“Never mind. It’s not important.”
But it was, he could tell. However, he dropped the subject as he turned in to the parking lot of Jake’s Diner. Dropped it, but didn’t forget it. The woman intrigued him, and he wanted to know what it was she hadn’t said. But that would wait.
They climbed from the vehicle, tugging their coats tighter against the wind. Katie walked at a fast clip toward the door and Jordan followed her.
The diner looked like a throwback to the fifties. A well-preserved throwback. With her hand on the door handle, Katie said, “Nice.”
“Yeah. How come I didn’t know about this place?”
She shrugged. “I’ve heard it mentioned in conversation, but never bothered to drive out here. I’ll have to make sure I do that sometime soon. Just for fun.”
“Maybe I’ll come with you.” He gave her a slow smile and she flushed.
Then lifted her chin. “Maybe I’ll let you.”
Cars zipped past on the highway. Several slowed and turned in.
One slowed almost to a stop in the middle of the road, catching Jordan’s attention. “Look.”
Katie looked. The car sped up and was soon gone from sight. She frowned. “What do you think that was all about?”
“I have no idea, but I’ve got the make and model.”
They entered the diner and walked up to the bar area. Multicolored lights hung above and blinked in time with the Christmas carol coming from the speaker to her right.
Katie slid onto one of the silver, red-cushioned stools and Jordan sat beside her. For a few minutes, they watched the waitress scurry about taking orders, her red-and-white hat tipped with a bell that jingled at every shake of her head. Now she stood in front of Katie. “What’ll it be?”
“I’ll have a coffee.”
Jordan said, “Same here.”
Katie pulled out the picture of her sister that had been splashed all over the news when she’d disappeared fourteen years ago. When the waitress came back with their coffee, Katie eyed her name tag and asked, “Celia, how long have you been working here?”
Celia tilted her head and lifted a hand to hold the hat in place. She snapped her gum and said, “About six years now, I guess.”
“Is there anyone that’s been here for at least fourteen or fifteen years?”
“The owner. Been here twenty-seven years, as she likes to remind us on a regular basis.”
“Who’s the owner?”
“Betty June Clark.”
“Is she here?”
“Somewhere.” Her gaze darted to the newcomers walking in.
Katie flashed her badge. “You mind telling her we’d like to ask her a couple of questions?”
Now she had Celia’s full attention. With wide eyes, she backed toward the kitchen. “Hey, Betty! You got company out here.”
“Thanks,” Katie said and sipped her coffee. Jordan dumped three things of flavored creamer into his. Katie nearly choked when he took the silver-topped sugar jar and dumped at least the equivalent of ten tablespoons into the steaming brew. “You like a little coffee with your cream and sugar, huh?”
He grinned and took a sip. “Yep.”
In the mirror on the opposite wall, Katie watched the crowd behind her. She normally liked to sit with her back to the wall, but the place was packed and with the mirror she felt a little less like a target.
A woman in a black skirt, navy blue button-down shirt and white tennis shoes came from the kitchen. She eyed Jordan and Katie with wary curiosity. “Can I help you?”
Katie introduced herself and Jordan and studied the pretty woman. “You don’t look old enough to have been here twenty-seven years.”
Betty’s tension lightened. She smiled. “Started working here when I was sixteen. I’m forty-three now. Took over when my daddy retired seventeen years ago.”
Jordan asked, “Do you remember a local kidnapping case fourteen years ago? Lucy Randall?”
Betty stilled and her brow furrowed, eyes narrowed. “I remember. Very well, actually. Was all over the news for weeks.”
“That’s the one.”
Betty nodded. “My baby sister was the same age as Lucy when it happened. That kidnapping has haunted me and my family for more reasons than one.”
Katie perked up as her blood started to hum in anticipation. “Why’s that?”
“Because I believe Lucy and her kidnapper stopped here to eat.”
Katie jerked and felt the blood drain from her face. That would be a good enough reason for the woman to recall the details so clearly. “Why do you say that?”
“The guy had on a baseball cap and sunglasses and didn’t take them off the whole time they were in here. The little girl’s hair was whacked off like it had been done in a hurry without any care for style. When I cleaned the bathrooms, I saw a few strands of hair that looked like the same color as hers around the toilet in the men’s bathroom. Our floor is dark wood. That hair stood out. And besides, that little girl just wasn’t acting right.”
“How was she acting?”
“She was jumpy and scared. At least that’s what I thought.”
“What color was her hair?” If it stood out against a dark floor, Katie had a good idea what the answer was.
“Blond. That fine white blond that comes naturally to the lucky few.”
Katie swallowed hard. Lucy had had that kind of hair. Katie’s hair was blond, too, but not like Lucy’s. Lucy’s had been so blond it had almost been white.
“Why didn’t you call the police?” Katie forced the words past the lump in her throat.
“I did.”
“You did?” Katie stared.
Jordan jumped in. “What happened?”
“They came out here, and I told them the same thing I told you.”
“Did they get a crime scene unit over here?” Katie asked. She hadn’t seen anything in the file to indicate one had checked the place out. At the very least, they should have gotten a sample of hair to compare to something of Lucy’s—like a piece of hair from her hairbrush.
At the very least.
“No. It was just a couple of detectives who came
