Dreamveil by Lynn Viehl Page A

kill him.
    It was a pity, Dansant thought, that he was already dead.
    “Whadayawanmista?”
    Meriden glanced at the menu board over the counter. “Large black coffee and a bow tie.”
    The tired-eyed girl nodded, cracking her gum as she punched the picture keys on her register. “Three-ohseven.”
    He handed her four bucks. “Keep the change.”
    She worked up a smile for him. “Thanks.” After she’d poured and handed him his coffee, she went to the doughnut racks. “Oh, crap. Mister, the bow ties aren’t out yet.”
    Which was why he’d ordered one. “I’ll be sitting over there.” He nodded to a corner table.
    “Yeah, okay.” She turned to the next customer. “Whadayawanlady?”
    Meriden sat down and sampled the coffee, which was drinkable, and took out his notepad and the photo of Alana King. When the counter girl walked over with his bow tie wrapped in a two-sided bag, she saw the photo.
    “That your daughter? She’s cute.”
    “No, this is a girl I’m looking for.” He checked the counter, which was clear. “She was seen here getting some coffee.”
    “Kid that age?” She folded over her bottom lip. “I don’t think so. I’d remember selling coffee to a little one.”
    “She’s older now. About sixteen.”
    The counter girl glanced back before she sat down across from him. “Is this that missing kid? I talked to a couple detectives about her.” She gave him a suspicious look. “You a cop, too?”
    “Private investigator.” He showed her his identification and license. “I’m working for her father.”
    “Runaway, huh?” She grimaced. “The cops don’t care much about missing kids unless they’re real young. So what do you want to know?”
    “According to a witness who saw her here, you waited on her. She bought a small coffee, and you gave her a muffin.” He saw the uneasiness in her eyes. “It’s okay, I’m not going to say anything to your manager. I just wanted to know why.”
    “If it’s the girl I think you mean, she’s a street kid. You know, living out there.” She grimaced. “I’m not supposed to give out stuff, but it’s hard, you know, when they look at stuff on the racks, and they pay in nickels and pennies, and you know they ain’t got enough to get something else.” She looked down at the table as if she was ashamed. “My ma, she says they can go to a soup kitchen or a church any time, but I can’t help it. I mean, a muffin, come on, it’s not a big thing. And she buys something every time she comes in.”
    “She’s been here more than once.”
    The counter girl nodded. “She comes in regular, late at night. Maybe a couple times a month.”
    “Is there anything else about her you can tell me?” When she shrugged, he added, “Does she always leave in the same direction?”
    “I’m sorry, I just don’t look after they leave the counter.”
    “If you remember anything else”—he slid one of his business cards across the table—“give me a call. Anytime.”
    “Sure.” Her expression turned dubious.
    “One more thing.” He slid a ten across the table. “A muffin is something, and you’re a good person.”
    “Yeah.” She offered him a genuine smile. “I just wish it was enough.” She pocketed the ten and went back to work.
    Meriden worked the area for the rest of the morning, questioning the merchants with businesses around the coffee shop, and making no headway on the case. He grabbed a sandwich before he went to the garage, where he intended to put in a couple of hours before he called it a day.
    Rowan Dietrich’s bike sat at the back of his bay, delivered there by a tow-truck driver who owed him a favor. He resented it like everything else Dansant stuck him with, but the sooner he got it repaired, the sooner the girl would be on her way.
    He didn’t like her living in his back pocket, but he had to admit she had a sweet ride. He’d spent a lot of time biking when he’d lived overseas, both for convenience and to save money. A