Page 10 of Lightning in a Mason Jar
“Martin,” Bailey Rae interrupted, “I think we’re overwhelming Mrs. Abernathy.”
Abernathy? The same surname as the missing fisherman he’d been wading through swamps trying to locate. His instincts ramped into overdrive. “Any relation to Owen Abernathy?”
Her tear-streaked face paled.
The little girl popped her thumb out of her mouth. “Uncle Owen?”
“Ma’am?” Martin asked.
“He’s my husband’s brother,” Gia answered softly. Defensively.
He wanted to wrangle a police officer over here ASAP to help but worried the woman might bolt if he left. “Did you know he went missing a few days back while fishing?”
“Owen’s probably just on a camping trip,” Gia answered with a smile that didn’t come close to reaching her eyes. “He always turns up after a few days.”
Logical. But also coincidental. He wondered what more she might share if given the time. All the more reason to personally escort her to the shelter. They might have more luck persuading her to speak with the authorities.
At the very least, he could pass along her location to the police in case they had questions—or concerns. “Sounds like your family’s been going through a lot lately. Maybe you and your husband would benefit from a breather.”
“Ian and I could use a break, that’s for sure,” Gia said with a weak smile, her eyes darting to Bailey Rae and Libby. “It’s so hard loving the wrong man.”
Silently, Libby clasped her hand.
Martin wasn’t much good when it came to comfort, but he could tackle logistics.
“How about I call that shelter. I’ll even show you where it is. You can follow me.” He glanced at Libby, then back to Gia Abernathy again. “And if you need to shuffle where you park, I’ll be on hand.”
Gia nodded fast, her throat moving in a long swallow. “Thank you. Yes, please.”
As he pulled out his phone to place the call, Bailey Rae mouthedthank you.
He believed she meant it. But he doubted it softened her grudge.
Three hours later, after dropping off her trailer and Skeeter back at the farm, Bailey Rae knew she should rest easy now that she’d passed over Gia Abernathy to Martin Perez’s care.
But she had never been good at putting things out of her mind and moving on. She had worn out that mental hamster wheel far too often to believe otherwise.
Her only defense? Run faster until she found the answers she sought—or she crashed.
Her odds today were pretty even on the outcome.
So here she stood outside the Fill ’Er Up Café in search of answers from Thea and June, who—according to Thea’s husband—had come here a half hour ago. Bailey Rae pushed through the front door, bell chiming her arrival to a packed clientele, dining on the supper specials.
Chicken-fried steak or chicken pot pie. Healthy-heart meals were tough to come by in Bent Oak, where deep-frying, homemade biscuits, and real butter reigned supreme. As an employee, she knew the menu by heart, both from waitressing and working as a backup short-order cook.
The old gas station had been renovated into a restaurant. People in Bent Oak were thrifty, the ultimate in upcycling. Offices in back had been converted into a restaurant-grade kitchen, with the former garage transformed into a dining space with soaring ceilings.
During the fair-weather days, the garage door opened to let a fresh river breeze sweep through as if celebrating the remnants of spring before summer sealed the space for air-conditioning. Ceiling fans swirled overhead. Rusty hubcaps and custom license plates that filled in the bare spots showcased the local who’s who.
This was more than just a restaurant to her, more than just a place to earn a buck. The eatery had once been the town’s only gas station, owned by Uncle Russell’s grandparents. They’d both died before she arrived in Bent Oak, but she’d spent hours here on Saturdays passing tools while Russell rebuilt his latest vehicle for dirt track racing. He would give her change for a cold Coke from the bright-red machine while he made use of the garage’s lift. She remembered most, though, how he talked to her, drawing out more than a yes or no answer from her, like her opinions mattered on everything from the best fishing currents to the upcoming town council election to her favorite boy band crush.
For a girl who’d been in survival mode for too long, it had felt indulgent to discuss something other than how to make it to the next day.
About twelve years ago, the place had been sold when a chain gas station with automatic card readers put old-school establishments out of business. Aunt Winnie had told Uncle Russell that only people mattered, not places. Still, her steely eyes carried a sadness when passing over the keys, maybe even a hint of tears—quickly gone, of course. Aunt Winnie hadn’t been a crier.
To this day, the scent of motor oil made her think of Uncle Russell and self-respect.
Scanning the dining space, she finally located Thea and June in the far back corner. Not their normal table in the center. Their heads were bent close together as they talked, their food uneaten in front of them.
