Heartstopper by Joy Fielding Page A

pulled away by another parent just as John had been weighing the consequences of pulling out his gun and shooting the pompous ass between his disconcertingly crossed eyes.
    “Looking for someone, Sheriff, or can I show you to a table?”
    John turned toward the familiar voice, his hands making fists at his sides as he absorbed Cal Hamilton’s insolently handsome face. It was the kind of face—dark, brooding eyes as hard as pebbles, in sharp contrast to soft, wavy blond hair; a small pug nose; full round cheeks; large, snarling lips covering a mouthful of surprisingly tiny teeth, like niblets of corn—that John Weber always wanted to punch, although the muscles bulging beneath and below the upturned short sleeves of Cal’s black T-shirt warned him to keep things nice and friendly. Cal was rumored to have put more than one man in the hospital during his days as a bouncer in a Miami nightclub, although he had no arrest record or outstanding warrants against him. At least none that John had been able to locate. “I was wondering if you’d seen Liana Martin in the last several days,” John said.
    “Liana Martin?” Cal’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the name.
    John pulled Liana’s picture out of his shirt pocket. He found it interesting that you could actually see the effort it took some people to think. Some, like Cal Hamilton, narrowed their eyes. Others scrinched their brows and pushedtheir lips into a lemon-sucking pout. Sometimes they tapped the tip of their nose. Sometimes they did all these things, in sequence or all at once. “Apparently, Chester’s is one of her favorite haunts.”
    “Really? Well, let’s have a look.” Cal took the picture, carried it over to the large bar area, and examined it under the red and gold neon lights. “Oh, sure. I recognize her. She comes in all the time with her friends.”
    “When was the last time you saw her?”
    Cal shook his head. A wave of blond hair fell across his wide forehead. “Weekend, I guess.”
    “Can you be more specific?”
    “Probably Saturday,” Cal said, after another narrowing of his eyes. “Why? Is she in some kind of trouble?”
    John thought he detected a note of hopeful anticipation in Cal’s voice, as if the notion of a young girl in trouble appealed to his baser instincts. He decided to give the man the benefit of the doubt. “Nobody’s seen her since yesterday afternoon.”
    Cal shrugged his indifference. “You know kids,” he scoffed, returning the picture to John’s waiting palm. “She’s probably shacking up with her boyfriend.”
    “Her boyfriend doesn’t know where she is.”
    Cal lowered his chin and raised his eyes, which John took to indicate skepticism. “Well, I don’t think I’d worry too much about her. My guess is she’ll be back in a couple of days. Mark my words.”
    John almost laughed. Did people really say things like
Mark my words
anymore? “I hope you’re right.”
    “You check with her friends?”
    An involuntary sigh escaped John’s lips. He and several deputies had spent the last two hours talking with most of Liana Martin’s friends. The answers to his questions were the same in every house they’d visited. No one had seen the girl since yesterday afternoon. No one had any idea whereshe might be. Everyone was worried. It wasn’t like Liana to take off without telling anyone, they all agreed.
    “Why don’t you let me treat you to a beer, Sheriff?” Cal was offering now. “You look like you could use a cold one.”
    John was about to decline the offer, then thought better of it. Cal was right. A nice, cold beer was exactly what he needed, and technically, he was no longer on duty. Officially, his day had ended when he’d left his office, and everything he’d done since then, the driving through the widely scattered residential streets and side roads of Torrance, the interviews with Liana’s friends and neighbors, had been on his own time. He’d called home once, but Pauline had refused