The Vanishing Read Online Free PDF Page B

what was left of her lunch, anxious to leave. She felt more uncomfortable in this café than she ever had anywhere else. The undercurrents were almost palpable.
    The waitress returned from the back and removed their empty plates from the counter. Colette noticed her movements were jerky and she barely looked at them. “Do you know where to find any of the swamp people?” Colette asked the waitress.
    She stiffened and glanced over at Tom before replying. “I don’t ever go into the swamp. It’s too dangerous.”
    “Have you ever met any of the people when they come here?” Colette asked. “A young Creole woman, about twenty?”
    The waitress grabbed a dish towel and started wiping down the coffeepot behind the counter. “I don’t know any girl. Don’t know any swamp people.”
    Max pulled out his wallet and left some money on the counter. “Thanks for the information and the food,” he said.
    Tom nodded, but the waitress didn’t even look up. As soon as they got outside the café, Colette said, “The old men went to warn the gas-station guy we were coming, didn’t they?”
    “Probably, which is interesting.”
    “Tom was lying. What are they hiding?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe they don’t believe our reason for wanting to find Cache.” Max pointed to the gas station and they started across the street.
    “Then what else could we possibly want?”
    “Maybe reporters writing a story. Maybe someone looking for the ability to do black arts. If Cache really exists somewhere in the swamp near this town, they’ve managed to keep its location a secret for a long time. There must be something in it for the locals to keep the town protected.”
    A chill passed over Colette, even though it was a warm fall afternoon. “What could be so important or so dangerous that generations of people made sure it stayed a secret all these years, and what would the villagers have to give to the townspeople to gain such a collective silence?”
    Max shook his head. “I don’t know, but I have to tell you, I don’t get a good feeling about this.”
    As they approached the gas station, the two old men who’d left the café walked out the front door and hurried down the sidewalk, careful to avoid making eye contact. Colette looked beyond the gas station to the dense swamp behind it.
    She didn’t get a good feeling, either.
    Max held open the door and they walked inside the station. A man, probably in his thirties, with unkempt brown hair and wearing a greasy shirt and jeans was stocking a beer cooler and looked up when the bell above the door jangled on their entry.
    “You folks need gas?” he asked.
    “No, we were hoping for some information.”
    The man straightened and walked over to them. “My name’s Danny Pitre. I own this station.” He extended his hand to Max, who shook it, and then nodded at Colette.
    “What kind of information you looking for?” Danny asked.
    “We’re looking for Cache,” Max said.
    Danny narrowed his eyes. “You the people from the café?”
    “Yes.”
    “Old Joe told me you was looking for a missing girl that claimed she was from Cache.”
    “That’s right. She’s my fiancée’s friend and coworker. She hasn’t reported to work for several days and we can’t reach her by cell.”
    Danny rubbed his chin and studied them for several seconds. “Truth is, I had a boat stolen last week. One of the old-timers said he saw a young girl with dark hair in it but figured I’d rented it to some city fool, which is why he didn’t tell me about seeing it till I mentioned it was missing.”
    Colette felt her pulse spike. It must have been Anna who stole the boat, trying to get to the village.
    Danny looked over at her. “Your friend a thief?”
    “Not usually,” Colette said, “but her message said it was an emergency. I suppose she may have borrowed your boat intending to return it.”
    “Did you ever find the boat?” Max asked.
    “Yeah. A fisherman towed it in yesterday. He found it