The few bites of pepperoni roll I managed after the open-faced hot turkey sandwich that took up the entire plate were indeed delicious. My appetite had been MIA for a couple of months as had my motivation to go to the gym. Consequently, my strength and energy were waning. My physique, once a source of pride, had withered in the mirror.

Maybe a pepperoni roll or two would be my path back to the gym, back to life.

Scarlett slapped my hand when I reached for my wallet. She paid at the cashier stand and chatted with Clarabell about a softball game that sounded more like a competitive drinking match.

Clarabell gave me a wink and a finger wiggle before making her rounds down the line of booths.

I reached for the door to hold it for Scarlett, but she paused just inside the door at the community bulletin board. She tapped the pads of her fingers to the name on a MISSING PERSON poster. From the looks of it, the poster was old.

“Who’s that?” I asked, staring at the black and white photo of a teenage girl.

Scarlett’s pretty mouth opened in a perfect O. “Granny Louisa didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

She ducked out the door and tugged me with her.

“There are two things Bootleg is famous for,” she lectured, slipping back into tour guide mode. “Bootlegging and the disappearance of Callie Kendall.”

I frowned. The name sounded familiar. Vaguely.

“Callie’s family summered here. Her parents still do. Callie went missing right here in Bootleg twelve years ago this summer.”

“As in kidnapped? Murdered?”

Scarlett slapped a hand over my mouth and glanced over her shoulder. “You hush now unless you want to get in an hour-long debate on all the conspiracy theories Bootleggers have.”

We got back in her truck. And I noticed the marked difference between arriving at the diner and leaving it. I felt steadier. More connected. Interested. Just listening to Scarlett was like a lifeline to the living.

She had so much energy. It was hard to remain numb around her. Despite the fact that her father had died a week ago, she was the one comforting me.

“So, what happened to Callie?” I was curious about the story, but if I were to be honest, I just wanted Scarlett to keep talking.

“Well, no one knows for sure. It was just another summer day. We were at the lake until dark. Everyone scattered to go home for supper. She never made it. Somewhere between the lake and the springs, she vanished.” Scarlett pulled onto the street and circled the block. Tidy brick buildings with colorful store fronts and funny names on their signs lined the street.

“You knew her?” I asked.

“Sure. She was two years older than me, and I wanted to be just like her. She was always so smart and fun. Always had cool clothes. And I was just… well, me.”

I had a feeling no one else on the planet would think of Scarlett in those terms at any point in her life. “Just me” didn’t do her justice.

“And no one ever found her? Were there any suspects?”

Scarlett shrugged. “The local cops talked to just about every adult in town about their whereabouts and whatnot. Callie’s parents came forward and said that she suffered from some depression, some mental issues. I think they believed she’d up and run off or…”

Scarlett wrinkled her nose and stared through the windshield.

“Suicide,” I filled in for her.

“Yeah.”

“What do you think?”

Scarlett laughed. “Everyone’s got their theories. There’s the ‘murdered by a drifter’ theory. Then there’s the ‘ran off with a boy’ theorists. Some think it was politically motivated. Her daddy’s a judge, so some people think one of his rivals took her. Mostly everyone else agrees with her parents.”

“But you don’t?” I guessed.

Scarlett shook her head. “It may be a little hero worship coloring my memories, but Callie was a steady kind of person. Empathetic, thoughtful. She wasn’t the type to just pick up and leave. I never saw any signs of mental shenanigans. Maybe some anxiety, a little fear. But nothing that was a red flag for me.”

“Do you think she’s dead?”

Scarlett chewed on her bottom lip. “I don’t want to believe that. I’d like to think that she ran away to join the circus or make movies or something. But it’s been so long with no word. I don’t know what other answer there is.”

“Twelve years, and you still have the posters hanging up,” I observed.

Scarlett shot me a grin. “We have trouble lettin’ go of the past around here. Besides, we want Callie’s parents to know she was never forgotten. They may only summer here, but that doesn’t mean they’re not part of the Bootleg family.”

“Loyalty or an inability to move on?” I asked.

“Little bit of both. The fact is she was just a good girl from a good family who disappeared. And if I think too long about the fact that I’ll never know the answer, I go crazy and start coming up with harebrained explanations. I don’t know if Callie is alive out there or not. But I like to imagine her alive and well and having a real good time.”

“What do your brothers think happened to her?”

“Gibson thinks she was murdered and dumped in the lake, but he’s a Suzy Sunshine like that. I don’t know about Bowie and Jame. Bowie always wants to believe the best in people, and no one ever knows what Jameson’s thinking.”

“I bet people usually know what you’re thinking,” I teased.

“I don’t see much point in sittin’ around keepin’ my mouth shut. Life’s too short.” She clammed up immediately as if the reminder was directed at herself. Her father’s life had been too short.

I reached across the console and squeezed her arm. Her frame was so small that it was still a surprise to me. It seemed like such a personality would need a bigger container. “Thanks for everything today, Scarlett.”

She brightened. “Just bein’ neighborly.”

I dropped my hand. But she leaned over and squeezed my knee. “You’re gonna be all right, Dev. Bootleg will fix you up, and you won’t even remember that dumbass ex-wife’s name by the time we’re done with you.”

“I feel like you’re threatening me with blackout drunkenness.”

“Well, you are in the home of the best moonshine in the state. I’ve got my great-granddaddy’s recipe, and I just might be willing to spare a mason jar for a neighbor who needs to forget.”

“It’s not the stuff that’ll make me go blind, is it?”

She snorted. “That only happened on the first couple of batches. My great-granddaddy was real sorry about it, too.”

“You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“Little bit.”