Endangered (9781101559017) by Pamela Beason Read Free Book Online Page B

thrust his belly forward, distorting the image of Mickey Mouse on his tight blue T-shirt. “What the heck you doin’ down there, anyway?”
    She rubbed her back. Scraped but not bleeding. “I’m looking for a missing kid.” Peeling a crumpled poster from the roll, she held it out to him. “He disappeared last night.”
    An odd expression lingered in the man’s eyes as he examined the photo. The hair on the top of his head was a thick and unvarying brown, but the thinning sides showed multiple threads of gray. Didn’t the guy know how silly a cheap toupee looked?
    His fingers moved on the edges of the page, caressing the paper. His tongue flicked out, swiped wetly over thick lips. A warning prickle crawled across the back of Sam’s neck.
    â€œHave you seen Zachary?” she asked.
    â€œThat his name?”
    Clearly printed at the bottom , she thought with annoyance, taking a step closer to point it out. Something crunched under her foot. A blue plastic block. Two red ones and a yellow lurked nearby. She scooped them up. “These yours?”
    He stared at them for a long moment. “LEGOs,” he finally said.
    He took the colored cubes from her, his fingers clammy against her palm. Holding the blocks to his chest, he gave her a tentative smile. “For the grandkids.”
    Did that also explain the Mickey Mouse T-shirt? “Where are they?”
    â€œWho?” He looked around him.
    â€œThe grandkids?”
    â€œThey’re not with me today.” He turned to go back into the camper. “But thanks for asking.”
    A very strange man. She placed her hand on the door beneath his. “Could I trouble you for some water, sir?”
    He turned, one foot on the camper threshold, one on the makeshift step. “What?”
    She smiled. “A glass of water? It’s a long way to a drinking fountain. You do have water inside your camper, don’t you?”
    â€œInside?” The man’s pale eyes darted nervously to her face and then down to his own hand on the door handle. “Well, I mean, it’s just that it’s really messy.”
    â€œNo problem.” She pulled the door out of his hand. “I’m not the housekeeping police. I’d really appreciate it, Mr.—?”
    The man stepped up and turned toward her. “Wilson, the name’s Wilson.” He gestured for her to enter.
    It was no easy task to squeeze past Wilson. The fleshy roll of his belly brushed against her back like a soft warm pillow. Was he actually leaning into her? She stifled an urge to flinch.
    In the kitchen, freshly washed pans and a couple of plates were set out to dry on a kitchen towel. Wilson opened a cabinet door and reached for a glass. Sam spotted familiar yellow and blue boxes on the upper shelf.
    â€œAh, animal crackers,” she said.
    A rush of color flooded the man’s face. “For the grandkids,” he mumbled. He filled the plastic tumbler with water from the tap and handed it to her, swiped with a dish towel at the few drops that had splashed onto the counter. “But the kids aren’t here.
    â€œI’m all by my lonesome this trip.” That tentative smile again. His large hands fiddled with the dish towel, wringing it into a twisted rope.
    Sam sipped her water slowly as she surveyed the camper. More LEGOs were spilled across a Formica tabletop. Toys. Animal crackers. Mickey Mouse. But no kids in sight.
    Near the door, a blue jogging suit—nylon-knit pants and hooded jacket—hung from a hook. Dried dirt darkened the elastic cuffs of the pants, and another patch of the crusty material speckled a sleeve. River mud? She suddenly found it difficult to swallow. She felt Wilson’s gaze on her, but when she raised her eyes, his quickly flitted away.
    A calendar adorned the wall over the table. Miranda, 5:00, VFW was scribbled into the square for today’s date. At the rear of the camper was a double