“He’s not in the office,” Terry told him. “Detective Dillinger is on a call at a house on Point Drive. The Kincaids had a car stolen.”
“Oh!” Holt said, reaching for the coffee and sandwich. “Are they sure it’s not one of their raucous teenage sons taking it on a joyride again?”
Terry laughed. “No, the Kincaid twins are at college in Miami now.”
“That’s why the town seems a lot quieter this summer,” Holt said with a grin, thinking of the delinquent twins.
“Yes, Chief Morrison said the same thing,” Terry told us as the phone rang. “Excuse me.”
Holt nodded, and Terry left as he tucked into his meal, compliments of Margo. She really was a town treasure and reminded him so much of Lucy at that age. He’d just finished his sandwich and was sipping his coffee, scanning the files, when he heard a scramble coming from the office.
Not long after that, the wail of emergency sirens from next door at the fire station cut through the afternoon quiet like a blade, immediately followed by the urgent scatter of footsteps and radio chatter from the police station. Holt sat straight and put his coffee down. He automatically grabbed his jacket and rushed outside to see what was happening.
Holt spotted Willa running toward one of the fire department’s emergency vehicles that Willa drove.
“Willa, what is going on?” Holt called out, jogging to catch up with her. “Is there another fire?”
“No,” Willa said tersely, pulling on her gear as she moved. “There is a single vehicle accident about three miles out on Miller Creek Road.”
“Oh?” Holt’s brows rose questioningly. “Are there any details?”
“Yes, the driver of the vehicle managed to call it in.” Willa yanked the door of the car open.
“What happened?” Holt asked.
“A truck has gone over the embankment,” Willa explained and looked at him. “The driver is Dr. Lacey Peltz.”
Holt didn’t hesitate. “I’m coming with you.”
Willa didn’t even bother to argue with him; she simply nodded toward the passenger side of her emergency response vehicle.
The drive to the accident site was tense and silent except for the radio chatter coordinating the various emergency teams converging on the location. Holt found himself studying the passing landscape with the analytical eye that had served him well throughout his career, noting the narrow curves and steep drop-offs that made this stretch of road particularly treacherous.
When they arrived at Miller Creek Road, the scene was controlled chaos. Fire trucks, ambulances, and police cruisers lined the narrow road, their flashing lights creating an urgent kaleidoscope against the late afternoon sky. The accident site was clearly marked by the gap in the guardrail where Lacey’s truck had gone through.
Holt approached the edge of the embankment and looked down at Lacey’s overturned pickup truck, which had rolled several times before coming to rest against a cluster of pine trees about thirty feet down the slope. The rescue teams were already working to stabilize the vehicle and extract the driver. Rad was down there with another officer, and they were examining the path the car had rolled.
“Lacey was lucky. It could have been much worse,” Willa said, joining him at the guardrail. “If those trees hadn’t stopped her roll, she would have gone straight into the creek.”
Tom arrived with Lucy just as Holt began his preliminary assessment of the accident scene. The police chief looked grim as he surveyed the damage to the guardrail and the skid marks on the asphalt.
“Willa, Holt,” Lucy greeted and stopped beside Willa. “I need to get down there.”
“I’ll take you,” Willa told her. “But we need to get you into safety gear first.”
Willa walked Lucy away as Holt turned to examine the accident skid.
“What do you think?” Tom asked, noting Holt’s focused examination of the roadway.
“I think we’re looking at more than a simple loss of control accident,” Holt replied, pointing to the evidence he’d been cataloging. “See these skid marks? They start well before the curve, suggesting Lacey was already braking hard before she reached the turn.”
Tom knelt beside him, following Holt’s finger as he traced the tire marks on the pavement. “Could be she saw something in the road, maybe an animal.”
“Maybe,” Holt agreed, “but look at this.” He moved farther back along the road, indicating a second set of tire marks, faint but still visible. “These marks suggest another vehicle was traveling at high speed and braking suddenly right around the same location.”
“You think another car was involved?” Tom asked, his expression darkening.
“I think it’s a strong possibility,” Holt confirmed. “And if that’s the case, we’re looking at a hit-and-run at minimum, possibly something more deliberate.”
