“We should go back,” I say.
She nods. “Before they choose pulled-pork cornbread.”
“God forbid.”
When we return, the room has rearranged itself in our absence because outlaws can’t sit still without legal supervision. Legend is by the clubhouse bar, talking to Oaks and Royal. Brittany is holding the ribbon samples hostage. Becki has stolen my chair and is eating the honey butter cornbread like she’s a vacuum. Cider sits beside her, eyes on a small photo someone must have pulled from the box of old photos Legend was looking through to see if he found more evidence of Caroline Bell.
I slow.
The photo is old. Fire Pit, years back. A group of girls outside during some charity event, maybe. I recognize the banner in the background. Pearly Gates Food Drive.
Cider’s face is blank.
Too blank.
Royal sees it at the same time I do.
He moves toward her, but Becki touches his wrist and shakes her head.
Careful.
Cider holds the photo with both hands.
“I know her,” she says.
The room goes quiet.
Legend turns from the bar.
I step closer. “Who?”
Cider points to a girl in the picture. Brown hair. Thin face. Maybe fourteen or fifteen. Smiling like someone told her to.
“I don’t know her name,” Cider whispers. “But I know her.”
Royal’s voice is soft enough to be terrifying. “From where?”
Cider’s breathing changes.
Her fingers tighten on the photo.
“There was a room,” she says. “Not here. Somewhere with blue walls. She cried at night. Someone called her Mercy, but I don’t think that was her name.”
Becki goes pale.
The missing girls.
Legend’s eyes meet mine.
There are no wedding plans now.
Only the old rot again.
Pearly Gates.
Missing girls.
Cider’s missing years.