The Prophet (Ryan Archer #2) (5 page)

“Every meal here is delicious,” she said.

“Indeed it is!”

They held hands as he led her down a flight of stairs to a classroom. She sat at her desk and readied her pencil. There was a chalkboard on the wall with the morning’s lesson scribbled out in Alexander’s distinctive hand. He was fluid in many languages, and she had loved hearing him speak Greek and French.

“Now, we are going to talk more about your soul,” he said, warmth radiating from his face.

“Do I really have a soul?” she asked, sitting with her legs tucked under her.

“Well, what do
you
think?”
 

“I don’t know, I guess so. I’d like to believe that I do.”

He smiled at her answer.

“If you
do
have a soul,” he said, “what do you think your soul would be worth? Do you think you could put a price on it?” he asked.
 

EIGHT

Archer parked across the street and watched the house for fifteen minutes with his aviators on. Webb had given him the name Cory Overstreet and told him she was the girl with blonde hair and had one side of her head shaved down to the scalp. She had a pretty face, but the rebellious spirit had driven most of the pretty out of her eyes and smile. She looked like a punk.

Cory had been busted for underage drinking and twice for shoplifting, so Webb had been able to pull her record and forward it to Archer. Her father was long gone, and the mother worked long hours, so Cory had more or less raised herself. So, no big mystery she had turned out as she had, Archer figured.
 

Sunset was an hour away. Archer wondered whether anyone was home. No one came or went. He got out of the Land Cruiser and crossed the street. Kids on skateboards rumbled past him in baggy clothes. The sidewalk was broken and weeds had grown through the cracks. The house was modest middle class. The lawn was cut but lacked any true love or attention. Archer guessed the mom paid a couple of Mexican’s twenty bucks every other week to mow it.
 

He glanced around at the neighboring houses. The neighborhood appeared appropriately middle class and forgettable. He went onto the front porch. The blinds in the window were closed. He rang the doorbell and waited a full minute. Then he rang it again and knocked. Still no answer. He drifted back to his truck and plucked the photos from the visor. The girl matching Cory’s description was in two of them. She had a tattoo on her neck.
 

Two doors down a kid in jeans but no shirt had the hood up on an old Camaro, on his back underneath, working with a wrench. Archer got back out of the truck to take another walk.

The kid looked about twenty. His hair was ratty and there were streaks of grease on his chest. He wasn’t wearing any shoes.

“Wow, that thing is a classic, man,” Archer said, whistling through his teeth, approaching from the top of the driveway.

The kid looked out from under the car. “Hell yes, it is,” he proclaimed proudly.

Archer had never seen such a piece of junk. There was rust everywhere, and the paint job had been fading for nearly thirty years.

“Sweet ride,” Archer said.

The kid twisted out from under the car and stood beside him, both men staring at the sad-looking engine block.
 

Archer gestured with his head. “The girl who lives two doors down. Cory. You know her?”

The kid was still transfixed by the sight of his ancient Camaro. He hesitated a beat, considering the question posed to him. “Cory?”

Archer nodded. “Blonde. Pretty.”

The kid shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. We don’t hang out or anything.”

“Is she home much? You know where she hangs out? Her mother is worried about her.”

“Whatever, man. Her mother is a bitch,” the kid said.

“I’m sure that’s true, but she still worries about her. Does she bring boys home? You ever see her with guys here at the house while her mother is at work?”

He shrugged again, his eyes betraying the vacancy of his mind. There wasn’t much going on in there. “Sure, I guess. The dude from the movie theater. Stevie. I’ve seen them together. He brings her home in an old Volvo.”

“What theater?”

“El Capitan, dude. On Hollywood Boulevard.”

“Stevie?”

“Yeah.”

“Get back to work,” Archer said and returned to his truck.

He found the Volvo parked in the employee parking area at the El Capitan and stuffed the photo of Cory into his back pocket. He asked a girl at the box office to point out Stevie. She told him he worked the concessions. Stevie was filling an enormous tub with buttered popcorn when Archer approached the counter.

“Stevie?” Archer said.

