“You haven’t seen her since when?” Beau asked.
“Since before she and Johnny broke up. I heard she was with you.”
Beau glanced out his window. “You know who I am?”
“You have a way of sticking out. How come you’re calling here asking for her when you know she don’t work here?”
“You’re sure she’s not there? If she is, I need to talk to her. It’s important.”
“I’d tell you if she were. I love her to death, that’s why I never want to see her in here again. She don’t belong.”
Beau frowned. He wouldn’t like that either, Lola going to Hey Joe if she were in trouble. “If you see her, tell her to call me. It’s important.”
“You said that already.” She sighed into the phone. “Look, I have to go. Johnny’s giving me the death stare.”
“Don’t mention this to him.”
“I won’t. My loyalty left the building with Lola once I found about Amanda.”
Lola must not’ve talked to her about Beau, then. Veronica would’ve certainly shared her opinion of him if she had. Beau stopped mid-Boulevard and flipped the car around. “Thanks for your help,” he said and hung up.
Lola was out there, alone, in the dark. He couldn’t remember if she’d taken her purse inside. He leaned over to the passenger’s side as he drove, feeling around, then did the same in the backseat. No purse. At least she had that, unlike the morning she’d walked home from the Four Seasons. His heart palpitated the same way it had that day, when he’d realized he had no way of getting ahold of her.
Beau was driving in the direction of his house, but he had no idea if it was the right place to be. His phone rang, and he grabbed it without even checking the screen. “Lola?”
“Sorry I missed your call, sir.”
“Warner.” Beau shut his eyes briefly, a current of dread running through him. “Is Lola with you?”
Warner hesitated. “Is she supposed to be?”
“I can’t find her. She disappeared in the middle of our date. I was hoping she’d called you to pick her up.”
“No, sir. I haven’t heard from her. Have you tried the house?”
Three weeks earlier, when she’d walked out of his life, she’d found him. Maybe she was already at home. He’d heard when it came to a missing person, it was best to stay in one place so they could find you “Not yet.”
“Maybe she took a—one minute.” His voice went distant. “Yes, it is. Something about Lola going missing. Just let me—”
“If that’s Brigitte,” Beau said, “I don’t have time. Just let me know if you hear from Lola.” Beau hung up, more confident that he’d walk in the front door and find Lola in the kitchen, eating spoonfuls of Rocky Road from the carton the way she sometimes did.
He made it home in record time, parking in the driveway and jogging up to the front. He dropped his keys, cursed as he picked them up, and finally got the door open. The house was dark.
“Lola?” he called out, flipping the switch for the chandelier. He tossed his keys on the table and headed through the house, turning on a light in every room. As he entered the kitchen, he prayed for the glow of the refrigerator, the sound of silverware, anything. There was nothing. He went to stand in the middle of the room. “Hello?”
He heard footsteps behind him, the click of high heels. Relief spread through him.
“Beau.”
He turned around as a light came on above him. Brigitte and Warner stood in the kitchen doorway, as far as they could get from him. “What’re you doing here?”
“We were concerned,” Brigitte said. “What the hell happened?”
Beau shook his head, checked his phone and set it on the counter. “Honestly, I don’t even know.”
“Warner, get him water.” Brigitte crossed the kitchen toward him. “You don’t look good.”
“I’m fine. I mean—I’m not. I’m fucking worried. But not about myself.”
Warner opened and closed cabinets.
Brigitte leaned a hip on the counter. “Start from the beginning.”
“We went out to dinner. It was a special occasion, and she wanted to plan the evening. She said it was a surprise.”
“What was the occasion?”
Beau opened his mouth. The occasion was private, that’s what it was—him, finally getting to show her what love meant to him. Upstairs, in their bedroom, removing her trench coat. Crawling over her body as she breathed heavily on the bed, anticipating his fi
rst touch.
“That’s not important,” Beau said.
“I don’t understand. What happened at the restaurant?”
“It wasn’t there.” Beau would’ve rather kept the details to himself, but this whole thing was getting bigger, and he was willing to sacrifice some privacy for answers. Several times over the years, he’d come to Brigitte with a business problem, and she would point out the piece of the puzzle he’d been missing. She had a surprising knack for empathy when she tried, unlike Beau. “We were at Cat Shoppe.”
“You’re kidding,” Brigitte said, deadpan.
“I wish I were. Some way of replacing our past, I guess.”
Brigitte looked at Warner. “What’s taking you so long?”
“The cups moved again.”
“I can get my own water.” Beau remembered that Lola’d rearranged things. He wasn’t even thirsty, but he went and got a glass, needing something to do with his hands. “So she had a special dance planned. She warned me not to touch her, but I thought we were playing some kind of game. Because as soon as I put my hands on her—”
She had begged him with her eyes. Tempted him with each sultry movement. He would’ve done anything for her in those moments, crazy for her.
“What?” Brigitte prompted. “What happened when you touched her?”
“She just…disappeared.”
20
Brigitte and Warner stood side by side in Beau’s kitchen, quieted by the details of Beau’s night. Beau drank the last of his water, set it on the counter, looked at it. Nobody spoke.
“…I moved the glasses and bowls back into their own cabinet...it’s your kitchen, after all.”