“Do you know when these were found?”
The woman pulled out a sheet of folded paper from an envelope taped to the lid and read. She pointed to the Motorola. “Octubre veintiuno.” Then, she pointed to the Android. “Cinco de noviembre.” Then, the iPhone. “Siete de noviembre.”
Cassidy did the math and ruled out the Motorolla, both because of the date it was found and its design. Reeve would have a smartphone—if he hadn’t sold it for drugs.
She looked at the remaining two. The Android was in a scuffed, black case. The iPhone’s case was a sunset design: overlapping bright orange, pink and creamy white clouds wrapped around a mountain.
“Where was this one found?” Cassidy asked the woman.
She consulted her list again, and squirmed. She looked again at the door. “There was a stabbing. It was found in the dumpster behind the Uno station.”
Cassidy wanted to drop the phone like it was contagious. “Who was stabbed?”
The woman ignored this question. “This did not belong to the victim.”
Cassidy turned the phone over, then back. “But the victim wasn’t Reeve?”
The woman shook her head.
“I guess it could be his,” Cassidy said. “But I don’t know. If I could turn it on, maybe the home screen would tell me something.” She turned to the woman. “Do you have a cord?”
The woman paused, looked at the door again and took the box away. She returned with a dirty cord and plugged in the phone to an outlet out of view.
In the distance, a motorcycle engine approached. The woman’s eyes widened.
Cassidy looked at the screen, but it was still blank. “Is it working?” she asked.
“Sometimes it takes a minute when it’s really dead,” Benita said.
The motorcycle engine grew louder.
Cassidy pushed the home button, and the screen flashed a low battery signal.
The motorcycle engine sound stopped outside. The woman’s face snapped into a look of terror. She tried to take the phone away.
“Wait!” Cassidy hissed, and pushed the home button again. This time the screen flashed an image: it was a beautiful young woman, standing close to a brown-haired man wearing a sideways grin.
Reeve.
“You are still here?” a voice from behind them said, sounding mildly amused.
Cassidy whirled around, but Benita was way ahead of her.
“We wanted to find out if we can post a reward,” Benita said to the gray-haired officer. “We can make a poster, and you can put them up around town.”
“A reward?” the officer said, his forehead wrinkling with concern.
“Yes,” Cassidy added, “for any information that will tell us what happened to him.”
The officer seemed frozen on his feet. He looked from the woman behind them, who had put away the box and the phone, and back to Cassidy and Benita, his full lips pursing. “Do you have the reward?”
Something flashed in the officer’s eyes. Greed? Fear?
“Yes,” Benita said. “Ten thousand U.S.”
Cassidy gasped but covered it with a fake cough. Ten grand?
The officer shook his head, as if pushing away whatever his eyes had betrayed about his feelings. “I’m afraid this will only cause problems. We will get hundreds of calls.”
“Maybe we’ll learn something,” Cassidy said, growing to the idea. She heard Rebecca’s voice in her head. You have the money.
“No, this makes only work. For us.” He eyed the woman behind them.
“Isn’t that your job, though?” Benita said, stepping forward. “To do anything possible to find him? He’s an American citizen. You don’t want your town becoming ground zero for an international incident, do you?” She was looking him square in the eyes, her aggressive body language making her appear much larger than she was.
The officer put up his hands. “I have told you we have done everything we can. If you insist on offering a reward, I suggest you use your social media channels. This way, you can manage the information, and the payment.”
“Will you tell your staff about it? Why don’t we go call them right now,” Benita said, motioning for them to continue to the office.
The officer’s smile had completely vanished by now. “My officers would have already reported any information. This will be an insult.”
“Their rights to feel insulted have long since expired. They should feel ashamed! An American disappeared in their town, and nobody knows a thing about it?” she was raising her voice. The officer took a step back, his face paling by the minute.
Cassidy was still standing at the window. She felt a soft tap at her back, and froze.
“You want those TV crews that filmed Survivor here to come back, right? To keep sending their rich friends here to spend money?”
“Of course,” the officer replied.
“Then you better find Reeve,” she said.
The officer threw up his hands. “We are busy with many responses each day. We cannot possibly devote our time to finding just one man. We did everything the embassy asked of us. We have no proof that any foul play is involved. He may already be in another country.”
Cassidy, as casually as she could, reached behind her back. Something hard and compact landed in her palm—the phone. But where could she hide it beneath a bikini top, board shorts, and a T-shirt? Her board shorts had a tiny hip pocket that would hold a few folded colones and lip balm, but not a phone. Slowly, she tucked it into the waistband at her low back and let her arm return to her side.
“C’mon, Benita,” Cassidy said, interrupting the stare-down between her and the officer. “I think we’ve done all we can here.”
Benita turned and gave Cassidy a look, and it was so loaded—victory, aggression, power—that Cassidy actually felt it connect with something inside herself. It was a look she would fear if she didn’t know that this was part of the thrill for someone like Benita—creating drama as a tool to get things done. She tried to hold on to it, to feed off it for strength.
“Talk to your officers. Tell them about the reward. Our group leaves tomorrow.”
The officer’s eyes flicked from Benita, to Cassidy, and back, as if
