A wooden swing hung crookedly from a massive oak tree in the side yard, though one of its chains had snapped, making it useless. Beyond the immediate grounds, cattle grazed listlessly in overgrown pastures.
She stayed in her vehicle for a few minutes, scanning the property and searching for a separate residence. A pile of rusted farm tools was scattered near a barn whose red paint had faded to a dull pink, although a newer John Deere tractor could be seen through the large opening.
Her gaze finally settled on a smaller house visible about a hundred yards behind the main residence. It was a single-story structure with a metal roof that reflected the afternoon sun. Smoke curled from its chimney despite the mild temperature, suggesting someone was home.
Her call to Mayor Caldwell on the drive over had been as uncomfortable as she'd anticipated. His smug tone when she'd asked for information about Ty's living situation still grated on her nerves.
Still, he’d provided her with enough necessary details that she was comfortable engaging the Hobbs in a conversation. Apparently, after Thomas Hobbs died one year ago this month, his brother and sister-in-law had moved into the smaller house. Allen and Brandy helped manage the farm with Ty, though Warren had suggested such an arrangement wasn’t without its issues.
Hadley had thanked the mayor curtly and ended the call before he could extract any information about her investigation in return. She figured she would end up avoiding his calls as much as she had Nick’s attempts to reach her. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been sending him her daily reports on the investigations.
What interested her the most was the fact that Thomas Hobbs had died in a farming accident one week before Missy Claymont’s disappearance. Hadley was confident that oneindividual was responsible for the eight abductions. If she were to stick by her theory, then there was probably nothing to Ty’s absence from Reed’s funeral but personal reasons.
What if she was wrong?
Hadley stepped out of her SUV and closed the door while still studying the main house. The curtains were drawn in the downstairs windows of the main house, and Merle Haggard’s voice floated across the yard from somewhere deep in the barn.
The ground beneath her boots was uneven, churned by recent rainfall and then baked by the sun. She needed to choose a direction, and that was obviously the barn. Only she wanted a look inside the house, and with the curtains closed, the only way that was possible was up close and personal.
“Can I help you?”
The voice came from her right, deep and rough enough to suggest the individual had a penchant for cigarettes. She had made it as far as twenty feet, but the distance was enough to catch sight of a padlocked storage shed positioned at the corner end of the barn.
“I’m looking for Ty,” Hadley called out, turning to find a man in his early sixties approaching her. “You must be his uncle, Allen Hobbs.”
The man moved with the careful gait of someone tending to past injuries, though the minor limp didn't hinder his pace. His sun-tanned skin was drawn tightly over prominent cheekbones, and his perceptive eyes were framed by deep lines. He was dressed in worn overalls and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing forearms strong from years of hard labor. The effects of aging couldn't erase the strength built by working the land.
As he drew closer, Hadley noticed how he carefully wiped his calloused hands on a red handkerchief, folding it with methodical precision before tucking it into his back pocket. Thegesture seemed practiced, almost ritualistic, like it was an action he'd done thousands of times before.
“That’s right. I’m Allen Hobbs.” His attentive gaze dropped to the firearm on her waist. She hadn’t bothered to fasten the button on her blazer. “What do you want with my nephew?”
Allen shifted his weight as he waited for her response. His tone was neither hostile nor welcoming. Behind him, Merle’s song had been replaced by a George Strait tune.
“I’m Hadley Dawkins.” She had intentionally left out her title. Considering word had spread quickly about her presence around town, she didn’t need to. Plus, she didn’t want him to believe this visit was anything other than personal. “I ran into Ty on my first day in town. Found out that he’s been mowing my mother’s lawn from time to time. I appreciate his thoughtfulness and figured I’d settle up the account.”
Her reason was deceptively simple.
Considering the way the air thickened between them, she quickly came to the realization that Allen wasn’t so easily deceived.
“That's mighty thoughtful of you. Greta always treated Ty real well.” Allen glanced down at her hands, which were empty. She’d left her keys in the ignition. “Ty isn’t here right now, but you can leave the money with me. I’ll make sure he gets it.”
In Haley’s experience, Greta Dawkins had reserved her kindness for tips at the diner while dispensing criticism at home. Ty had mentioned how good she’d been to him, and now Allen had seconded that opinion.
“As much as I appreciate the offer, I was hoping to speak to him about continuing maintenance. I’ve decided not to sell the property, but seeing as I live over an hour and a half away, I don’t have the time to do it myself.”
“Well, you’ll have to wait until next week then.”
“And why is that?”
“Ty went camping up near Buffalo River.”
“Camping?” Hadley kept her tone casual, though her interest had sharpened. “When did he leave town?”
“Middle of last week. The anniversary of his daddy’s death hit him hard. Then with Chief Langley getting killed...” He trailed off, his weathered face tightening momentarily. “That boy was close to breaking down. Needed some time away from everything to sort himself out.”
“That's understandable,” Hadley replied, careful not to press too hard. “Well, I guess I’ll stop by next week then. Have a good day, Mr. Hobbs.”
“How's the investigation going?” Allen asked before she could take a step toward her vehicle. “You making any progress finding out who killed Chief Langley?”
