Trix laughed. “Rowan? You know, as much as I’d like to see him get into trouble and bring his ego down in flames, I just don’t see him being involved with anything that would actually take real balls to pull off. No, my guess is that nobody at Hollister had anything to do with Ashton missing.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because probably some perv stalker grabbed her. Someone she never even knew.”
So I’m like, “Is that what you think really happened to your friend’s sister in California?”
But Audrey goes, “Dylan, don’t bring that up. She probably doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s all right,” Trix said. “Actually, Dylan’s right. I met that pool guy they arrested for it. I just couldn’t see him doing something like that. He was kind of dumb, but he was sweet. As far as I’m concerned, it was probably just some random guy. That’s the way the world is, you know? It doesn’t always make sense. It’s just a bunch of randomness whirling around.”
“Wow,” Audrey said. “That’s pretty deep.” She looked so love struck I couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her. I’d been there before with Jennifer Roberts in ninth grade, to no avail.
“Well,” I said, “we’re not just looking at Hollister kids. We have some other leads too.” I went on to explain about Ashton’s charity work and how it took her to some pretty sleazalacious neighborhoods. “In fact, after coffee, we’re planning on heading to FOKC headquarters to see if we can find out exactly where Ashton used to deliver meals. You want to come with?”
Trix’s eyes brightened. “That sounds like an adventure,” she said. “And I love adventures.”
CHAPTER 21
For the drive to FOKC headquarters, we took Trix’s sweet silver BMW. It wasn’t as luxurious as Nash’s Lexus, but it had its own kind of flair. I hated to be wishy-washy, but I had to seriously consider whether I was actually more of a BMW man after all. There was no doubt something like this would look tasty sitting in a parking spot in front of school next year. I wondered if they made them in red.
I rode in the backseat while Audrey sat up front with Trix. Mostly they chatted while I kept my mouth shut. They actually had quite a bit in common—musical artists, taste in fashion, books. Trix was even impressed that Audrey wanted to be a high-art-style photographer. She wished she could be an artist, but so far she hadn’t found something she was that good at. I was glad they were getting along. You never want to see your friends put their hearts out there just to get trampled on.
We finally found the building we were looking for a couple blocks west of the bus station and not too far from the homeless shelter. The BMW definitely stood out in the middle of these dilapidated surroundings. If Ashton had to deliver meals in a neighborhood even worse than this, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go there.
Inside, the place wasn’t so bad. They’d fixed it up to look cheery and hopeful. Earlier in the week, I’d contacted FOKC and set up a time to come in and talk about delivering meals to the disadvantaged or whatever they go by these days. Nobody was there to greet us, though. I called out a hello, and shortly a woman in a pastel-blue pantsuit appeared from a hallway. At first she looked confused to see us, but when I explained about our appointment, her face burst into a sunny smile.
“You must have talked to Linda,” she said. “Come on back.”
We followed her to a small office where a little gray-haired lady sat behind a cluttered desk. The lady was talking on the phone and held up a finger, a signal for us to wait until she finished. When she hung up, the pantsuit lady explained who we were, and Linda smiled and asked us to sit down. There were only two chairs, so I stood while Audrey and Trix settled into their seats.
“I thought there were only going to be two of you,” Linda said. “But the more the merrier.” She tapped at her keyboard, bringing something up on the computer. “Let’s see—you were the ones interested in taking over Ashton’s route until she comes back.” She looked up at us. “And we all know she will be coming back, don’t we?”
“Definitely,” I said. “No doubt. But—”
“Okay, then, we’ll put you right to work.”
What I was getting ready to say, before she cut me off, was that I never mentioned anything about actually taking over Ashton’s route. I just wanted to talk about it. Maybe get a list of who she delivered to. But for a little five-foot-nothing lady with a slight hunchback, this Linda was a real go-getter. Never letting me get in a word, she popped up from her desk and led us to the back room where the meals were being prepared. Audrey and Trix gave me looks like, What’s going on? But all I could do was shrug.
The back room was a regular meal factory—part kitchen and part assembly line. There were probably thirty people flocked around two long tables, putting sandwiches together and stuffing them into white foam containers. A lot of the volunteers looked to be retired, mostly old ladies, but there was also a sprinkling of old men, along with a few teenage girls. None of them looked like they came from the same kind of rich neighborhood that Ashton came from.
“We do three meals a week,” Linda said. “Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Hot meals are only on Wednesdays. Let’s find you a place at the table so that you can start putting your meals together. Then I’ll go over your route with you. Usually, we like to send teens out with an adult, but with a big boy like you, Dylan, I don’t think we need to worry. Do you know the city streets pretty well?”