Resolution: Evan Warner Book 1 by Shawn Underhill, Nick Adams Page B

be a minute and walked around the front of the building to the main entrance. Lucy’s flyer was still there, on the wall above the row of shopping carts. She was surrounded by several other missing children, deadbeat dads, and quite a few wanted persons. There was even a missing dog. A boxer named Simon. Someone was willing to pay four grand to get him back.
    For a long minute I just stood there staring at Lucy’s picture. People were walking behind me on their way in and out of the store. Most of them were talking loud over the noise of shopping carts rattling and clanking. But I was able to block everything out and just focus on Lucy.
    I got out my phone and took a picture of the flyer. That way I wouldn’t have to return to Trenton the next time I wanted to see it. There was no telling how much longer it would be there.
    Then I entered the store and walked around for maybe fifteen minutes, trying to remember if there was anything I needed. Nothing jumped out at me. So I made my way back to the exit.
    I stopped in front of Lucy’s flyer again. It felt like an involuntary act. For a minute or two I stood there staring all over again. Everything else went away. It occurred to me that if Laney had been with me, she would have said something like, “You’re doing that weird staring thing again.” Or, “Earth to Evan!” Whenever I’m really focused on something, she gets freaked out by my thousand-mile stare.
    Then someone stepped up beside me. I looked to my right and saw a girl. Or a young woman. Whatever. I’ve never been sure of the cutoff line. She was about average height. Maybe five six at most. Slender and young-looking. Athletic. Not a bad looking girl. Not bad at all. Maybe early twenties at most. Maybe a college girl. She was wearing black leggings and a fitted tee that came down just below her hips. Her hair was a layered mix of platinum blonde and raven black. An intensive dye job. Like she wanted to stand out a little without taking it to the extreme. I couldn’t tell at a glance if she was wearing light makeup or if she just had nice features.
    She went up to the bulletin board. Took down the missing dog flyer. Replaced it with a new one. She took a step back and stared at it for a moment. Then she looked over at me.
    “You’re a dog person,” she said. Not a question.
    “Am I?”
    “You’ve got dog hair on your shirt.”
    I looked down at myself. My right shoulder had Frank’s Chewbacca hair on it. I didn’t bother to brush it off. No point.
    “What kind of dog?” she asked.
    “Leonberger.”
    “Oh.”
    “Ever heard of it?”
    “No.”
    “He’s a big furry beast. Sort of like a St. Bernard. Darker face, slightly longer snout. Lots of brown hair and less drool.”
    “Less drool is always good.”
    “You know it.”
    She nodded firmly, like we had just settled a great issue. Then we were quiet a moment.
    “Were you looking at my Simon’s flyer?”
    “I saw him there, yeah.”
    “Isn’t he adorable? All goofy and droopy-faced.”
    I said, “Sorry you lost him.”
    “Oh, I didn’t lose him. Someone stole him right out of my car.”
    I turned her way. We made eye contact.
    “You’re kidding.”
    She shook her head. “Nope. It’s my bad for leaving the car unlocked. But still, they just took him. Can you believe that crap?”
    I didn’t answer. I believed it, all right. Just didn’t like hearing it.
    “But,” she resumed, “I’ll get him back. I just raised the reward again. Five grand, no questions asked. I just keep telling myself that it’ll work. Sooner or later he’ll be back home where he belongs.”
    “When did this happen?”
    “Two weeks ago Friday night. Two miserable weeks.”
    “Sorry,” I said. And I genuinely meant it. I’d be inconsolable if something happened to Frank. Then I’d do terrible things. Maybe burn whole cities to find out who took him. And when I did find them, I’d make them very, very sorry. Years later, psychology students would read