“I’m leaving you a spare key. I trust you won’t use it to attack me in my sleep.”

  He tucks a strand of sandy brown hair behind his ear before glancing upward. Something cold and dangerous flickers in his beautiful eyes, causing a full-body shiver to ripple through my bones. “You shouldn’t joke about shit like that.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Sheepishly lowering my head, I start for the door. “Have a nice day, Theo.”

  Although I’d participated in several video calls with my new supervisor, Megan, I take an instant liking to her in person. She’s squarely built with no-nonsense, short white-blond hair and steely gray eyes that make me believe she doesn’t miss a thing. She wears a gray suit jacket over a plain white t-shirt and black leather pumps that brings the top of her head to my eye-level, and she walks with the stilted movements of a former jock. It’s not hard to picture her dominating either a volleyball or basketball court in her younger days—a stereotype that’s confirmed when she leads me inside a well-organized office with candid shots adorning the walls of her younger self in various stages of handling a basketball.

  “I played for Mankato State,” she says, motioning to the collage of pictures. “I would’ve tried out for the WNBA if it’d been a thing back in my day.”

  I grin back at her. “My dad played ball in college too. I inherited his height, but not his coordination. Still never missed a home game in the four years I attended USC.”

  She tosses me a knowing wink. “Basketball wouldn’t be the same without our fans.” She then settles in a chair behind a laminated desk containing a keyboard, monitor, pen, and stack of Post-its. “Have a seat, Sterling.”

  As I settle into one of the two navy blue arm chairs facing her desk, my eyes gravitate to a flyer pinned to a bulletin board directly behind her desk. Below a caption in bold letters that reads, “LEAVE YOUR PORCH LIGHTS ON FOR THE GIRLS OF KATO SO THAT THEY MAY FIND THEIR WAY HOME,” are faded pictures of several young girls. Printed in a heavy black, pixelated ink, it’s difficult to distinguish their features. From their rigid poses and the plain backgrounds behind them, I’d guess they were yearbook candids. Based on what I can distinguish of their hairstyles and clothing, the photographs appear to have been taken in the 1980s. Not only that, the font was obviously created with a dot matrix printer.

  A sensation of overwhelming dread pricks the base of my brain. “What’s this about ‘the girls of Kato’?” I ask, pointing to the flyer over her head.

  “Kato is what the locals call the city,” she explains, spinning in her office chair to study the flyer thoughtfully. “These girls started disappearing somewhere around a decade before I started working here…I believe around eighty-five, eighty-six.”

  “Did they ever find them?”

  “You know, I’m not really sure. It’s weird, because I never hear a single mention of these poor girls, and I wasn’t able to find anything about them on the web. I inherited this flyer with the office, and I’ve left it up all this time because I was hoping it would spark a conversation with someone who knows something.” She spins back around to face me with a puzzled expression. “I always said I was going to look into it, maybe check with the sheriff’s office, but my caseload is so immense that I never seem to have the time.”

  The scent of freshly mowed grass drifts through the cracked window behind Megan as my eyes linger on the pictures. Feeling queasy, I wrap my arms around my middle. How could so many girls have been forgotten? Did they all run away, or did something more dire happen? If someone was kidnapping young girls in the 1980s, surely their whereabouts would be accounted for some 30 plus years later. As Megan launches into my new list of duties, I make a mental note to do my own research.

  By the time I return home, exhausted and overwhelmed by my first day of training, there’s a handwritten note on the front door instructing me to enter through the back. As I make my way around the house, an old tune I faintly recall from an 80s movie blasts from an open window. I giggle as I step inside the house, thinking the song is a bit whimsical for a tough guy like Theo.

  I enter quietly, leaning against the kitchen cupboards and taking a moment to watch Theo work. Bent over on his knees in the center of my living room, he smooths a brown putty over a missing chunk in one of the planks. I rather enjoy the impressive way his muscular arms flex with every movement of the trowel before I notice he’s barefoot. Even more surprisingly, I find his long, lean toes to be incredibly sexy. They’re as deeply tanned as the rest of him, and his toenails are neatly trimmed.

