Free The Darkest Corners by Kara Thomas Page B

left.”
    “That really sucks, Tess,” Callie says softly. “I’m sorry.”
    The pity in her voice makes me wish I could shrink into the seat. I choose my next words carefully. “I think she’s back in town. She visited my dad before he died.”
    “Really?” Callie sounds as surprised as I was. Why would Joslin come back and see my father but not the rest of us?
    “So let’s look her up and call her,” Callie says.
    “I tried,” I say. “She’s using a different name. I might have found her, though. I think she lives in Allentown.”
    Callie is quiet.
    “I’m not saying let’s go to Allentown,” I find myself rambling. “But it’s worth talking to her.”
    “It’s not that.” Callie pauses, the one being choosy about her words now. “It’s just, no offense, but your sister totally bailed on you. Even if she could help us…she may not want to.”
    I can’t argue with that—my sister changed her name, for Christ’s sake—so I shut up and stare out the window. On the other side of the highway, there’s a giant sign lit up in orange. ROADWORK: DETOUR . A quick stab of panic. We’ll have to take a different way home, and we won’t pass the prison.
    My rehearsed lines go out the window:
Hey, since it’s on the way, maybe I should see if they have Joslin’s number at the prison.
Callie’s already made her feelings about my sister clear.
    I don’t have time to sell her on tracking Jos down. There’s the sign. FAYETTE COUNTY PENITENTIARY—NEXT RIGHT.
    “Um,” I blurt. “Do you mind if we stop there? I’m supposed to pick up stuff. My dad’s stuff.”
    “Oh.” Callie chews her lip. “They didn’t give it to you the other day?”
    “I didn’t ask,” I say, which isn’t a lie. “Just thought it would be nice to have it.”
    Callie shrugs. “Okay. But you have to put the address into the GPS.”
    Ten minutes later, we’re in the prison parking lot. I already have my seat belt undone by the time Callie puts the van in park.
    “I’ll just be a couple minutes,” I say. “You don’t have to come in.”
    I slam the door before she can protest. I know it’ll be an empty one, anyway. I don’t blame her; I wouldn’t want to follow me into a prison either. Especially not a prison where Wyatt Stokes is being held.
    The lobby is a ghost town compared to how it was on Saturday. The guard, Wanda, recognizes me. Sets her pen down. She looks ready to be on the defensive, probably thinking that I’m here to give her crap about my father dying ahead of schedule, like Maggie did. We do a bizarre stare-down thing, each waiting for the other one to say something first. Little does she know that I can do this all day if I have to. I’ve had a lifetime of practice when it comes to making people uncomfortable with my presence.
    She finally cracks, her more charitable side winning out. “What’s your name, hon?”
    “Tessa,” I say.
    Wanda folds her arms across her chest, tilts back in her chair. “What is that you need, Tessa?”
    “My sister visited the other night,” I say, trying to figure out exactly how to phrase this. “I’m trying to find her. Did she maybe leave a phone number, or—”
    “We can’t give out that information.” Wanda shakes her head to drive home the point.
    Desperation claws at me. “She’s my
sister.
I just need a phone number or something.”
    Wanda’s face softens a bit. No doubt she remembers that I didn’t get to say goodbye to my father. If she feels bad for me, I can work with that.
    “Please,” I say, playing the sad orphan. “I haven’t seen her in ten years.”
    Wanda kicks off, rolls away in her chair. She maintains eye contact with me until she enters something into her computer. I stand, digging a nail into my jiggling leg. I hear the whirr of a printer, and then Wanda comes back with a piece of paper that she pushes toward me.
    It’s a scan of Brandy Butler’s driver’s license.
    I make a fist to stop myself from touching the photo of