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April hesitated, her eyes still darting wildly across the mirrors and around the room. “Um, hold on, okay? One sec.”
There was a cork board near the mirrors, covered in advertisements for a local fireworks show, dog walking, boat rentals, ATV sales, babysitters. The usual small-town debris. Some of it was water stained, as if it had been used to dry somebody’s hands in a pinch when the paper towels ran out.
“Why doesn’t she just let them in? Ask them to call the police?” Brecia asked in frustration.
Skye shook her head. “I don’t think it’s that simple. What if he walks back here and sees that lady calling the police and standing in the bathroom door? He’s not stupid.”
Brecia considered this as April stepped to the side of the mirror and scrutinized the cork board up close. The sound of tinkling was still steady in the background. “Okay, but if she keeps the door locked, it’s going to cause a scene when that lady goes back? Can’t she just pull her in here and then lock the door? She’ll have a phone, right?”
I frowned. “What if she screams? She doesn’t know anything. I’d scream if somebody yanked me into a bathroom and locked the door. He’ll hear.”
As we argued, I watched as the panic in April’s eyes turned steely. She looked away from the corkboard, and quickly strode to the bathroom door, unlocking it and then opening it just a crack to reveal an older woman on the other side.
I studied the spot on the corkboard where April had been looking and gasped. Brecia and Skye saw the water-stained paper sign at the same time I did.
On a date that isn’t going well? Ask for Andrea at the bar. We’ll make sure you get home safe.
I could feel Skye and Brecia’s eyes on me. They knew where I’d seen this sign before, because I had shown them the memory of that night at Gracie’s.
The fluorescent bulb in the bathroom flickered as April smiled tremulously and beckoned to the woman, her eyes darting around the strip of bar that the doorway revealed.
I looked at the woman hesitating outside the door. She appeared to be in her mid-forties. Her box-red hair was swept up in a messy ponytail, and she was wearing an oversized black Idaho State University sweatshirt with gray sweatpants. She peered over to study April—who had backed behind the door, mostly out of sight.
April glanced to her right as the big bathroom stall swung open and Kimmie and Emma emerged. “One sec, babies.” She turned back to the woman. “Please, can you help me? It’s really important. Just tell the bartender that Andrea is needed in the bathroom. Please say just that. Nothing else, okay? You don’t have to do anything else.” April’s eyes moved back and forth across the woman’s face, waiting for her to react. Waiting for the puzzled look on her face to harden into skepticism. Waiting for her to slowly back away and loudly tell a waiter that there was a crazy woman in the bathroom.
The woman in the Idaho State sweatshirt looked between Kimmie and Emma, who looked like they’d just rolled down the mountain. And basically, they had. April looked wild and crazy too. The whole situation screamed that something was very wrong. And I assumed the lady had to use the bathroom on top of parsing out what was going on here. She slowly nodded and backed away. “Okay, hon. Hang on.”
“Thank you,” April whispered, then shut and re-locked the door.
* * *
It was only a minute or two before we heard a soft knock on the door.
Even though April had been listening at the hinge, waiting for it, she still tensed, her eyes moving to the door handle. Kimmie and Emma had stopped asking questions and were scooping handfuls of water out of the bathroom sink into their mouths.
It was a young woman’s voice. “Andrea? Are you there?”
As she said the words and April cracked open the door to let her in, I looked at Skye and Brecia in triumph. If I could have cried, I definitely would have.
The waitress couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old. About the same age as Skye. But while April whispered the critical parts of her story, trying to keep Kimmie and Emma from hearing, she listened with a seriousness and knowing that told me she’d seen some things too.
The waitress squeezed April’s arm reassuringly and told her to re-lock the bathroom door. Then she disappeared back into the restaurant.
Brecia, Skye, and I followed her. She snuck a peek at James, who was still parked near the front of the restaurant, staring at the door and sipping a glass of water. He stretched impatiently and briefly made eye contact with the waitress.
She didn’t let her eyes linger on him or stop walking. Instead, she walked to the back of the restaurant, opened a cabinet to reveal her purse and cell phone, and called the police.
* * *
When the red-and-blue flashing lights appeared through the windows of the bar and grill, James stayed composed. He didn’t stand up. He didn’t crane his neck to look at the police officers as they walked through the dark parking lot and through the front door of the restaurant.
Even when he saw that they were walking toward him, he didn’t react. I guess maybe he still thought there was a chance they hadn’t come for him. That they were here for someone else. After all, chances were slim that someone in this podunk town had recognized him, or had seen the minivan, wherever he’d stashed it.
He had no idea that April had slipped by him. And the look on his face when a lanky officer with a full beard ordered him to stand and put his hands above his head was the best thing I’d ever seen.
His eyes widened in shock and then rage as he started spitting out bullshit about how he was waiting for his wife. Why was he being harassed? What was going on?
“James Carson, you are under arrest for the murder of Meghan Campbell,” the officer told him. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney …”
