“Into the canyon?” Brenda asked.
Jake glanced at her. “Yes. Maybe last night or early this morning. A passing motorist noticed the wreck and called it in. When was the last time you saw him?”
“Yesterday,” Dwight said. “He’s off work today. I knew he wasn’t at his cabin, but I thought he might be off somewhere with his brother.”
“Who’s his brother?”
“Wade Lawson. He’s a counselor at the youth camp down the road—Mountain Kingdom. What happened to Trevor, exactly? How did he go off the road in that straightaway?”
“There’s some indication it might be deliberate,” Jake said. “There weren’t any skid marks or other indications that he tried to stop. We don’t have a toxicology report, but the first responders who brought him up said the car smelled strongly of alcohol.”
“That doesn’t sound like Trevor,” Brenda said.
Dwight nodded. “I never knew him to be much of a drinker.”
“How long have you known him?” Aaron asked.
“Not long. He worked for Uncle Dave and I kept him on after Brenda and I took over the place. He’s been a good worker.”
“Did he seem upset about anything lately?” Jake asked.
“Not at all,” Brenda said.
“He seemed fine to me,” Dwight agreed. “You might ask Wade. The two of them seemed close.”
“We’ll talk to his brother,” Jake said.
“Tell him to call me anytime,” Dwight said. “I’m sure he’ll want Trevor’s things.”
They said goodbye to Brenda, and Dwight walked with them to the parking lot. “Let me know if you find out anything,” he said.
“Is there anyone else we should talk to about Trevor?” Jake asked. “A girlfriend? Other family or close friends?”
“I don’t know much about his personal life. Maybe Wade will know more. You could ask the camp owner, Scott Sprague. Trevor did odd jobs for him sometimes.”
“Thanks.”
Mountain KingdomKids Camp was only two miles from Mount Wilson Lodge. As soon as Jake turned into the long, wooded drive leading up to camp headquarters, Aaron felt thrust back in time. The countryside around his hometown in Vermont had been dotted with similar summer camps, with their open-air pavilions filled with picnic tables, clusters of batten-and-board-sided cabins, scattered canoes along the shores of a small lake, archery targets set in fields and trees festooned with yarn-and-stick creations or braided-leather ornaments crafted by generations of campers who returned summer after summer.
He spotted several groups of children in matching T-shirts near the lake and a few milling around the cabins as he and Jake parked in front of a square wooden building labeled Office.
A harried-looking woman with shoulder-length gray hair looked up as they entered. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“We’re looking for Wade Lawson,” Jake said.
A deep furrow formed between her sparse eyebrows. “Has Wade done something wrong?”
“No. Can you tell us where to find him?”
“You should talk to Mr. Sprague.” She picked up a radio and keyed the button on the side. “Mr. Sprague, there are two sheriff’s deputies here. They’re looking for Wade.”
“Tell them I’ll be right up,” said a deep voice.
The woman’s gaze met theirs. “If you could wait just a minute.”
While they waited, Aaron studied the posters tacked to the wall by the door—instructions on how to thoroughly douse a campfire, first aid diagrams and handwritten lost-and-found notices. Found: Red Flashlight on Lanyard. Lost: One Silver Earring with a Green Stone. He paused before a large poster with a long list of Rules for Campers. At the bottom, in bold letters: “Campers in violation of rules will be punished with loss of privileges. Multiple violations will result in a call to your parents.” Words to strike fear in the heart of most children, he thought.
The door opened and a stocky man with a graying crew cut stepped in. “I’m Scott Sprague,” he said. “I’m the owner of Mountain Kingdom. What seems to be the problem?”
