Heartstopper by Joy Fielding Page B

to pick up the phone—the wonders of caller ID—and when he’d finally reached Amber on her cell, she’d told him her mother was watching a movie on TV and had given strict instructions she was not to be disturbed. He asked his daughter whether she’d had dinner, and she said she wasn’t hungry. John decided to order a couple of hamburgers to take home just in case he could persuade Amber to join him, although he knew in his heart it was a lost cause. Hell, that was probably the main reason he’d put on so much weight in the last few years. The less his daughter ate, the more he felt compelled to ingest, as if he were eating for two. The gaunter his daughter’s cheeks became, the fuller his got; the flatter her stomach, the rounder his own. If she didn’t start eating soon, he was liable to explode. “I’ll have a Bud Light,” he told Cal. “And give me a couple burgers to go. Make that bacon cheeseburgers,” he amended.
    “Have a seat.” Cal waved toward a recently emptied booth to the left of the bar. “A Bud Light for the sheriff,” he instructed a red-haired waitress as she wiggled past. “I’ll give your order to Chester.”
    John tucked Liana’s picture back into his shirt pocket as he watched Cal strut toward the kitchen, his thumbs thrust into the side pockets of his black denim jeans. Somethingabout the studied swagger of his hips—as if he knew he was being watched—rubbed John the wrong way. Cal and his wife had moved to Torrance two years ago, which was unusual, to say the least, considering that neither had family in the area, and neither had a job when they arrived. Why would any young couple move to an isolated community like Torrance unless they were running away from something, or hiding from someone? John had briefly considered the possibility they were in the witness protection program, but ultimately decided this was unlikely. People in the witness protection program usually did their best to maintain a low profile. And although Cal’s wife, Fiona, was rarely seen out in public, unless glued to her husband’s side, Cal, himself, was anything but shy. Indeed, most of the rumors regarding Cal Hamilton’s wild past could usually be traced directly back to one source: Cal Hamilton.
    Unless, of course, he was lying.
    “Hi, there, Sheriff,” a voice cooed, as long, bright red fingernails deposited a tall glass of cold beer on the table in front of him. “I understand you’ve had a rough day.”
    John immediately pulled the picture of Liana Martin out of his breast pocket, handed it to the waitress with the preternaturally red hair. “Have you seen this girl in here recently?”
    The waitress leaned over to get a better look. Her breasts, with their carefully displayed cleavage, brushed against the side of his cheek. He felt an unexpected stirring below his belt and almost knocked over his drink. “Careful with that beer there, honey,” the waitress said, and John winced at this easy familiarity from a girl young enough to be his daughter. “Yeah, I’ve seen her. But not for a few days. Why? Something happen to her?”
    “She’s missing,” John told her, as he’d told her boss just moments before. “Can you do me a favor? Show this picture to the other waitresses, ask if anybody’s seen her around lately.”
    “Sure thing.” The waitress took the picture and disappeared into the general throng.
    A few minutes later, he saw her showing Liana’s photograph to the bartender and watched as the young man shook his head no. “This ain’t going to be easy,” John muttered into his beer. As promised, the drink was nice and cold. A man of his word, he thought, watching Cal chat up a pretty, young woman standing at the bar. Cal’s hand rested provocatively on the woman’s substantial derriere, and despite the wedding band on the appropriate finger of her left hand, John noticed the woman made no attempt to brush Cal’s hand away. While John had never considered himself a