“I haven’t been on the force in five years, so as I said, it’s best to direct those kinds of questions to the sheriff.” His phone buzzed, and he checked the screen. “Sorry, but I’m gonna have to take this. Hank Coulter.”
Okay, sothatwas a bust. I left him to his phone call and set up shop on the hood of my Jeep. As volunteers came and went, collecting flyers or reporting to Kelly or Coulter, I managed to snag a few dozen of them for comments. They seemed to be a mix of stay-at-home moms, retirees, and employees from Baker Beverage whom Cody had given the day off to help in the search. Almost everyone seemed eager to offer their two cents, but no one I encountered claimed to know Shannon more than casually, though many pointed out that she seemed “perfectly lovely.” It was pretty clear that the situation had most of them seriously alarmed, particularly the women.
Just after four, the action began to heat up, clearly in anticipation of the press conference. Several Albany-area network TV vans rumbled into the parking lot and reporters spilled out, smoothing their clothes and fluffing their hair. Matt Wong resurfaced, too.
I snaked my way through the crowd of press, lingering volunteers, and what appeared to be good old-fashioned rubberneckers, and grabbed a spot close to the front. I was surprised to see that the sheriff’s department hadn’t yet set up a podium, so there was no place for the TV and radio crews to position their microphones. In fact, there was no sign ofanyonefrom the sheriff’s office.
At two minutes to five we found out why. A sole member of the sheriff’s team, a female deputy, arrived and announced to the crowd that the press conference was being postponed until 10:00 a.m. tomorrow. She then hurried off without taking any questions.
There’d been a development, I realized, maybe something big, but they weren’t telling us. I glanced inside Dot’s. Hank was on the phone, his face expressionless, and Kelly was stuffing flyers back into a box. At least for the time being, they were as out of the loop as the rest of us.
Since I’d signed up to receive automatic news alerts from the sheriff’s department, I’d hear eventually if anything major had gone down. But this meant that I’d have zip from law enforcement for the post tonight. I breathed a sigh of relief that I at least had my interview with Cody coming up.
As the media vehicles departed with a roar, I parkedmyself against my Jeep again, nursing a bottle of lukewarm water and watching the daylight fade. There were still a few volunteers milling around, but eventually they took off as well. And so did Hank and Kelly, locking the door of Dot’s behind them.
I was alone in the lot now, accompanied by nothing except the sound of cars whizzing behind me on Route 9N. Finally the truth smacked me in the head. Cody was a no-show.
Damn.
The only thing I could think of at this point was to head to his house and see if he’d talk to me there, which would also provide my first chance to see part of Shannon’s usual jogging route. I’d already programmed my GPS with the family address on Wheeler Road, which ran between Route 9 and Route 9N.
The area turned out to be heavily wooded, with homes set far apart. I’d seen the wordsuccessfulused to describe Cody Blaine in the news coverage, and the house at 192 Wheeler backed that up. It was a large modern design of glass, stone, and what appeared to be cedar, set fairly far back on the quiet road, with woods rising behind it in the rear. The only light was the one burning just above the front door. Maybe Cody was picking up the kids at Kelly’s in-laws. Or perhaps he wasn’t staying here at all, avoiding the press who’d show up if they knew he was in residence.
Odd, though, that no one would be stationed at the house in case Shannon staggered home in that fugue state her family had envisioned.
I pulled into the Blaine driveway, backed out, and headed toward Route 9N. Wheeler Road had a fairly wide shoulder, and it was easy to envision Shannon running here, breathing in the crisp air, thinking about how to decorate the next batch of cupcakes she’d make for her kids.
And then, rounding a bend, Isawher. A woman in dark shorts and a white T-shirt, streaking up the road in the same direction I was going. Even in the waning light I couldn’t miss her long blond hair, tied in a ponytail and bouncing hard behind her with each step.
It was Shannon Blaine. And it looked as if she was running for her life.
Chapter 2
IBRAKED, SHIFTED FAST INTO PARK, AND FLUNG OPEN THEdoor.
“Shannon,” I yelled, scrambling out of the Jeep and tearing up the road toward her. “Shannon, wait.”
She finally swung around, so fast her ponytail slapped her lightly in the face. Maybe shehadbeen in a fugue, wandering through the area for two full days, always just far enough ahead of searchers to elude being seen.
“Shannon, are you okay?” I called, short of breath. “Let me help you.”
As I closed the distance between us, she backed away from me, and I spotted the alarm in her eyes.
“My name’s not Shannon,” she said, catching a breath.
And now, only a few feet apart, I realized that I’d been mistaken. Even in the dim light, I could tell that her eyes were brown and not that dazzling green I’d noted in Shannon’s photo. How stupid to let my imagination play a trick on me.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “From the back you looked just like Shannon Blaine.”
She narrowed her eyes, still considering me warily. “I don’t even know who that is. I—I’m not from here.”
“Um, okay,” I said. I realized she must be a tourist. “Shannon’s a local woman who went missing on Monday, possibly from this exact road. Actually, I’m not sure it’s safe for you to be out alone like this. There’s a chance that she was abducted.”
Her eyes widened briefly, but then she shrugged dismissively.
“I’ll be fine. I don’t have far to go—just up the road.”
“Are you staying at the Lake Shore Motel?” I’d spotted it on the corner of Wheeler and Route 9N. The owner was the guy who reported seeing Shannon jogging—every day except Monday.
