"So you broke into Gleason’s barn to confirm that Richie McCarthy followed a senior tradition?" Nick asked, struggling to connect her actions to Missy's disappearance. “All the kids agreed that they stole the moonshine.”
“Not all. Only three out of the five, but I wanted to confirm that Missy was part of that group,” Hadley said as she stood to her full height. She was still a good five or six inches shorter thanhim. “Teens stick together. Like I said, I wanted to verify their story before speaking with them.”
Hadley finally shut off the light on her phone. She tucked the device into the pocket on her blazer, but he remained in place to study some of the other markings. He recalled some of the names from previous missing persons cases long before he was sheriff, and every single one of their initials was carved into the wood.
“Again, this has nothing to do with pinning accusations on either Martin Cox or Old Man Gleason,” Hadley prefaced once she had his full attention. “It’s about finding the pattern.”
There wasn’t a complete picture yet, but Hadley had connected the victims. Granted, such links probably weren’t hard to find in a place like Whistlerun, but they were there all the same. Whoever Hadley Dawkins was hunting, she had approached the search with a methodical thoroughness that both impressed and unsettled him. And whatever her personal motives might be, her professional focus seemed genuine.
Before Nick could ask if she had a suspect in mind, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He retrieved it, grimacing at the display before glancing apologetically at Hadley.
Karen's name glowed on the screen. His ex-wife's timing was as impeccable as ever. He’d sent her to voicemail earlier this morning, which meant ignoring this call would only result in an increasingly terse voicemail and another argument about co-parenting responsibilities.
“I need to take this,” Nick said, already stepping away toward the back of the barn. “I won’t be long.”
Hadley nodded, her attention drawn to the beam. She retrieved her phone and began to take pictures, which caused him to bite back a directive for her to stop. She was going a little far with this leniency thing.
With his frustration mounting, Nick pressed the phone to his ear.
“Karen,” Nick greeted, working hard to keep his tone neutral. “I'm in the middle of something. Can I call you back later?”
“No. I’ve tried calling you this morning to tell you that Emma’s dance instructor just informed me that the costume fee for the fall recital is due tomorrow,” Karen replied without preamble, her voice carrying the clipped efficiency that had once attracted him but now set his teeth on edge. “It's two hundred dollars, and I've already covered the last two extracurricular expenses.”
Nick pinched the bridge of his nose, aware of Hadley's presence even though she remained at a respectful distance.
“Two hundred dollars for a costume she'll wear once?”
“It's not negotiable, Nick. The studio orders them custom-made.” Karen's irritation traveled clearly through the line. “I need you to Venmo me the money tonight.”
Every battle with Karen drained energy he needed elsewhere, and fighting over money in Hadley's earshot wasn't how he wanted to present himself professionally.
“Fine. I'll send it when I get home tonight,” Nick conceded, checking his watch. He hadn’t planned to be at the Gleason property for so long, and he was already late for a meeting with one of the county prosecutors. “You can?—”
“Are you still taking Emma for Halloween? It falls on a Friday, which is technically your weekend, but I know how busy that time can be. I’ve also seen the media coverage about that young girl who went missing last year, and I’m not sure I’m comfortable with Emma being there.”
The question carried subtle landmines. If he said yes, Karen would expect constant updates on Emma’s well-being. If he said no, he'd be portrayed as the father who chose work over spending time with his daughter.
“Of course I'm taking her,” Nick replied, staring up at the barn's rafters where a sparrow had built its nest. They had no idea how lucky they were not to deal with shared custody of those eggs. “I already promised Emma we'd go trick-or-treating in Pine Ridge. The houses are closer together there, which means a better candy haul.”
“And the festival?”
“Yes, I’m taking Emma to the festival,” Nick replied, his decision not up for discussion. After all, it was his weekend. “I won’t deprive her of the Ferris wheel and cotton candy, Karen. But I give you my word that I will not let our daughter out of my sight.”
“Fine. I can meet you halfway for the transfer."
Karen’s phrasing made their daughter sound like a package being handed off rather than a child navigating between homes. The terminology twisted something inside of him, but it was a familiar ache he'd learned to live with a few years ago, not that he ever quite got used to it. Their eight-year-old daughter wasn't cargo to be exchanged at county lines, yet three years post-divorce, that's exactly how these conversations framed her.
“Same place as usual?” Nick asked, keeping his voice level despite the internal friction. Hadley's presence made him acutely aware of his reactions, adding another layer of self-control to an already draining conversation.
“Yes. Four o'clock. Don't be late, either. I have plans that evening.”
Nick bit back the retort that formed automatically.
“I'll be there. Goodbye, Karen.”
He ended the call, taking a few seconds to compose himself before rejoining Hadley. She hadn't moved far, still circling the beam and taking pictures.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that.” Nick gestured toward the initials. “Nothing you take can be used in a court of law.”