Stevie wasn’t much up the food chain from the kid with the Camaro, though he was slightly preppier, with a better haircut. He was too old to be spending time with a girl Cory’s age.

“Yah.”

“Have one of your buddies there fill your spot for a minute so we can talk.”

Stevie offered a puzzled look. “What? Who are you?”

“We will deal with that momentarily. Right now, you need to slide around the counter and walk over there,” Archer said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

Stevie hesitated, staring at the heaping tub of popcorn in his hands, then his eyes lifted to Archer, then shifted to one of his fellow employees. He was slightly effeminate, with a black button stuck in a hole in the lobe of one ear.
 

“I can’t, I’m working,” he said.

“I cleared it with your boss. You’ve got three minutes. Let’s go.”

Stevie nodded. “One second, let me finish this.”

Archer waited for the popcorn transaction to be completed, then ushered Stevie into a nearby restroom.

“Let’s talk about your girlfriend,” Archer said, cornering him against a restroom stall.

“What’s this about?”

“Tell me about Cory.”

Stevie’s face reddened. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“That’s not the way I hear it.”

“Seriously, man. We just fool around some.”

“You fool around? You know how old she is?”

The blush in his cheeks darkened.

“That’s right, Stevie. Do the math. Do you want that kind of trouble?”

Stevie shook his head no.

“That’s what I thought. I’m here because of her mother. She’s very worried about Cory seeing you.”

“I’ll stay away, I promise!”

“Yes, I know you will. But I need you to help me out, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll do whatever!”

“Good. Call Cory right now and tell her to meet you at your car in back in half an hour. Then get back to work. Deal?”

Stevie nodded and pulled out his cell phone.
 

“Now delete that number from your phone,” Archer said.

Then Stevie went back to the concessions counter and Archer went out to his truck to wait. Cory was delivered by a friend in a yellow Hyundai. She got out of the car with a cigarette in her mouth. Archer was amazed that someone like that had managed to become pals with the child of the biggest movie star in the world.
 

Her friend waited while she waited at Stevie’s Volvo and dialed his cell to tell him she was there.

“Cory?” Archer said.

The girl froze and stared at him without blinking. She was all of sixteen. She looked stupid with the cigarette between her lips.

“My name is Archer, and I’m looking for Tatum.”
 

NINE

“Are you a cop?” Cory asked, taking single step away from him.
 

Archer shook his head. “No,” he said.

The first thing he noticed was she was prettier than her pictures. Except for the hair. The side that was shaved botched the whole look. What was it with hair and self-expression? She was dressed in skinny jeans and a Pearl Jam T-shirt. The T-shirt was tight and there was clearly no bra underneath. The tattoo was visible on her neck. It looked like a dove and was about the size of a quarter dollar. She had curves, and Archer was certain this attracted the older boys like Stevie. She would be a handful for her mother to keep up with.

She was checking for an escape route in her peripheral vision. The friend in the Hyundai watched her expectantly.
 

“Everything is cool,” Archer said. “I just need to know what you know about Tatum.”

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I work for Tatum’s father. She is missing.”

Cory’s eyes softened. She took a second step away from him and placed one hand on the trunk of Stevie’s Volvo sedan. “What do you mean
missing
?” she said.

Archer stood with his arms folded over his chest, his Marine dog tags visible through the cotton fabric of his T-shirt from the chain around his neck. He was a big guy and didn’t want to appear threatening. “She’s your friend,” he said. “I know you care about her. So let’s go inside and talk a minute.”

The girl in the Hyundai buzzed down the passenger window and called to her, “You okay?”

Cory’s eyes flicked from Archer to the friend, then back again. Then she nodded. “Yeah, all good.”

“Your friend is welcome to join us. I’ll buy her a Coke,” Archer said. “It’s nice and safe inside the theater. Lots of people in there.”

Her eyes filled with skepticism. She had the look of a kid struggling to be jaded but hadn’t experienced enough of life to fully embrace the meaning of the word. The blonde hair was long on top and styled with some kind of gel, and it dangled in her face. She kept it out of her eyes with quick flicks of her head.
 

