"Don't be flippant," Callie said.
Noah set his fork down and wiped his lips. His eyes drifted to a photograph on the counter. Mia and Ethan, taken last summer, standing on the dock at the lake. Mia had her arm around Ethan's shoulder. Ethan was squinting into the sun. Neither of them knew the photo was being taken.
"You know, in the past, before I came back to High Peaks, I didn't think much about what my death would do to my kids. But after Lena died. When I felt the weight of the responsibility on me, it felt different."
Callie observed but didn't answer.
"All I could think about out there was them. I know Gretchen or Kerri would step in. They have, so many times. But it wouldn't have been the same."
"How do you function?"
"I'd like to give you some pat answer about taking it one day at a time, but I'm not sure I really have it down to a science."He paused and let out a long breath, one that felt like it had been held in since the moment that gun touched his skin on the bridge. "I really thought he'd shot me when that gun went off. For a split second..." He trailed off. "Anyway." He took a few more bites. "It got me thinking."
"About what?"
"What if our killer isn't driving them away? What if he has them drive while he has a gun on them? And that's why they get into a vehicle in the first place." He leaned forward. "I mean, we figured it's because they're on an isolated stretch of road. Vehicle broken down. No cell coverage. And maybe that's enough incentive to convince a few. But all of them?"
Callie nodded slowly. “That’s possible. Either way, whatever he's doing, it works." She sighed. "I really thought we had him. Your brother doesn't believe it was Samuel. He wants us to focus on Derek Hollis again. No weapons or trophies were found in Samuel's home. His DNA wasn't on the girls. None of them have semen present. So if they aren't being sexually assaulted, why is he taking them?"
"I don't know. If we don't find Hollis, we may never know."
Callie took a drink. She set the glass down and turned it between her fingers for a moment.
"Ray said you think Carter Lyle isn't good for Kara Ellison's murder. That right?"
Noah nodded. "He'll be executed in a few days."
The kitchen was quiet. The food was getting cold. Outside, Ed’s car passed and its headlights swept across the ceiling and then were gone.
The Daily Grindwas winding down for the evening. A few tables were still occupied, the barista running the dishwasher behind the counter, the overhead music turned low. Ruby sat at the bar with a chai latte and her phone face down on the counter. Lacey Montgomery was wiping down the espresso machine, her apron splashed with milk foam and coffee grounds.
"She never said anything else?” Ruby asked.
"Ruby, you know as much as I do. She came in, ordered her usual, sat with you, and left. That's it. I never saw her after that." Lacey tossed the rag into the sink. “But did you hear about the owner of Strutz?"
"Yeah. Crazy shit." Ruby stared at her drink. "I was only there this morning."
"You think he was behind Fiona's disappearance? Rumor has it he assaulted Hailey Benton before she went missing."
"With Garrett Finch in the slammer, Samuel dead, and them chasing after Derek Hollis, I'm beginning to think there was some kind of trafficking going on. All under the guise of modeling." Ruby balled her hand into a fist on the counter. "I told Fiona to be careful. I said that the modeling business was no good. But she wouldn't listen."
Lacey dried her hands and leaned against the back counter. "She wanted out, Ruby. Out of her dad's house. Out of this town. Modeling was the only way she could see to make that happen."
"And look where it got her."
They sat in the silence of that for a moment. The dishwasher cycled. A customer left and the door chimed behind them.
Noah was clearingthe plates when his phone rang. He dried his hands on a dishcloth and checked the screen, expecting Mia orEthan. Instead, the display showed an unfamiliar number and beneath it, a collect call from a federal correctional facility.
He glanced at Callie, who was putting the leftover containers in the fridge. He answered and stepped into the hallway.
"They transferred me to Indiana." Carter Lyle's voice was different than the last time they'd spoken. Flatter. The anger was gone. What replaced it was worse. "I heard the news about the recent death. Have you found anything that can help me?"
"Not so far."
"Great. I'm days away from being executed." A pause. The background noise of a prison phone bank, other voices, other conversations, other lives continuing. "Look, I never killed the Ellison girl. Jenny Walters is another story."
"Did you kill her?"
