Page 37 of Little Girl Vanished
I tilted my head and studied him. At least he didn’t seem to be hostile. “I’m sorry. You look familiar, but I can’t make the connection.”
“Nate. Nate Davis.”
My eyes widened. “Nate? From high school band?”
His grin spread. “Brass section for the win.”
I’d played trumpet, although I’d never been very good at it. Nate had been first chair in the trombone section.
“So you work here?”
His grin turned mischievous. “I own it.”
“You do? But it’s called Morty’s Bookstore.”
“My dad,” he said. “After my wife died, I came back and lived with my dad until he passed a few years ago.” He shrugged. “The brooding widow/orphan thing got old, so I decided to get off my ass and do something. I knew I didn’t want to go back to corporate America, so I opened a bookstore.” He laughed. “I know, maybe not the brightest idea since the town is so small, but I like it and it pays for itself.”
I lifted my hands, still holding the journal. “Hey, no judgment. I’m currently living in my parents’ garage apartment trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.”
His smile fell. “I heard you were back.” He made a face. “And what happened last fall.”
“You and everyone else.” I hesitated. “I confess, I’ve barely left the apartment, which I guess is pretty stereotypical for adults who move in with their parents. I haven’t gotten out much. If you heard I was back…” I wasn’t sure how to finish my question.
His brow lifted. “You’re wondering if you’re hot Jackson Creek gossip.”
Cringing, I shook my head. “Forget I asked.”
“You are,” he said in a no-nonsense tone, “but the town seems split on whether you’re a murderer or you were hung out to dry.”
I cringed a little more. “Percentages?”
“I could lie and say it’s fifty/fifty, but you deserve to know the truth. Before you came back it was more like seventy/thirty.”
“Against me?”
“In favor.” He gave me a nod. “Very pro police down here, you know. Thin blue line and all that.”
“So what is it now?”
“It’s flip-flopped. Now public sentiment seems to be seventy percent against you, although that’s not scientific. Just what I’m hearing.” Then he laughed. “And not in the shop, which would skew the results. This is stuff I’ve picked up when I’m out and about in town.”
“You’ve become a social butterfly, then?” I asked. In high school he’d been pretty introverted.
“A little, maybe. I’m told store owners need to get out and socialize. It encourages people to come to the shop.” He gave me a direct look. “Public opinion started to change right about when you moved here.”
I frowned. “Why?” I wasn’t naïve enough to think I was the most likable person alive, but I hadn’t interacted enough with the outside world to piss this many people off.
“I don’t know. I did ask a few people what changed their minds, and they said they’d talked to so-and-so, who convinced them you were lying last October and were trying to make the Little Rock Police Department look bad.”
“That has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I grunted.
He lifted his hands. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” He quickly lowered his hands with a grimace. “Sorry, bad choice of words. Regardless, no one gave the same answer, so I’m not sure who started it.”
“Thanks,” I said, dropping my gaze to the counter as I went over what he’d just said. If the tide of popular opinion had changed over the past two weeks, had it been the doing of the person who’d left that photo in my car? Had he or she followed me here from Little Rock? The thought sent a chill down my spine.
Glancing up at Nate, I asked, “Could you keep asking people where they heard the rumors? It would be really helpful if I could find out the source.”
“What are you planning to do with the information?” he asked warily.