Chapter 4 - The Ledger
Clare tried to swallow, but her throat was dry as dust. She set her mug down so hard the tea sloshed over the rim.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, her voice rising half an octave too high. "I think you have the wrong person."
Bear didn't move. He pulled out the chair opposite her—the one where Emma’s damp backpack was supposed to be sitting—and lowered his massive frame into it. The wooden chair groaned, protesting the weight.
"Little girl," Bear said softly, leaning his forearms on the oilcloth table. "Eight years old. Red jacket. Wet sneakers. Sitting in the gravel ten miles past the county line while the sky was coming down like lead."
Clare's face drained of color until she looked like chalk against the dark vinyl of the booth. "She... she was acting out. She destroyed property. She had a bad attitude and I needed her to—"
"You needed her to what?" Knox asked, stepping around the table and leaning down until her face was inches from Clare's. The silver ring in her nose caught the greasy light of the overhead fluorescent tube. "To disappear? To save you the trouble of raising a kid whose mama died?"
"That's none of your business!" Clare hissed, glancing around the diner for help.
The three farmers in the back had pushed their chairs back six inches and were staring fixedly at their coffee cups, suddenly intensely interested in the grain of the formica table. Mabel the waitress had disappeared into the kitchen, the swinging door twitching behind her like a nervous eyelid.
"Everything that happens on our highway is our business," Bear said. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out something small, placing it carefully in the center of the table next to Clare’s teacup.
It was a soggy, pink plastic eraser shaped like a rabbit, with one ear chewed off.
"She dropped this when we picked her up," Bear said. "Said it was her favorite. Said her mom gave it to her before she got sick."
Clare stared at the eraser. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead. "Where is she? If you've done something to her—"
"Done something to her?" Bear let out a short, bark-like laugh that had no humor in it at all. "Lady, the only person who did something to that kid is sitting right across from me, trembling like a wet hen because she realizes the bill just came due."
"I want my car keys," Clare muttered, her hand sliding toward her purse on the seat beside her.
"Your car keys are currently sitting at the bottom of a cattle pond three miles back," Knox said smoothly, playing with a heavy brass Zippo in her palm. "One of the boys had an accident while turning around. Pity. Must be a rough walk back to town in these shoes."
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Clare stood up so fast the table jumped. "You can't do this! I'm calling the police!"
"Go ahead," Bear said, leaning back and crossing his massive arms over his chest. "Tell 'em you dumped an eight-year-old orphan in a thunderstorm because she drew a flower on your wall. Let's see how fast the sheriff arrives, and let's see whose side he takes when he finds out the kid is currently sitting in the back of our clubhouse eating hot chili and watching cartoons."
