As he closed the basement door, I sank into a folding chair several feet from Billy’s cell. “Is there anything else you can think of?Anything? Anything at all?”
He shook his head. “I would tell you, Charley. I swear to god, I would never do anything to put Davey in danger.”
“Okay. Thank you.” I stood again and handed him a bottle of water from the half-empty case under the card table. “We’re not opening the bar today, but someone will be down with some breakfast in the morning.”
“It isn’t morning?”
“Sun won’t be up for a few more hours,” I said.
“And you haven’t slept?”
“No one’s sleeping until Davey’s home.” One way or another.
“Charley,” Billy called as I opened the basement door. “Do you think she’s okay?”
“No,” I said without turning around. “I really doubt she is.”
TWENTY-FIVE
“Parker’s Mill,” Tucker said the second I came through the swinging doors into the front of the bar.
“What?”
“Parker’s Mill,” he repeated, clacking away at his keyboard. “Ever heard of it?”
“I mean, yeah. I grew up here. It’s not far from Buford. Not really big enough to be a town. More like a…rural community.”
“It’s an unincorporated township about fifty miles from here. Their school system was absorbed by the county eight years ago, but before that Parker’s Mill High school was home to Parker the Beaver.” He spun his laptop around for me to see the results of his Google Image search for “Tennessee high school mascot beaver.”
“Only one in the state,” he said, presumably referring to the mascot.
“Hey!” Bishop called as the back door squealed open from the kitchen. “We found something!” A second later, he followed Austin into the front of the bar, waving a thin, hardbound book overhead. “You ever hear of a place called Parker’s Mill?”
Tucker huffed.
“It’s a forty-minute drive from here, if you follow the speed limit, and I’ve never heard of it,” Austin said as Bishop set the smallest high school yearbook I’d ever seen on the bar top in front of me.
“Freshman class.” Bishop flipped the book open to a page he’d marked with a utility bill sent to Cam Senet’s trailer. “We figure that’s the only year he attended before he went to live with Silas. Look familiar?” He set one finger down on a picture labeled “Denny Brewer.”
“Brewer?” I squinted at the image, but it was definitely Cam. “His social media is under Denny Morelock.”
“We’re guessing he started using his dad’s surname when he went to live with him,” Austin said. Which meant he would have been going by his mother’s last name until then.
Tucker was already typing, presumably searching for—
“Rebecca Brewer.” He sat back with his arms crossed over his chest, a look of triumph spreading across his features. “Long-time resident of Parker’s Mill, Tennessee, according to her obituary from two years ago. She left behind one son, Denny, and was preceded in death by her parents, James and Sylvia Brewer.”
“Thank god,” I whispered as I crossed the room toward him.
“Property search coming up,” Tucker added as he leaned forward to fish his business card from his wallet. “Good thing Titus is generous with the budget.”
Tucker typed, read, and typed some more, while I brewed a fresh pot of coffee.
“You’re gonna drown in that shit,” Bishop said as I poured myself a fresh mug. “You should have some water. Stay hydrated.”
“And you should mind your business,” I said. With a small smile.
“Someone’s here.” Austin rose from his barstool an instant before I heard the unfamiliar engine, and he beat me into the kitchen because of the second and a half it took me to set my mug down without spilling it.