  “I feel like I should change into spandex and leg warmers,” I call out over the music. “Maybe even crimp my hair.”

  Without so much as a flinch from my sudden intrusion, Theo calmly reaches out to silence the wireless speaker at his side before returning to his work.

  “You didn’t have to turn it off on my account.” Clicking my tongue, I toss my keys and purse on the counter. “My day was awesome, thanks for asking. How was yours?”

  “Productive,” he says. “Plumber said he should have your pipes fixed by the end of the week.”

  I roll my eyes to the ceiling, surprised he even bothered with an answer. “So, Mr. Conversationalist, I have another easy question for you. Did you grow up here in Mankato?” I ask.

  He twists around with a half-scowl. “Why do you wanna know?”

  “Today at work I saw a poster for some girls who went missing in the eighties. I wondered if you were here back then and maybe knew something about it. My supervisor didn’t seem to know much of anything, including whether or not they’d ever been found.”

  Expression blank, he turns away and quickly reorganizes his tools into orderly groups. “I’m heading out for the night,” he says before rising to his bare feet. “Stay off this part of the floor until morning.”

  It would seem I’ve touched on a sore subject. But why? Did he know those girls?

  “Do you want to stay for a drink?” I blurt as he’s slipping into his work boots by the back door. I’m as surprised by the offer as he appears to be when his lips twist with a frown. All at once uncomfortable, I begin to ramble. “I have a bottle of white wine. If you’re not into that, we could hit one of the local bars. We could even grab dinner somewhere…unless, of course, you already have plans. It’d be my treat.”

  With his back to me, he pauses. “I’ll be back early tomorrow, same as today.”

  When the door slams shut behind him, disappointment weighs heavy on my shoulders.

  I take a chance on a clean-looking pub at the edge of the downtown bars that boasts a large selection of food along with local beers. A massive Craftsman-style bar stretches through the center of it, adorned in classic oak pillars similar to those in my new house. A handful of older patrons fill various stools as well as several tables scattered around the building. As I settle into one of the stools at the bar, a middle-aged bartender hands me a menu.

  “Welcome to Pub 500,” she greets me with a warm smile. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”

  I immediately warm to her as she reminds me a bit of a friend back in L.A. with a punk faux hawk, ears filled with various piercings, and a full sleeve of black tattoos on her right arm with no clear theme. Plus there’s a twinkle in her eye that suggests she’s always ready for a good time. “I’ll take your lightest craft beer and whatever’s your favorite food item on the menu.”

  She quirks one brow. “You like pork?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Swiping the menu back out of my hands, she nods. “Perfect. I’ll be right back with your beer.” As I wait for her to return, I catch a few looks of interest from a group of lawyer-type guys in suits and ties gathered across the bar. Although a couple of them are cute enough and appear close to my age, I feel a major disconnect to every single one of them. At this point I’m more interested in friendship. Unless it’s Theo, my conscience reminds me.

  I scoff to myself as the bartender sets down my beer. Her dusty-rose painted lips twit with a wry grin. “Something funny?”

  “I’m just thankful I’m no longer a single girl living in L.A. The guys here don’t seem quite as aggressive.”

  “This place tends to attract a lot of older patrons and families.” The bartender glances over her shoulder at the group of suits cheering over a soccer game on TV. “The single ones are generally pretty harmless unless they’ve had too much to drink. It doesn’t mean we don’t get the occasional jerk who thinks he’s God’s gift to women.” Dramatically rolling her eyes, she offers her hand. “Beth Eichers.”

  I give her hand a firm shake. “Sterling Pruitt.”

  She releases my hand and laughs. “Ah. With a name like that, it’s no surprise you’re from L.A. What brings you to the land of ten thousand flakes?”

  “I’m not really sure yet.” Then my thoughts return to Theo and the missing girls. “But so far it’s been pretty interesting.” Wrapping my fingers around the cool pilsner glass, I narrow my gaze. “Where would you suggest I go to mingle with a younger crowd that isn’t necessarily just out for a hook up? I’m mostly interested in finding a friend or two who’d be up for causal drinks to wind down at the end of a long day.”

