Page 52 of Lost and Found

“It is.”

“What are you doing—Mr. Wes, Grandma says I have to say. What are you and Mr. Wes doing?”

Bailey would bet Wes probably liked Mr. Wes as much as he liked Mr. Wilder. “We’re going out to grab some food.”

“I hope you have pizza with sauce and cheese.”

“Maybe we will. What are you going to do for the rest of the night?”

“Take another bath, and Grandpa said he’s going to tell me about mutual funds as a bedtime story.”

Bailey rolled her eyes so hard Wes laughed. “Well, that’ll definitely put you to sleep. All right, honey. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

“Can I say something to Wes…I mean, Mr. Wes?”

That caught her off guard. Bailey put the call on speaker. “Wes can hear you.”

“Hey, bud. What’s going on?”

“We took so many videos of animals on Mrs. Lacey’s phone, and she said she’d let you watch them so you can figure out what animals say.”

“Like an elephant? Ribbit. Ribbit.”

“No! Oh, sorry. I’m not supposed to yell. Bye!”

The call ended. Bailey was still laughing. “I feel like Kimbra Cosgrove was trying hard with pizza tonight.”

“It didn’t work?”

“According to Matt, no sauce. No cheese. Oil and lunch meat called poop. Prosciutto.” She shook her head. “Are you ready?”

“We’re on the waitlist for the fish fry place. If we leave now and walk over, it’ll be about the time they’re ready to seat us.”

Ocean air wrapped around them as they walked the short distance to the restaurants and tourist attractions. The thick crowd and busy atmosphere helped ease them back to the familiar casualness they’d had before that little moment in her hotel room.

True to the fish fry restaurant’s word, “Mr. Wilder, party of two,” was called within three minutes of their arrival.

Wes made a face at being called that.

“You really don’t like being called Mr. Wilder.”

“Mr. Wilder’s my dad, and I’m sure as hell not that guy.”

“Got it.” Dad was definitely a touchy subject. She gave him a moment to tack on an explanation, but he followed the hostess like he’d been assigned to keep her safe from assassin tourists.

The air-conditioned space smelled of delicious hush puppies and fries, shrimp and fish, and the atmosphere was an irreverent mess of fun. It was exactly what they needed.

The waitress arrived, waters on a tray, ready to take their order. This place turned over tables quickly, and Bailey relished not having time to dwell on the hotel-room moment. She ordered a fried flounder sandwich. Wes asked for a fried shrimp platter.

“There were a huge number of security cameras at Jennifer’s house,” Wes said.

“She had every angle covered, didn’t she? I wondered if that was an anxiety held over from Caitie’s death but thought the question would be too invasive. Too personal.”

His eyebrows arched. “After everything we talked about?”

“If she does it to feel safe, I’m not going to share that with the world.”

“Even if that detail would add more color to Caitie’s story when you tell it?”