Midnight Crossroad (Midnight, Texas #1) by Charlaine Harris Page B

until someone comes.” She hung up.
    “Something wrong, Feej?” Bobo was walking toward her.
    That put some starch in her legs. She pulled away from Olivia and stood between Bobo and the cliff. “No,” she said. “No, you don’t come over here.” She picked out the nearest person. “Joe, don’t let anyone come over here,” she called.
    Simultaneously, Olivia said, “There’s a body.”
    Joe, looking bewildered, nonetheless heaved himself out of his stadium chair and went over to Bobo. He said, “Hey, man, let’s just stay here,” as he took Bobo’s arm. Bobo didn’t struggle, and he didn’t protest. His eyes met Fiji’s, and she knew he was reading the pity in her face. Bobo yanked free of Joe’s grip and inexplicably threw his beer bottle as hard as he could. Fiji watched the arc of white foam marking its trajectory. The bottle hit the ground and broke, and Bobo covered his face with his hands.
    After all, there was only one person missing from the county: Aubrey Hamilton.

10
    Y ou knew her, I guess,” Manfred said. He’d come to stand by Fiji when Olivia had walked away to explain to everyone what they’d just discovered. “I’ve only heard her name mentioned.”
    Together, he and Fiji looked down the gentle slope at the wizened, almost skeletonized, body. It was not white and clean like a laboratory skeleton; far from it. There were disgusting wads of hair around the skull, and tendons stretched like dead vines around the bigger bones. The smaller ones were scattered, some right around the corpse. Flying, walking, all the little predators of the area had come to visit Aubrey Hamilton’s remains. Her shoes were still there, which seemed pathetic. They were—had been—bright Zoot Sports running shoes. When Aubrey had told Fiji how much they cost, Fiji (who bought her shoes at Payless) had almost choked.
    “I did know her.” Fiji sighed heavily. “She started dating Bobo . . . maybe a little over a year ago, and she moved in about five months after that. More or less. Two months ago, she just vanished. Bobo came back from an overnight trip to Dallas, and she was gone.” Fiji looked around for Bobo. He was sitting in the cab of Teacher’s truck, leaning forward, his head resting on the dashboard. He was not crying. But what was he thinking? She could not guess.
    “She just left?” Manfred said. “Clothes and all?”
    “No ‘and all,’” Fiji said. “She’d left some stuff in the washing machine. She only took the clothes on her back . . .” She looked down the slope and she shuddered. “And the shoes on her feet.”
    “Did Bobo report it?”
    “Report what? That his girlfriend had left him? They would have laughed. But he did call after a week, because it was just weird that her stuff was there. She didn’t have a car, as far as we knew, but all her clothes and her hair straightener and her razor and even her toothbrush . . . who leaves stuff like that behind? The sheriff sent a deputy over to ask a few questions. He got her phone number and her parents’ information. But with no signs of a struggle and no phone calls or any communication, I guess there really wasn’t anything to go on.”
    “I see what you mean. Did Bobo
ever
hear from her?”
    Fiji said, “I have to sit down,” and they dragged a couple of the chairs to a spot in the shade. When she was slumped back into the chair, grateful to be off her feet, Fiji said, “To answer your question, no. Bobo never heard from her. At the time, I assumed she was being a bitch, putting Bobo through the most hell she could. But I see now how weird that was. You’d think she’d call to say, ‘Box up my stuff, send it to wherever. I just couldn’t stand the way you snore or grind your teeth or whatever.’ But she didn’t. She didn’t call any of us. Or send a letter. Or a text. At least, not that I’ve heard.”
    “Did she have any friends here? Or friends from before she moved in with Bobo?”
    Fiji looked at