  “I’m probably a handful of years older than you, but I could totally be one of those friends,” Beth tells me in a scandalous whisper. She leans in closer, resting her forearms on the bar top. “I’ve lived here most of my life, and pretty much all of my friends are now married. Some even have rug rats. I personally haven’t found a guy worth sacrificing my independence for, but I suppose I’m always keeping an eye out for The One.” Smirking, she checks her smart watch. “If you can wait a little under an hour until my shift is over, I’d be more than happy to show you a few places.”

  I hold up my glass in salutation. “Here’s to our new friendship.”

  5

  JACKIE - 1986

  In the days that follow after J.R.’s argument with his dad, he spends every free moment of daylight at my side, as if afraid to be home alone. Although I’m glad for the extra time with him and wouldn’t want him to be lonely, school starts soon and I’m running out of time to pick up the supplies I’ll need from the church.

  One Thursday morning as I brush detangler through my freshly washed hair, J.R. lays on my bed, paging through a Tiger Beat magazine Diane had borrowed from the library and left on the couch. “This is so lame,” he tells me, turning the pages a little more aggressively. “Why do girls like this stuff?”

  Giggling, I set down my brush and plop onto the bed, peering over his shoulder to see an article about Corey Haim’s new movie. “I have no idea,” I lie, thinking Corey is actually pretty cute. I bite my lip thoughtfully. “There’s something I have to do this morning. By myself. Wanna meet later at the river?”

  He frowns. “Why do you have to go alone?”

  “Because,” I say with a dismissive shrug.

  “Whatever it is, I’ll come along and wait outside,” he decides, tossing the magazine onto the bed. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

  As I chew on my bottom lip, wondering if he wants to stay close to me because he likes me or because he’s worried I’ll disappear next, there’s a flash of movement at my doorway. I look up to see Diane holding the Polaroid instant camera that had been our grandma Anna’s.

  “Smile!” she sings.

  J.R. and I both look her way right as the flash goes off. My sister removes the film, fanning it through the air and giving me a mean look almost identical to the one my mom gives me when she’s mad.

  Sometimes it’s obvious that Diane and me have different dads. Her straight, shoulder-length raven hair, sides pulled back and secured on top of her head in a scrunchie Madonna-style, couldn’t be more opposite of my usually frizzy locks, and her face doesn’t have a single freckle like the mess of them I got from my dad. Diane’s tall and the bones in her shoulders stick out. I’m so short and chubby that one of the fifth grade girls once told me my mom should’ve named me Barney Rubble.

  Diane’s wide, sky-blue eyes staring a hole through me are the only thing that we have in common. “Mom would lose her shit if she knew there was a boy in your room!”

  My heartbeat thumps like a rabbit inside my throat. I don’t think my sister would tattle on me, but there’s no promises with her. It depends on her mood. “Good thing she isn’t here, DeeDee,” I say, knowing my nickname for her when I was a toddler will get under her skin. “Aren’t you supposed to be babysitting?”

  “Mrs. Jackson came home from work with the flu. And don’t call me that.” She tosses the picture onto my dresser and places one hand on her hip while glaring at J.R. “Like, who even are you?”

  “His name is J.R.,” I snap. I’m suddenly aware that they’re closer in age, and my sister’s ten times prettier than I’ll ever be. “He just moved here. He’s my friend.”

  A harsh laugh shoots from Diane’s lips. “You’re such a space cadet. Friends can be shared, you know.” She lifts her chin at him, her eyes sharp. Although the bruise around J.R.’s eye has faded a little, it’s starting to turn a gross shade of yellow. “Who’d you fight?”

  “None of your business,” he snarls at my side, fidgeting with the green and black Swatch watch on his wrist.

  Diane’s expression suddenly softens. “If it wasn’t a fair fight…like, if an adult hit you for whatever reason, you should tell one of your teachers when school starts. They’re trained to deal with that kind of thing.”

  An icky feeling tightens inside my chest when I remember what J.R. said about going to a foster home if his dad got into trouble. “Stop being a dweeb,” I tell her in an annoyed tone. “He told you, it’s none of your business. That means keep your big nose to yourself, Diane.”

