I pointed at the picture of the man taking Sam’s car. “If he’s just taking time to work through his issues, how do you explain this?”
As Ozzy realized he had no explanation, the optimism drained from his face. My expression remained unchanged. I had started to lose hope the moment I had first seen Carver Sweet on the TV screen.
16
There were no recent charges for coffee shops in our bank records—either Hannah’s mom had paid, or Sam paid cash—so finding the right one became a game of how well I knew my husband. A few days ago, I would’ve been confident I could meet the challenge. Now, not so much.
The muscles in my right hand twitched, as they had before I had thrown that water bottle across Ozzy’s office. The question nagged: How well did I know my husband? After talking to his best friend, it seemed more likely the reason for Sam’s absence was an affair. My skin felt hot, bruised.
Picturing Sam with another woman, touching another woman, I staggered on a memory: me as a teenager, punching a girl in the nose. Breaking it. Because she ridiculed me for not having a mother.
Another time, a boy, a knee to the groin. I hadn’t wanted him to touch me.
You need to stop, my father had told me.
I can’t stop, I’d said, even as I had realized how badly I wanted to. So Red had paid for kickboxing lessons. With the pads, I could hit harder, and my opponent didn’t get hurt. It became my therapy.
I wished I had kept up the sport, because I very much wanted to kick someone.
The closest coffee shop was a drive-thru with a walk-up window. Because it was across the street from the school, it was popular with students. Sam wouldn’t have gone there. Not enough privacy.
Throw an empty coffee cup in any direction and you could hit a Starbucks. But Sam would’ve preferred something local.
The four spots most likely, then, were all either a long walk or a short drive away. The gourmet place that also served beer was probably out. Great reviews, but not Sam’s style. So that narrowed it to three places. Unless I also counted diners that served coffee. I rubbed my temples.
I started with the one across from the bookstore. No one recognized Sam.
I got lucky at my second stop. A blue-aproned barista with a plug that stretched his earlobe nodded when I showed him Sam’s photo.
“That’s that teacher dude,” he said. “Nice guy. Always tips. Orders medium roast, sometimes tea. Both black.”
The shop smelled of coffee and cinnamon rolls, and my stomach grumbled. I hadn’t eaten since—I strained to remember. Then it came to me: the spaghetti Sam and Audrey had made together the night before. Not hungry but knowing I should eat, I grabbed a banana from a basket on the counter and a wrapped pesto-mozzarella sandwich from the rack.
As I paid, I glanced at the young man’s name tag. Josh. “When’s the last time you saw him?” I asked.
“He used to come in most days, first thing, but I haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks,” Josh said. “But I’ve been starting later, so he could be coming in before my shift.”
I asked Josh what time he usually started, and he said he didn’t come in until noon. But, he added, the manager, Linda, worked most mornings.
When I asked to speak with Linda, the young barista tugged on his apron. “She had to run out—sick kid—but she’ll be back later.”
Damn.
I gave Josh my contact information, then asked the question I’d purposely saved for last. “Did Sam ever meet anyone here?”
The chatty barista’s eyes went flat. “He usually came in alone.”
I had a teenage son. I was pretty good at recognizing the lies of young men. It was the older ones I apparently couldn’t read.
“So who’d he meet when he did have company?”
Josh gnawed on his lip. “I said he was alone.”
“You said usually. Which implies sometimes he wasn’t.”
The barista realized his slip. His knuckles went white as he clenched the straps of his apron. “He came in by himself,” the young man insisted.
Though I was sympathetic to Josh’s situation, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t push. “I get it. I wouldn’t want to tell a wife that her husband routinely had coffee with another woman either. But I already know Sam met someone here. Hannah’s mom?”
“I don’t know her name.” The young barista’s cheeks reddened. Another slip. I felt sorry for him. He actually squirmed. I’d seen Leo do the same when I asked about homework he hadn’t completed.
“What did she look like?”
Josh fiddled with his earring. “I don’t remember.”
“Blonde? Brunette? Redhead?”
He looked to his right, hoping for customers, but the place was empty. He tried the excuse anyway. “I can’t really talk. I’ve kinda got a lot to do.”
When I lifted an eyebrow at that, he added, “I’ve gotta prep stuff. Wipe off the counters. Refill the creamer. Take out the trash.”
His face lit up at that last task. He called over a coworker, a short woman with a crew cut, and asked if she could watch the counter.
“Why?” she asked.
“So I can take out the trash.”
“Already did,” she said before returning to her own “prep” work, which evidently involved heavy use of her cell phone.
“Seems like you have a minute after all, Josh.”
The young barista’s chest deflated. Finally, he said, “She wasn’t a redhead. Brunette maybe?”
I was going to ask about the woman’s height, but before I could, Josh added, “They always sat on the patio, so they’re probably on video.”
My heart sped up. He hadn’t thought to lead with this? “You have video?”
Josh nodded. “The owner put in cameras a few months back, after someone spray painted a penis on the window.”
The door opened, letting in a gust of wind and an older couple. Josh stood straighter and smiled. “I’m not sure if we can let you see it, but I’ll check with my manager as soon as she gets back,” he said.
He started to walk away, but on impulse, I reached out. “What do you get paid a week?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. A couple hundred. Why?”
“You convince your manager to send me that video, and I’ll return with a week’s pay.”
For the first time since I’d started talking with him, Josh looked happy that I’d come in. He grinned. “Probably should’ve said five hundred, huh?”
Then he tightened the strings on his apron and hurried away to take the couple’s order.
17
Time seemed to pull the sun through the sky at an alarming speed. When I checked my phone, it was already time to pick up Audrey.
Waiting alongside the curb, I had three minutes to inhale half of the sandwich before Audrey climbed into the car. I offered her the banana and the rest of the sandwich. She stuffed a third of the banana in her mouth. Though a tiny thing, my daughter had the appetite and eating habits of a piranha.
“Slow down, Peanut.”
Around a mouthful of banana, Audrey mumbled, “What’s a peed-o-pill?”