Prologue

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"Hey, hey, hey," sang Gracie.

Clara walked around her sister and set the end table down in the living room of the new townhouse they bought together. They'd brought all their belongings with them from Bozeman, except the furniture they purchased in St. John's, Oregon, and had delivered that morning.

Gracie kept singing. "Blow my mind."

"Stop already." Clara thrust her fingers into her hair and groaned. "Ever since the road trip here, you've been singing Train songs."

Her sister hitched her shoulder. "They're catchy."

"The dog next door thinks so, too. I heard it howling with you earlier." Clara pointed at the brown leather couch in the middle of the room. "I think the couch needs to sit on that side of the room. Not against the wall, because I want to be able to walk behind it, but it should face the front window. That way we can put the television in the corner where the cable hookup is when we buy one."

Gracie pushed against the couch, barely budging it. "Help me move it."

Together, they heaved the couch into position. When they found the perfect spot, Clara flopped down and patted the cushion beside her. "Sit and rest."

"Are your muscles sore?" Gracie sat down and stretched her legs out, rubbing her thighs.

"Like a bitch." Clara lifted her arms. "Especially my shoulders. Bringing the mattresses up the stairs made me sore and then to help put all the booths in the bar afterward about killed me."

"I can't believe we've done so much in the two days the bar was closed and we'll open tomorrow. The customers won't be inconvenienced at all." Gracie yawned.

"They probably won't even notice the new décor as long as there is beer." Clara yawned, too, and slapped Gracie's leg. "Now you've got me yawning. At least everything is done at home."

"Not everything." Gracie looked at her. "We still need to meet the bikers and get close to them."

Clara sighed. She hadn't forgotten, though she would like to forget.

Ever since their dad died unexpectedly from a brain aneurysm two years ago and they learned their mother hadn't died a natural death like they'd been told but had been kidnapped and murdered twenty-four years ago, both their lives had changed.

In the middle of mourning their dad, they had to accept what happened to their mother. Being only five years old when she was killed, they barely remembered her. Over the years, they'd built the memory of their mom into something of a fairy tale. A sad fairy tale.

Sometimes, Clara wondered what they'd be doing if they never would've opened the renewal notice for a safety deposit box from St. John's Community Bank their dad received in the mail a week after his death.

Their curiosity over why their dad would keep a secret box in a town for more than twenty years after they'd moved to Bozeman sent them road tripping to Oregon. It'd taken a death certificate and proof from their lawyer that they were executors of their dad's estate to gain access to the contents.

Clara wound her hair up on the top of her head and used the rubber band around her wrist to keep her hair off her warm neck. "Let's say the bikers do continue coming into the bar after they realize we're the new owners and we get close to them, what then?"

"The newspaper articles and even the police have said the Notus Motorcycle Club helps find missing persons," said Gracie.

"Mom's not missing."

"But, she was." Gracie leaned forward and cradled her head. "The police said she's a cold case. We have to go outside the police and find an independent group to find mom's killer and make the man pay. The bikers have been searching for missing people for a long time. Not long enough to have worked on mom's case, but they know what kidnappers do and what their motives are by the type of crime they commit. Our best bet at finding the man responsible for mom's death is hiring Notus Motorcycle Club."

"Okay, let's say the biker club finds out who killed mom and they give us a name." Clara swallowed, hating the thought of what their mom went through. "We've already talked about how the police department won't help unless they have evidence linking the person to the crime. Any verbal acknowledgement or whatever the bikers can get out of the man is just hearsay and wouldn't be able to be used as proof to a crime that happened twenty-four years ago. How are we supposed to live knowing who the killer is and he's out there living life? That doesn't help us at all. It certainly doesn't bring any peace knowing mom's killer never paid for the crime."

"What do you think the bikers do if they catch someone who harmed a woman? Notus members might help the police out and return the abducted woman to the family, but they're bikers. People disappear in the biking community all the time, and no one ever finds out." Gracie raised her brows. "We have ten thousand dollars left after buying the bar. They can have it all if they get rid of him."

"Sh. Don't say that." Clara flinched, feeling nauseous. "We'd be as guilty as the murderer. We both agreed that we'd decide what we'd do with the information we received if Notus Motorcycle Club managed to find mom's killer."

"We will, but he took our mom from us. A person who kidnaps, rapes, and murders someone should be dead." Gracie reached out and held Clara's hand. "Mom didn't deserve losing us, losing Dad, losing her life. We didn't deserve losing our mom. Doesn't it eat away at you knowing nobody paid for taking her away from us?"

She nodded, hanging onto her sister for strength. For the last two years after learning the truth surrounding their mother's death, she'd thought of nothing else than getting justice for a crime that should never have happened.

"We're not part of the biker's..." Clara let go of Gracie and made air quotes with her fingers. "...community. They could turn us into the police, or the police could link us to the murder. Murder by association or intent. I don't know. We could go to prison for what you're suggesting. We can't just go up to the bikers and ask them to find someone and give them money to make that person go away. That's a business transaction, and we'll be the guilty ones for anything they do. It's a crazy idea."

"We'll go slow." Gracie stood and pulled Clara to her feet. "First we'll get on friendly terms with the bikers. You never know, they might have another purpose than finding missing persons. The good Samaritan act could be a cover to go after the sick perverts who kidnap people, and we won't have to say anything more to them."

Clara gawked at her sister. Gracie spoke the words, she thought and was too afraid to say. Normal people wouldn't go around wishing someone dead. "The bikers are going to think we're both crazy."

"Bikers are threatening and dangerous. They have no morals." Gracie lifted her brows. "We only need to have them agree to find mom's killer. What they do or don't do if they succeed...well, we'll decide what to do when the time comes."

"You honestly think the bikers perform some kind of vigilant service to the community?" Clara scoffed. "You always tell me I'm the one who doesn't face reality. I think you need to go to bed, get some sleep, and wake up in the morning ready to start our new life as bar owners in a new town."

Gracie let go of Clara's hand. "Good idea. Maybe the bikers will show up for a beer."

"Give it a rest for one night." Clara walked into the kitchen. There was no harm in talking. They had a right to hate the person who killed their mom. Besides, the chances were slim that the killer was even out there. He could be dead or in prison for a different crime. It had been twenty-four years ago when the crime happened. In all likelihood, the man who killed their mom would be in his fifties or sixties.

Her and Gracie were too young and oblivious about the crime at the time. She felt, along with her sister, that now that they were older and aware of what happened they needed to do something to honor their mother. They couldn't sit back and accept their mom's death went unpunished.

"I'm going to take a shower before I go to sleep," said Gracie. "Night. Love you."

"Love you, too, sis." Clara yawned. "I’m going to double check the doors to make sure we locked them."

Walking to the front door, she looked back at the living room. They'd worked hard, and the townhouse was beginning to look like home, though it still felt like they were living in someone else's house. She yawned, covering her mouth. The unsettled feelings made her nervous. Maybe the unfamiliar surroundings had to do with being afraid to live in the town where her mother had disappeared and was later murdered.

Unknown to them, her dad had moved her and Gracie away immediately after their mom's body was discovered. Growing up in a different town, a different state, she was taught how to be street smart and to always stay with her sister. She walked to the back of the house and checked the door to the garage. As long as she had Gracie, they'd be okay.