  “Whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Are you two going to lay around here all day and suck face, or do you want to go do something fun?”

  I draw in a sharp breath. Suck face, as in kiss? As I open my mouth to tell her she’s disgusting, J.R. growls, “Whatever your sister and I do is also none of your damn business.”

  A nice kind of warmth spreads throughout all of my body and tingles at the tips of my limbs. I’ve had a crush on J.R. since the first time we met, and lately I’ve been starting to think that I might love him. Not in the way I love Diane or my mom, but the way a girl loves a boy. I’ve even dreamed about marrying him one day in a big wedding like Sam’s sister in Sixteen Candles.

  “Whatever you say.” Laughing in a mean sound, Diane spins around to leave. “I’m outta here. You two are lame.”

  “Wait!” J.R. hollers after her. “What did you have in mind for fun?”

  Diane arranges for us to hitch a ride to Skating World with our next-door neighbor when she reports for her afternoon shift. Karrie Schaumberg, a senior at West High School and one of Diane’s best friends, lives in a trailer by herself and juggles even more jobs than our mom—although I’m not exactly sure how many jobs she has at any given time and how many of which she either quit or was fired. For as long as I can remember, she’s had a shaggy haircut like Joan Jett and only wears something other than black when required for one of her jobs. She wears a lot of makeup too. Karrie is usually nice to me, but her rusty old Bronco stinks like mothballs and she drives like a maniac. For the hundredth time, I wish Diane would get another job so she could afford her own crappy car and we wouldn’t always have to bum rides off her friends.

  An hour before we’re supposed to meet Karrie, J.R. and I head down the block to the Lutheran church. When J.R. asks what it looks like inside, I reluctantly lead him through the empty chapel, knowing from experience it’s a shortcut to the gathering hall. There’s something about the faint musty odor of the place paired with high-pitched ceiling, colorful stained glass windows that stretch as far as the eye can see, and long oak pews neatly arranged that always settles my nerves.

  “This place is wicked cool,” J.R. says, neck cranked back to study the glass art. “Do you go to church here?”

  “No.” I’ve always thought it would be nice to belong to a place like this, but my mom says people who go to church think they’re better than everyone else. “Do you go to a church with your dad?”

  “We stopped going when my mom left.”

  When he’s done staring, I lead him the rest of the way. My heart sinks down to my feet when we step into the large room filled with empty tables and folding chairs. There isn’t a single school supply in sight.

  “Can I help you?” a deep, friendly voice asks.

  I spin around to face the man in black pants paired with a black button-down shirt, a little square of white tucked beneath the straight collar. With sandy brown hair cut short on the sides and wire-rimmed glasses that makes his hazel eyes pop, Pastor Babel possesses a welcoming look. His pale lips spread with a warm smile. “You’re Jackie, right? I remember you from last year.”

  “Yessir,” I say, feeling all at once painfully shy. I don’t want to admit why I’m there with J.R. standing next to me, even though the pastor has been really nice to me in the past.

  “Who’s your friend?” Pastor asks.

  “This is J.R.,” I say. “He just moved here with his dad.”

  The apples of the pastor’s cheeks rise, pushing his glasses high over his sandy eyebrows. “Nice to meet you, J.R. Are you here for school supplies as well?”

  J.R. shoots him a questioning look and warmth floods my cheeks. “No, just me.” I glance around the empty room. “Am I too late?”

  His smile fades. “I’m afraid the drive ended yesterday. I’m not exactly sure what the ladies have done with the few items leftover, but they must be around here somewhere. If you care to return tomorrow afternoon, I’m sure I can scrounge them up by then.” Hands clasped together, he glances between us. “You know, you could both come back on Saturday evening for the youth lock-in. We’re watching The Karate Kid and The Goonies. There will even be a popcorn machine, loaned to us by one of our parishioners. If you don’t own a sleeping bag, we can provide one.” His wide smile returns, aimed at J.R. “Are you and your father planning to become members of a congregation in the area, J.R.?”