The Nobody Girls (Kendra Dillon Cold Case Thriller Book 3) Rebecca Rane (ereader for comics .TXT) 📖

area too. While it was all on the edge of seedy, Kendra admitted that for someone on the road all the time, this was its own manner of refuge.

The man behind the counter looked old enough to remember the 1980s, so she plunged in, tape recorder on.

“Hi, I’m Kendra Dillon. I’m investigating a cold case murder from way back. Could I ask you a few questions?”

“I didn’t do it.”

“Ha, well, case closed,” Kendra said.

The man wore a vest over a t-shirt. The t-shirt hung off him. He had thick brown hair, but Kendra suspected it was died that color. She’d also not be surprised if there was a hair dye aisle in this place.

“How long have you worked here?”

“Longer than you’ve been alive.”

“So, I’m doing a story on the murder of Sincere Anderson, she was a sex worker. She worked here and a few other places along the highway.”

“Sex worker? How politically correct of you. We run a clean place. There’s none of that here.”

Kendra stared him down. She looked at his name. It was embroidered on the vest.

“Eugene, I don’t want to cause you any trouble. I’m just trying to tell her story.”

“Sounds to me like you’re poking around where you shouldn’t.”

“Did the FBI ever interview you? Sincere was one of a couple of women found in a garbage bag. It’d be something you’d never forget.”

“Yeah, they did. And they moved on. I suggest you do the same. Unless you’re buying those chips.”

Kendra lifted a bag of spicy chips out of the counter display, and Eugene rang them up.

“Good for you, puts hair on your chest.” Eugene thought his banter was enjoyable. It wasn’t. The stark reality was that the odds were tiny of finding anyone who saw or remembered anything from forty years ago. It was why cases stayed cold. New crimes at least had living witnesses, heck they had DNA, they had security cameras. Talkng to Eugene did not equal a crack in this case.

She paid him and then left the items on the counter. She didn’t even want the damn chips.

Kendra walked out to the parking lot and looked around. The most likely scenario for Sincere and Linda Kay was that they got into the wrong vehicle. There were long-haul truckers, business travelers, day-trippers. None of it would seem out of place here. A beer truck rolled in and pulled up along the side of the main building. Not only were there travelers stopping in for food or gas, but there were also deliveries. She imagined several trucks a day for that as well.

Finding a suspect in all this had to be near impossible, even for the FBI, much less now, decades later.

She was disheartened and wondered if this was a waste of time. It felt lonely here. It probably always did. It made you see how it was possible for Sincere and Ophelia to pick up a steady stream of clientele in places like this.

“Kendra! Miss Dillon!”

A man was calling to her from the cab of a huge rig parked closest to the building.

“Yes, hello.”

“I remember her,” the man said. “I know what story you’re doing.”

“You do?”

“Yep, been coming here a long time. It’s very, very sad.”

Kendra took a step closer to the rig. She was at the low point, and then this. Maybe this wasn’t a waste of time.

“You knew Sincere?”

“Oh, not like that. I have a steady woman back home. She’d not appreciate it. But you know, a lot of fellows do. I mind my own business. Best policy.”

“What do you remember about the incident?”

“Here, come on up. I’m happy to tell you what I know.”

Kendra hesitated a moment. Was it wise to get in this guy’s truck?

“Oh, wow, sure—I mean, I don’t want to scare you. I apologize. I have to get rolling out anyway.” With that, the man rolled up his window.

Kendra decided she needed to take advantage of this opportunity. So far, there weren’t many avenues in this case. Maybe this was one. Maybe she could find a link in the chain. She muscled down her apprehension and forged ahead.

“Hey, no, hang on! I would like to hear.” She walked around to the other side of the truck. The driver pushed it open. Kendra climbed in. This was no easy task for her. The door handle was above her head. The step-up was huge for her height. But she navigated it, and as she got in, the door swung shut. “I, uh, I’d like to know what you remember.”

“Yeah, Sincere, Sincerely.” The truck driver sang the old tune.

“I’d like to record our interview.” Kendra fished her digital recorder from her bag.

“Well, nothing in life is free, is it?” The trucker gestured with his eyes at his dashboard.

Kendra followed his eyes to a bumper sticker slapped on the dash: Grass, Cash, or Ass. No one rides for free.

“Look, I’m a journalist. I’m not here –” The trucker grabbed her arm to pull her closer. “Let me go!” she yelled and smacked the side of his head at the temple with her digital recorder.

“Dammit!”

“Did you even know Sincere?”

“I heard you in there talking to the clerk, you stupid, c—”

Kendra didn’t listen for the rest. She grabbed the handle and leaped from the cab. She landed on her knees, not her feet. But she scrambled up and took off at a run. Her knees were both bleeding, she knew that, but she didn’t care. She made it to her Jeep. And once in, she engaged the locks.

Only then did she look back.

The trucker was making an obscene gesture at her with his mouth and fingers. Kendra started her engine and hit the gas pedal.

This hadn’t been a waste of time. It had been an eye-opener about how dangerous and raw places like this could be. She realized it only took one wrong move to cost you your life.

Sincere, Linda Kay, the High Timbers Jane Doe—they’d learned it too.

But too late.

Chapter 14

Kendra didn’t tell Shoop or anyone else about her near-miss with the