“Why should I trust you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “We can do this at your house after your mom gets home, if you like. I’ve got no problem with that. But one way or another I’m needing some questions answered.”

Her eyes dimmed. “My mom is a bitch.”

“That seems to be the consensus.”

Cory waved off her friend and the yellow Hyundai disappeared from the parking lot. “Okay,” she said, “let’s leave Mom out of this. But not in there.” She gestured at the theater. “I don’t want my boyfriend to see me with you.”

“I think you might have heard the last of Stevie,” Archer said. He nodded at his truck. “Hop in.”

* * *

Archer parked at a burger joint and asked if she was hungry. She orders onion rings and a Diet Sprite. She opened five ketchup packets and squeezed the contents onto a paper napkin. She dipped a fat, greasy ring in the ketchup and bit off half. Headlights were coming on as daylight faded.

Archer ordered a bottled water. The top was off the Land Cruiser. He propped his foot on the dash. The cold bottle was sweating on his shirt. Cory kept glancing at his muscles, and the way his biceps stretched the arms of his T-shirt. Archer watched cars come and go from the drive-in from behind his aviators.
 

“Thanks for the rings,” she said. “I was starving.”

He glanced at her. She wore too much makeup. Scrape off half the makeup and work on the hair, and she could be a real knockout. She was trying too hard while trying to figure out her identity.
 

“How long have you known Tatum?” he asked.

She pushed a napkin across her face. “Couple of years.”

“How did you meet?”

“We went to the same private school for a while,” she said. “Don’t anymore, but we still hang out some.”

“Have you met her father?”

Cory nodded. She glanced over and said, “It’s not that big of a deal. Half the people in this town are rich or famous or both. I’ve grown up around it and it’s just background noise. It’s not like some kid growing up on a farm and watching TV—kids around here understand that celebrities are just normal people with jobs and families.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

She was mauling a thick ring and turned her eyes skyward, studying the clouds for an answer. “Earlier in the week. We hung out some. But she hasn’t answered her cell in a few days. She’s like that sometimes. She’ll kinda disappear, like she wants everybody to leave her alone. I think her dad’s life has traumatized her.”

A black Mercedes with dark windows passed behind the Land Cruiser, whipped past the drive-thru and quickly exited. Archer noted it, watched it exit, and took a long swig from the water.
 

“Did you change schools, or did Tatum?”

Cory took a hit off the Diet Sprite. “Tatum. She couldn’t deal with her helio, so her dad hired a tutor and let her stay home.”

“You know about her heliophobia?”

She shot him a look like he must be retarded. “Dude, I’m like her best friend in the world.”

“Do all her friends know?”

“Seriously doubt it. She’s totally embarrassed by it.”

“Her parents are worried. They haven’t heard from her in days. Any idea where she might be?”

She wiped crumbs from her fingers. “Tatum has run away a few times before. Maybe she did again.”

“Maybe. Is that what you think?”

“I don’t think anything. I don’t hear from her all the time, so this kind of stuff doesn’t worry me. So she runs away again, big deal. She’ll come back. Give it another day or two. She’ll start missing her room and her things and her swanky life. Her dad spoils her. He may not be around much, but he definitely spoils her. Must be rough.”

Archer flipped down the visor and flashed the photos in front of her.

“Recognize everyone?”

Cory nodded. “Lucy, Liz, Mocha, and Danielle.”

“Can you call them for me?”

“What do you want with them?”

“I need to find Tatum. You guys are her inner circle of friends, right?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Call them.”

“What do I tell them?”

“Tell them it’s an emergency. Tell them to meet you somewhere, ASAP.”

“Where do you want to meet?”

“That’s your call,” he said

* * *

Tatum was trying not to cry. It was a struggle. She had spent a long day in class and she was tired. The schedule they had put her on was erratic and she had lost track of time. There were no clocks so the hours of the day ran together in an endless loop.
 

Alexander was standing at the door in front of her. He smiled, that warm smile that comforted her so very deeply. At this moment, though, she didn’t feel as comforted by it as she had before. She was too nervous to feel much comfort.