The Mockingbird Murders - A John Riley Novel

Chapter 4 - Failure to Connect

Melissa Greaves double checked the address Riley had scribbled down and sighed. A coffee shop? Seriously? She needed a stiff drink, not a caramel mocha latte with sprinkles, dammit! It was if Riley wanted to torture her for sidetracking his day. Melissa shook off the flush of embarrassment and uneasiness as she recalled the

(evil)

cold dead eyes in the gaunt man's face, and the realization that Riley was tracking a killer.

Across the street, the neon sign of the Broken Drum bar beckoned, promising cheap, strong drinks with a side of squalor, perfect for Melissa's state of mind.

"Dammit," she swore and wheeled her luggage into the cafe. The place had charm and the gorgeous smell of roasted coffee beans and baking bread permeated the place. It was designed to make diners feel relaxed, more at home. It was the type of place that Angie loved to drag her whenever she got a chance.

Melissa settled into a seat inside the little cafe and dialed Weekes' number. She hadn't spoken to him in six hours and this wasn't right dammit. Where the hell was he?

Beep! CALL FAILED mocked Melissa Greaves from the screen.

She glared at the phone, barely resisting the urge to hurl the offensive device at the closest wall. It would have been stupid to destroy the only line of communication she had, but it would have been so satisfying. The owners of the cafe might not have appreciated her outburst. The image of "nice" that the cafe portrayed, so perfectly quaint and fiercely independent of the corporate touch didn't fit with people throwing phones at the wall. Classic REM played on the overhead speakers, somebody's idea of the perfect coffee shop mix.

Pain spiked through her forehead, the onset of yet another migraine. A stress headache. She rubbed at her brow, fighting the hopelessness that had been her constant companion for the past three days.

She stabbed the CALL button again. All she needed was for Weekes to pick up and tell her that everything was okay, that they had found Angie well and alive.

Beep! CALL FAILED taunted her again.

"Fuck!" she swore and let the phone clatter to the table. A man at the next table, attractive in the classic geeky, glasses-wearing, bearded way, lifted his gaze from his Macbook and glanced at her with concern, but she looked away, pretending not to notice. She didn't need anybody's judgment. What she needed was for Weekes to answer.

Melissa grabbed the phone and stabbed in a text message to Weekes.

- I found Riley. Call me back, please. I need to know what's going on.

She tossed the phone carelessly onto the table again, aware that she looked slightly insane, but not caring. Her sister was missing, dammit.

Melissa gritted her teeth and breathed out forcefully, fighting the rising emotion, the frustration of not knowing, but it was so damn hard. Weekes had been her island of sanity in the madness that had ensued after Angie had failed to make the call with their grandmother. He had been optimistic that it was probably nothing and had agreed to find Angie and give her a stern talking to, wherever she was. All along, Melissa knew in her gut that something was wrong. Angie was the one you could always count on while Melissa had always been the flighty one. Something wasn't right.

The last thing he had told her to do was to find John Riley, which she had done and now Weekes wasn't answering. It had all gone wrong somehow,

Melissa reached for the phone, knocked it with her hand and watched in horror as it skittered across the table and then off the edge— into the palm of the man at the next table. It would have fallen to the tiled floor, possibly shattering the screen just to add to her run of bad luck, but apparently he had the gift of fast reflexes.