an exaggeration. Ricky was the one with the temper, the one who needed to control it, as he’d practiced with the kid earlier. Gabriel’s anger was ice. He’d freeze you out, and if you dared call him on it; then, he didn’t know
what
you were talking about. There was obviously a misunderstanding because you didn’t matter enough to warrant his anger. That’s what it came down to. The worst way to hurt someone: say they don’t matter to you, and you were a fool if you thought otherwise.

That was how Gabriel had hurt Liv, and there was no way to make him understand. Ricky understood. He’d lived a life of overrated popularity. He was the kind of guy that everyone presumed had a contact list full of friends and girlfriends. He was good-looking, easygoing and naturally charming. Growing up with bikers lent him the kind of bad-boy allure other guys only dreamed of. He remembered his first year of college, some drunk guy at a party saying, “You’re
that
guy, aren’t you? All the guys want to be you; all the girls want to fuck you.”

Except Ricky wasn’t
that
guy. Never had been. He got straight As in school, but his biker home life meant the smart kids steered clear. He devoured pop culture, but the geeks and freaks figured if he was talking to them, he was mocking them. He was athletic, but his grades and pop culture hobbies made the jocks nervous. Classmates always liked him—that natural charm went a long way. Even
they
presumed he had more girls and friends than any guy deserved. But the truth? When the first girl he’d dated broke it off, she’d explained by saying, “I thought you’d be . . . I don’t know . . . cooler.”

You’re boring.
That’s what he’d heard. The product didn’t live up to the packaging and the advertising.

A few weeks ago, when an old friend of Liv’s had finally made contact, Liv made a confession to Ricky. She pretended it was fine that very few of her friends had reached out after the revelation about her birth parents. It was not fine. It hurt, and what hurt more was the realization that her wide circle of friends was really more a wide circle of people she could grab a drink with or go for coffee with. Which was exactly what Ricky had. Lots of buddies. Strings of “Hey, what’re you up to this weekend?” invitation texts. As for friends he could call and just talk to, the way he did with Liv? No.

Which was why the situation with Gabriel was so fucking awkward. For both of them. Gabriel and Liv were obviously friends. Then Gabriel pulled that shit and left her feeling like she’d made some hugely humiliating presumption. And where did that leave Ricky? He wouldn’t say
he
was friends with Gabriel, but he’d felt them inching that way. Arawn and Gwynn had been best friends before it all went to hell, and no, Ricky wasn’t really in the market for a bestie—being a little old for that shit—but yeah, he’d started feeling like they could become friends. They’d been having conversations—
real
conversations—after four years of Ricky being nothing more than Gabriel’s best client’s kid, worthy of stilted small talk, out of respect for Don.

Last night, Gabriel wanted to fly here to protect Liv. As if Ricky didn’t exist. And that felt like more than the snub of a romantic rival. It felt personal. Like Ricky as a person didn’t exist, deserved none of Gabriel’s consideration.

Then came today’s messages.

I would like to discuss the situation with you. Any slight last night was unintentional. Call me at your earliest convenience.

Yep, not exactly “Hey, buddy, give me a shout,” but for Gabriel this was uncharacteristically considerate. Sending three versions of that message meant Gabriel was bending over backward to apologize.

Which made Ricky feel all the shittier for doing exactly what Gabriel feared. He wanted to pretend he never got the messages. Return them later.

Whoops, totally missed those. Bad service, you know. Everything’s fine now. The problem is resolved. Liv’s safe and happy, and we’ve left town.

This was definitely one of those times when Ricky wished he could be
that
guy. The irresponsible young biker, not self aware enough to know better. Just in it for kicks, hanging out with his hot girlfriend and having fun, consequences be damned. After all, YOLO. Which was a fucking stupid motto. You did only live once, so you really shouldn’t be in a hurry to end it by doing something dumb.