Mariah Stewart - Cry Mercy

“There's a waiting list,” he said.

“Really? How do people know about you?”

“Car shows. Magazine and newspaper articles. Word of mouth.” He grinned. “And I've written a few books on the subject.”

“They have car shows? Like dog shows? Horse shows?”

“Close enough, yes. I started going with my granddad when I was twelve or thirteen. Damn, those were the days.”

“How many cars did he fix? Er, restore?”

“Seventeen.”

“So he'd buy the car, restore it, then take it to a show and sell it?”

“He didn't restore his cars to sell them, and he went to the shows because he liked to look at automobiles, liked to see what other people had, what they were doing. Sometimes, he did show his. Some he loaned out for special occasions, like the local Fourth of July parade or the Founders Day parade, but he only sold one while he was alive.” His voice dropped. “He kept the rest for me.”

“You still have them? You own seventeen cars?” Emme frowned. “What do you do with seventeen cars?”

“I don't have them all now. I had to sell most of them to start up my business, which is what my granddad had in mind all along. He figured they'd be a good investment, that they'd appreciate as the years went by, and they did.” He smiled. “Better than the stock market.”

“How many do you have now?”

“Originally, I kept four and sold the rest for my business. Now I only have the Firebird and a Corvette.”

“What happened to the other two?”

“I sold them to hire the private investigators to find Belinda after the police told me they had no leads. When they found nothing, I realized I was wasting the money. Until I saw Robert Magellan on TV that day a few weeks ago, I wasn't sure what my next move was going to be.”

“You're lucky you responded as quickly as you did. I understand there's been a flood of applications since that press conference.”

“There are that many people missing in this country?”

“More than you could ever imagine.”

She followed the signs off the interstate to Lawrenceville Road. The GPS assured her it would lead her straight into the heart of Princeton. Nick let her know when they'd arrived.

“That's Nassau Hall.” He rolled the passenger window down to gaze at the venerable brownstone building that sat back off the street behind tall gates, its entrance flanked by bronze tigers. “At one time, the capital of the United States.”

He turned to Emme. “That would have been in 1783. The Congress of the Confederation met on the second floor.”

“History buff?”

“Revolutionary War, yes.” He nodded, then added, “And also my sister went to school here.”

“You knew how to get here all along?”

“No. I've never been here before, never visited her when she was in college.” His expression was somewhat regretful. “Like I said, Wendy and I were never really close. When she was an eighteen-year-old freshman, I was six. I sort of understand why Belinda searched for her donor siblings. It's occurred to me that she's as connected to them, in a way, as Wendy and I were. Same sperm donor. Different mothers.”

“You think of your father as a sperm donor?”

“He never seemed to stick with any of his wives after they'd had a child. Neither Wendy nor I really knew him.”

“How many wives has he had?”

“I think four.”

“You have other half-siblings then?”

“I only know about Wendy, but I suppose anything is possible.”

“Is he still alive?”

“Last I heard. We're not particularly close.” Nick stared straight ahead, his jaw squared. It was clear this was not a subject he wished to discuss. She could respect that. There were some things she didn't like to talk about, too.

Emme craned her neck to look over the traffic that blocked the lanes in each direction. “We have to find Nassau Street.”

“You're on it.” He pointed across the street to the sign on the corner. “Where are we supposed to meet Hayley?”

“At a pancake place near the theater.” Traffic crawled toward the light. Several times she had to brake to avoid the pedestrians who crossed the street without apparent regard to the cars. They approached the next light slowly.

“This is Witherspoon Street,” she told him. “According to the map I looked at online, there should be some public parking down here somewhere. The pancake house is at the far end of this block of Nassau Street. We'll park and look for the florist.”

“What florist?”

“Hayley wants me to carry a red rose so she'll know me.” Emme smiled.

“Kid watches too many old spy movies.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

She made the turn, and searched for a parking spot. She found one in front of a small café, and fed the meter before heading up toward Nassau Street. At the flower shop, they stepped inside for the requisite red rose.

“This one's on me.” Nick paid the clerk and handed the flower to Emme. “It's the least I can do to thank you for letting me tag along.”

“Thanks.” She took the rose and they walked toward the corner, sidestepping the students who walked in pairs or in clusters. Nick took her arm as they navigated through the throng.

“There.” Emme pointed ahead at the two-story building with the striped awning. “Pancake House.”

They stepped through the red double doors, and once inside, she scanned the tables and booths for a teenaged girl wearing a red scarf.

“Hold the rose up a little higher.” Nick stood behind her, whispering in her ear.

“How stupid do I look twirling this thing around?” She gave the stem a twist as she glanced from one crowded table to the next.

“Well, I'm not sure that stupid is the word I'd use.” He took several steps away and pretended to be scrutinizing her. “Silly might work. Amusing is better. But not stupid.”

“Very funny. I'll try to remember not to ask rhetorical questions around you.”

Emme looked around the room. It seemed every kid in town and half of the students from the university had stopped in for a snack after class.

“Her red scarf should be easy enough to pick out. Oh, there, on the right…”

Emme took a few steps forward, holding the gaze of the young girl who sat alone at a booth against the wall, a bright red scarf tied jauntily around her neck. She had dark blond hair and round tortoiseshell glasses. She smiled uncertainly when Emme waved, and raised her hand to wave back. When she realized that Nick was headed her way as well, she froze.

“Who's that?” Hayley asked suspiciously.

Emme slid into the booth next to Hayley. “This is Nick Perone. Belinda… Belle's uncle.”

“The perv?” Hayley's expression was one of disgust.

“What?” Nick stared across the table. “What did you call me?”

“You're the perv who's looking for Belle.” She turned to Emme. “You didn't tell me you were bringing him.” Hayley shook her head. “I wouldn't tell you where Belle was even if I knew.”

“Go back to the part where you called me a perv.” Nick's frown creased his forehead and drew his eyebrows close together. “Where did that come from?”

Hayley shifted uncomfortably on the bench.

“Hayley, why would you say such a thing?” Emme asked.

The girl shrugged. “They were saying on the loop that maybe the reason why she ran away was because her uncle… the one who posted on the loop… maybe he, you know, hurt her.”

“Did Belle ever give you or any of the others any reason to think that her uncle-or anyone else-had been abusing her?” Emme asked. “Or had hurt her in any way at all?”

Hayley thought it over before shaking her head, “No.”

“Then maybe you shouldn't put any stock in some idle comment that someone”- some thoughtless jackass kid -“tossed out without any regard to the truth.”