Rick Mofina - Six Seconds

“All in taupe.” He held up a sample. “Yes, it works for you. Come to the mirrors and I’ll get some measure ments.”

During Benny’s measuring, note taking and small talk about life in Montana, their eyes found each other in the reflection.

“This is a monumental event, Samara.” He’d lowered his voice. “Are you nervous?”

“No. Are you?”

“No. I’m honored to be part of it.”

“What fabric are you suggesting?”

“A new import I just got in via New York from Africa. It’ll be excellent.”

The transom bells chimed as Jake and Logan arrived.

“Be right with you, gentlemen.”

“They’re here for me,” Samara said. “That’s Jake and his son, Logan.”

Benny greeted them.

“Welcome, welcome.”

Jake appraised Benny, then the large U.S. flag and framed photos of U.S. troops in desert combat dress above the counter caught his attention.

“You know people overseas?” Jake said.

“Friends. Clients for graduations and weddings. Got to support the guys,” Benny said. “As you and Samara know, it’s difficult for the people still over there.”

Jake nodded.

“So, Logan, Samara tells us you’re going to meet the pope. You must be thrilled beyond measure?”

“It’s cool, I guess.”

“Very cool. Jake, you must be so proud.”

“It’s a once-in-a-lifetime deal, for sure.”

“Would you like us to make you a suit for the occasion, Dad?”

“Me? No, I mean I couldn’t afford-”

“I’ll give you a very deep discount, out of respect for your contribution overseas.”

“How did you know about that?”

“Samara and I were chatting.”

Jake nodded, glanced round the shop.

“That’s kind of you. But I’m good in that department. Got a suit that does the job. I’m not inclined to wear one much.”

“I see, but a hand-cut suit would fit like a dream. Are you certain you wouldn’t like one?”

“I’m sure.”

“How about young Logan? How would you like to be the sharpest dressed kid to meet the pope in Montana?”

“I don’t know.” He looked to his dad. “I got a shirt and a tie. I don’t like to get all dressed up.”

“Permit me. Let’s try something.” Benny assessed Logan, then selected a small blazer from a rack and held it open so Logan could slip it on.

“Now that fits nicely,” Benny said, then positioned Logan for some quick expert measurements. “Tell you what. I’ll make Logan a suit at no charge.”

“Free?” Jake asked.

“Free.”

“Why?”

“To have my work be part of history would be payment enough,” Benny said, smiling.

Jake looked to Logan.

“Would you like a free suit made just for you, son?”

Logan shrugged. “Guess that would be okay.”

“Terrific.” Benny got more measurements. “I’ll start work on your outfits immediately. We’re very fast here.”

Samara hugged Benny.

They spent the rest of the morning downtown at Pike Place, Pioneer Square, then they went up into the Space Needle. It was about six when they made it to Safeco and got tickets behind home plate, above the press box, for the Mariners’ home night game against Cleveland.

Nine innings and several hot dogs later they returned to the motel. They were exhausted from a long day of fun and were just settling in when Samara’s cell phone rang.

It was Benny. The suits were done.

Within thirty minutes he’d delivered them personally to the motel, apologizing for the late hour.

Logan was exhausted but Jake helped him try the suit on. It was perfect. Then, in the awkward moments Samara was in the bathroom trying hers on, Logan fell asleep watching Jaws on TV and Jake thanked Benny for going out of his way to save them driving time in the morning.

Samara’s suit also fit perfectly.

It looked good, in fact. Samara grabbed her purse before she stepped outside to see Benny off.

Jake could hear them outside the door.

As they talked in low, serious tones in Arabic, a tiny wave of suspicion rippled through him.

Something felt wrong.

Was he jealous at the way she smiled at Benny? Was it something he thought he’d detected in their body language? Or was it his imagination?

He didn’t know.

The next day during the long drive through the mountains back to Cold Butte, Jake ruminated on Samara and Benny.

Samara spent much of the return trip on her laptop, coping with an erratic wireless connection as she worked between taking her turn at the wheel.

As the miles rolled by, Logan sensed the unspoken tension mounting from his dad’s dark mood.

It scared him.

He knew that something was getting wound tighter and tighter. Sooner or later something was going to happen.

Now, more than ever, Logan needed to call his mom.

As they ascended and descended through mountain passes, he saw Samara’s purse.

It had opened a crack.

Logan saw her cell phone and returned to an idea that he had been forming.

If he was going to act on it, he’d better do it soon.

Time was running out.

Blue Rose Creek, California

Daniel Graham was Maggie’s savior.

Standing alone in her kitchen making coffee, she studied his business card then glanced at her kitchen calendar, circled with dates for her psych sessions.

She didn’t think she needed therapy.

All she needed was to find Logan and hold him. Find Jake and talk to him.

Her overdose was an accident. She’d wanted to kill a moment, not herself. Graham had revived her will to fight, to keep her promise to find her family.

As the coffeepot filled, Maggie stole a glimpse of him.

He was on the sofa in her living room. He’d arrived saying he’d talked to Dawn Sullivan’s husband, that he had new information.

Graham checked his watch.

This was a mistake and he knew it, yet something kept him here. The first thing he should’ve done was alert Vic Thompson at the county sheriff’s department, and the FBI, to his Vegas lead. He could still do it and have time to make his flight to Calgary today.

Do it, then. Take care of business, then get the hell home.

So what was stopping him?

He looked toward the kitchen where Maggie was.

The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee floated into the living room and he resumed looking at the album Maggie showed him. Logan blowing out birthday candles. Good-looking kid. Logan at the wheel of Jake’s rig. The Conlins at Disneyland. The Conlins at the beach. Jake smiling. A happy family man. Maggie glowed. No question, she was pretty in these portraits of family bliss.

Graham had killed his chances for that kind of life.

He closed the album.

“Here you go. Cream and sugar on the side.” Maggie set a tray down. “What did Dawn’s husband tell you?”

Graham explained that it appeared that Jake had sold or traded his rig at Desert Truck Land in Las Vegas.

“Oh, my God!” Maggie said. “That’s the first solid information I’ve had.”

“Now I’ll pass this to the county and the FBI who can work with people in Las Vegas to follow this up.”

“No, wait,” Maggie said, writing in a small notebook. “I want to go there first.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want to go to Desert Truck Land in Las Vegas. Now! With you, to follow this up. Together.”

“I can’t. I have to fly back today.”

“Please. This is the only real hope I’ve had. And it’s because of you. Please. We can drive to Las Vegas in three or four hours. Then maybe the people there will tell me more about where Jake went. What if he’s living there? I’m so close to Logan now, I can feel it! Please.”

Graham weighed the idea.

Everything about the Tarver case gnawed at him.