Page 28 of The Missing Couple

“Yes. Considering all the women in this town at any given time during tourist season, the person behind these abductions unquestionably picks out the victim and watches her or them until she or they are taken. If there was no pattern, that might not be the case. The specificity of the victims makes all the difference. It changes everything.”

Charly parked at the next cabin. “But it’s too late to see the footage from those five victims, right? It’s probably been erased by now.”

“No doubt.” He climbed out once more. “Since it was deemed irrelevant it may not have been added to any of the case files. But what we can do is find out if someone who worked at the convenience store during the time those five were taken might be relevant. Or maybe one of them will remember something.”

“That person could even be the kidnapper,” Charly offered.

“Possibly.”

“I say—” Charly grabbed the next fruit basket “—we go there as soon as we finish here.” She bit her lip. Hoped she didn’t sound too bossy. He might want to go now and get started. Restocking the cabins with snacks, water and fruit baskets was her job, not his. Besides, he certainly didn’t need her tagging along.

“That’s the plan,” he confirmed. “Same thing here?” He jerked his head toward the cabin.

“Same at all of them.” Unless a guest asked for specific snacks, they all received the same ones. Some folks had allergies, which necessitated different products. So far, no one had complained either way. She did try to change things up every so often. One of her favorite pastimes was to cruise the net for ideas on how to keep things fresh and memorable around here.

She followed Billie to the door. Having him as a helper made the work seem a lot less like work and more like… Not going there.

Keep your head on straight, Charly. This isn’t the time.

Last Chance Shop

Highway 79, 4:00 p.m.

CHARLY SAT IN the passenger seat of Billie’s rented SUV. They had been watching the convenience store for about ten minutes. The two employees on duty, one being the owner, had been fairly busy when they first arrived. But now the crowd had dissipated. Her pulse raced with anticipation. She sure hoped they would learn something that helped find Briana and Martin alive and well. Every hour that passed made that end less likely.

“Let’s go in,” Billie announced.

As they rounded the hood and headed for the entrance, he added, “The same owner has run the place since it opened forty years ago.”

“Ned Bates,” she said. Charly knew the man. He lived in one of the mansions on the water. He’d built this place to capitalize on the fact that it would be the only gas station between Guntersville and Scottsboro—the last chance to stop for whatever needed. Or maybe the last chance before entering the busier area of Guntersville. At any rate, that was no longer true now.

“He’s the older man behind the counter?” Billie asked.

“That’s him. Even though he lives in a multimillion-dollar house he still works his forty hours.” At least that was what folks said about him. Charly hadn’t stopped here in ages, but she had seen him in town from time to time. He was one of many who had offered any help needed to her and Jen when their parents were murdered.

“Sounds like a lot of house for a convenience store owner,” Billie suggested.

Charly had never thought about it really, but he was right. “I suppose he may have other investments.” Surely, a convenience store didn’t provide that level of income. Then again, every time she filled up her gas tank she felt confident someone was getting rich.

“None that I could find,” Billie said as he reached for the door.

She couldn’t imagine Ned Bates in a trafficking ring but then, she supposed everyone was a suspect until cleared. From Billie’s perspective anyway.

As they pushed through the door, a chime announcing someone had entered the store echoed above the soft music. Unlike many convenience stores that blasted rock or some other genre of music, Mr. Bates had the softer, more classic style playing in the background. The second employee on duty had started checking stock on shelves while the owner remained behind the counter, currently looking at his cell phone.

The store was cleaner than the average shop of its kind and sold everything from baby wipes to beer and most things in between.

When they reached the counter, Mr. Bates looked up as if he hadn’t heard the signal that someone had entered.

“Charly.” He smiled broadly. “I haven’t seen you in ages. I guess you stay too busy to get out and about often.”

“Busy is good,” she said. “How’s Mrs. Bates and the family?”

The man had a grown daughter who was a nurse in Huntsville. He had a son, too. Charly couldn’t remember either of their names, but she did recall that the son was always running off to California in hopes of finding his big break in the acting business—even at forty something. Inevitably, he always ended up back home, was the rumor. Charly really had no idea.

“They are just fantastic. Susan just had our third grandbaby.” He beamed. “We couldn’t be happier for her.”

“That’s great.”