Leaning over to pat Becca’s head, I ring my brother-in-law. “Any news on the cadaver?”
“His name’s Brett Johnson, the missing woman’s ex. By the way, I’ve taken over the investigation.”
“I figured. I just spoke to Griff. He’s thrilled.” Gravel crunches under my boots as I make my way toward the water.
“Hear this sound?” Hunt pauses. “It’s a hundred tiny violins playingCry Me a River.” After we both chuckle, he turns serious. “Any closer to finding the pilot?”
My heavy sigh echoes my frustration. “Not yet. She’s hiking in circles. Eating berries and grubs—sticking close to the stream. It’s scary how skilled she is at wiping her tracks. But for what reason? Why stay in the same area if she wanted to disappear?”
“No clue. For sure, something’s weird. I’ll be there soon—had to commandeer a helo. In the meantime, don’t get yourself killed. Your runaway could be a murderer. One last thought—if you don’t want to lose your teen receptionist, you’d better call her ASAP.”
“Got it. See you in a bit.”
Shit, the last thing my employee needs is lockup. After saying goodbye, I reposition my sack’s weight and dial the office.
No polite greeting. Veronica yells, “I told you to stop calling—”
Holy hell. Scott was right. The girl sounds wrecked.“It’s me. Your boss? The sheriff?”
Ronnie isn't amused. “Where have you been? We have fifty-five messages from Mr. and Mrs. Gainsborough. Their kids have called too many times to count. Friends from the Navy, Marines, USAID, whoever. You have to call them all. Imeanit.”
Once she stops, I lower my voice to a deliberate cadence. “Out of everyone, who was the most polite?”
She thinks for a moment. “There was an older brother—he was okay—Apollo. Yeah, that was his name.”
“Give me his number. I’ll update him. From now on, he’s their single point of contact.” Thumb hovering, I pause on the trail, while she heaves a worn out sigh.
After she rattles off the digits, she asks, “People are saying the lady is dead. Is it true?”
“We don’t know anything for sure, yet. Feel free to let the locals know.”
“You're saying I should tell Betty?” Crisis averted, she giggles.
“Exactly.” We all know the diner waitress is faster than social media.
I’m still patting myself on the back when she switches gear. “Are you going to fire me?”
Damn. Now I feel like crap—I said I’d train her but haven’t had the time. “No way. Keep doing what you’re doing.”
“Will do, Chief. Um… what was I supposed to do again?”
With an infinite amount of patience, I repeat myself, have her write it down, then read it back to me before hanging up.
Sighing, I call the lost person’s brother. Maybe the son of Zeus knows why the fuck she’s wandering around in the woods. “Hi, this is Sheriff O’Malley. I’m leading the search for your sister—”
“Did you find her?” His hope damn near guts me.
If it were my sister, I’d move heaven and hell to locate her. “Not yet. No worries. I’m getting closer, tho'.”
As I reach a fork in the trail, his voice tightens, “We heard rumors of a dead body. Was it her?”
“No. I can’t say more. Sorry.” Squatting, I study the ground and the nearby broken branches.
“Whatcanyou say?” His loud volume reminds me I should be searching, not making fuckin calls. Maybe, if I let him rant, he’ll run out of steam.
“It’s been days. No one knows anything. My brothers are buying camping gear. My sisters are posting online, organizing volunteers.”
Picturing dozens of unqualified people in the woods, I roll my eyes. “Please don’t. More footprints will slow me down. Whatwouldhelp is learning a little more about Briana.”
