Chapter 2

Opal kept her palm beneath the bronze.

"Threw her away?"

Wes nodded into the oversized collar.

Grant reached for his radio.

"A necklace doesn't make him your kid."

Opal carefully separated the halves.

Wes's piece settled against his chest.

Hers stayed attached to the keys.

"No," she said.

"It means I need to find his mother."

Grant moved between them and the door.

"You need to leave him right here."

Walt lifted his cell phone.

"The sheriff's already sending somebody."

Grant straightened.

"Good."

"I called before I parked," Walt said.

"About a barefoot child, not a thief."

Opal looked up at him.

"You brought him?"

"Found him outside the Bluebird office."

Walt crouched several feet from Wes.

"The office was locked."

"He wouldn't tell me which room."

"So I called it in and brought him here."

Wes rubbed his nose on the coat.

"Mama wouldn't wake up."

Opal's head snapped toward him.

"Was she breathing?"

"She was snoring."

"She said she was sick last night."

Walt nodded.

"I saw them there yesterday."

"The woman had that necklace then."

He pointed without touching it.

"She tucked it inside his shirt."

Only two halves.

One in Opal's hand.

One now hanging from the woman's son.

Grant raised the radio again.

"I've got an unstable employee out here."

The woman in the booth stood.

"No, you don't."

"You've got witnesses."

Grant turned toward her.

"This isn't your business."

Opal rose slowly, keeping Wes behind her.

"Get the closing folder from my bag."

She nodded toward the cubby beneath the register.

Walt brought the canvas bag to her.

Grant gave a short laugh.

"You're not even from around here."

"I used to be."

Opal opened the folder on the dry counter.

The purchase had closed two weeks earlier.

Roscoe's building, equipment, and business were included.

The buyer was Vance Freight.

Opal's name appeared beneath the company name.

Grant glanced at the page.

Then he read it again.

"I was told the owner was coming Friday."

"I was."

Opal took out her phone.

"I came early."

Grant watched her call the general manager.

The voice on speaker sounded half asleep.

"Opal?"

"I need you at Roscoe's."

"Grant just grabbed a child by the collar."

The voice sharpened.

"Is the child hurt?"

"We're finding out."

"I'll be there."

Grant's radio lowered.

"I didn't know who you were."

Opal closed the folder.

"You knew he was hungry."

Behind Grant, someone set down a coffee cup.

Then another.

"Leave the keys," Opal said.

"You're fired."

He looked toward the booths.

Nobody looked away for him.

His keys landed beside Walt's twenty-dollar bill.

A deputy arrived with a local ambulance crew.

Opal stepped aside while they checked Wes.

They warmed his feet and wrapped him in a blanket.

Grant tried to explain the collar.

Three customers spoke before he finished.

The deputy wrote down their names.

Then her radio crackled.

Another deputy was at the Bluebird.

A young mother had reported her son missing.

"Name?" Opal asked.

The deputy listened.

"Etta Lane."

Opal's fingers tightened around her keyring.

A different last name.

The same first name.

The same bronze.

Wes lifted his head.

"That's Mama."

The deputy told dispatch he was safe.

Then she looked at Opal.

"You can come along."

"But let me speak to her first."

Opal nodded.

"I won't scare her."

Walt drove behind the patrol vehicle.

The six miles east took almost twenty minutes.

Sleet tapped the windows the whole way.

Wes fell asleep against Opal's arm.

At the motel, another deputy met them.

"His mother's awake and talking."

"Room eight."

The clerk slid a registration card across the desk.

"She's been here three nights."

"Paid cash."

The deputy turned the card toward Opal.

Etta Lane.

One adult.

One child.

Beneath that was an emergency contact.

Opal stopped at the last name.

On Etta's registration card, beside "Mother," stood the name Corinne Vance.