Page 11

Fourteen aid workers had been taken in Sierra Leone. Three Americans. Last I heard, my team was now in the Middle East, and the SEAL Teams were in Africa. Still, what a clusterfuck. The aid workers had only taken four UN Peacekeepers with them.

What the hell?

I swiped over to World of Tanks. At least that game made sense.

“Kay, your table is ready.”

“Kay, party of one, your table is ready.”

I finally looked up. What with the thick Southern accent and the hostess calling out a lady’s name, I didn’t realize she was calling my name. I stood up and smiled down at her. She looked up at me.

“I should have remembered you,” she murmured. “You’re definitely all-man.”

She was very pretty, and very interested, but I wasn’t interested in hooking up. Then there was the fact she looked like she was in high school, which did absolutely nothing for me. The only thing I was interested in was answers.

Still, I smiled. I’d learned fast in Nashville that down here; the style was friendly on steroids. Hell, just running into that Blessing lady kind of gave me a taste of the Southern way. I needed to fit in, so smiling needed to be my go-to. Up in Alaska, your neighbor wasn’t just your neighbor, they were your lifeline. But this smiling and treating everybody like your friend thing, wasn’t how I grew up. Add my father into the mix, and this was pretty damned foreign. I might have been stationed in North Carolina, but I was mostly out of the country.

“You said you were good to sit up at the counter, right?”

I nodded.

“I have a spot between the sheriff and Harvey.”

I almost laughed. She said that like I should know who those two men were. “Sounds good,” I muttered.

“Menus are at the counter. Don’t forget to get yourself a piece of pie. The peaches, pears and apples are grown at Millie’s.” She pointed to an empty seat at the counter, and I made my way there.

The man who looked up when I sat down was eating a salad. The one who kept eating had a mountain of a meal in front of him. I had no idea what it was, except it was covered in gravy. The salad-eater nodded to me as I grabbed a menu. Then he went back to his salad. I’d had the menu in my hand for less than a minute when a middle-aged woman with a beehive hairdo and bright red lipstick stepped in front of me.

“Coffee?” she asked as she held a pot.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She flipped over the ceramic mug and poured like she’d been doing it for years. “Are you Pearl?” I asked.

“The one and only,” she said proudly. “Pearl Bannister. What’s your name?”

“Kai Davies.”

“Pleased to meet you, Kai Davies. Your name doesn’t sound familiar, but your face is. Have you been through Jasper Creek before?”

I could feel the salad-eater listening to our conversation. I thought he must be the sheriff.

“Nope, this is my first time in Tennessee. My dad told me I might have relatives around here on my mother’s side. I thought I would check that out.”

“What’s her name?”

“Rose McDonald.”

“Doesn’t sound familiar.” She turned to the salad-eater. “What about you, Nash? Do you know any McDonalds with a girl named Rose who’d be old enough to have birthed Kai?”

Nash looked up, his lip twitching. “Can’t say that I do.”

Pearl shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry, son. Doesn’t sound like we can be of much help. You might want to talk to Little Grandma. She’s older than dirt. Knows everybody. She might be able to help you.”

“Where can I find her?”

“Down Home Café. You can’t miss it. It’s right on the town square. She works the breakfast and lunch shifts.”