Under Suspicion

Chapter Nine

“Well?” Will asked as he came up on my shoulder.

“Well, nothing,” I said, backing out of the military-history book aisle. I leaned against a stack of Harley Cavanaugh’s books and rubbed small circles on my temples with my index fingers. “He’s not here.”

I felt Will slouch next to me. He laced his fingers through my hair and gently raked through the curls. The movement sent a ticklish prickle down my spine. “Don’t worry, love. It was probably just the old bloke that you saw there.”

“It wasn’t, Will. Believe me, I wish it were. I don’t ... I’m afraid, what if the hallucinations are starting again?”

Will turned to stare me full in the face. “The hallucinations were sent from Ophelia, and she’s dead now.”

“I know.” I leaned in so our foreheads were almost touching. “But what if there is another angel? Alex said they might keep coming.”

“I’m your Guardian and I haven’t heard anything or seen anything.” He shrugged. “Nothing’s come over the dispatch.”

I blinked. “There’s some sort of Guardian dispatch?”

Will smiled. “No. Isn’t it possible that you just thought you saw something?”

I blew out a sigh and stared at the toes of my shoes on the industrial-grade carpet. “I guess. I just have this feeling... .”

“You feel like you’re missing something?”

My eyes went wide. “Then you feel it, too?”

“No, the whole ride over here you were telling me you were missing the files Kale brought over from UDA.” He grinned.

“You’re a gem.”

“Come on, then.” Will held out his hand and I took it, allowing him to lead me out of the store and across the street to the diner.

It was still warm and cozy in there and the scent of meat loaf was still heavy in the air. It turned my stomach.

“Can I help you guys?” Shirley, the waitress who waited on us earlier, rounded one of the high-backed booths. She cocked her head and smiled, pointing at me with the eraser end of her Fog City Diner pencil. “Oh, I remember you.”

“You do? Great. We were here earlier.”

“Right, you were with the pale kids.” Her bright eyes clouded. “I’m sorry, that was your friend who got hit, right?”

“Kale, yeah. She’ll be in the hospital for a while, but they think she’s going to be all right.” I offered a small smile, as much to convince Shirley of my statement as myself.

“That’s a relief.” Shirley nodded toward an empty booth to our left. “Can I get you guys something to go, or do you need a table? We’re just cutting into a Black Forest cake.” Shirley waggled her eyebrows. In any other instance, I would have been knee deep in Black Forest before she had rung me up.

“No, thanks. Actually, I’m here because I ran out and left something at my table. Some file folders? There should have been three, or maybe four. Do you have them?”

Shirley tapped her pencil against her lower lip. Her eyes went to the ceiling, as if the folders were stashed up there. “I don’t think so.” She glanced over her shoulder at the table where we had our lunch—now occupied by a couple with bright red cheeks and matching I SURVIVED ALCATRAZ sweatshirts.

“The table’s turned over a couple of times since then, but let me check with the bussers to see if they picked up anything.”

“Great.” I sank down on a bench, and Will paced in front of me, nose buried in a menu.

“Are you seriously going to order something?”

Will rubbed his flat belly. “I am a bit peckish. We didn’t get to eat much before.”

My stomach folded in on itself as the olfactory memory of those hospital smells stung my nose again. “I can’t see how you can even think of food right now.”

Will’s eyes followed a plate of fried chicken and mashed potatoes whizzing by. “It’s a gift.”

“No, sorry.” Shirley came back to us, shaking her head. The little jade elephants hanging off her ears were bopping against her cheeks. “No one remembers cleaning anything off that table other than the usual stuff. And none of the wait staff knew anything about any folders.”

My stomach dropped to my knees. “Nothing?”

Shirley shook her head. “Nothing. Aw, don’t worry.” She patted my arm kindly. “I’ll go get the lost-and-found bin and you both can rummage through that. If one of the customers turned them in, they’d be in there.”

I felt a weak stab of hope and pumped my head. “Yeah, okay. Hey, Will ...”

Will’s head was bent; his palms were pressed against the glass of the dessert case, where fresh slices of cake were laid out. He popped up and opened his menu again, studying it. “I’ll search through this display case, make sure nothing looks suspicious. You can go through that.” Will nodded toward the flimsy box Shirley returned with. She grinned.

“Here you go.”

I pawed through the “Remains of Vacations Past”—funky plastic sunglasses, a couple of mismatched gloves, and two full bottles of sunscreen—and sighed, pushing the box aside. I looked up to where Will stood and cocked one annoyed eyebrow at him.

“Well, at least one of us found something helpful,” Will said, holding up his overloaded to-go carton, flashing a pleased grin.