“Never claimed otherwise.” I pulled up the map on my phone and pointed. “The sound came from this direction—southwest ofthe fairgrounds. The call you got came in less than ten minutes later from here.”
“That’s a straight shot along County 9,” he said, tracing the distance. “Maybe your mystery truck’s the same one.”
“Maybe.”
He slid a folder across the desk. “Patrol didn’t get a plate. But old man Cavanaugh out that way said he saw a decal on the tailgate. White square, maybe a logo.”
“Company truck?”
“Could be.” He leaned back, sighing through his nose. “Could also be nothing. But folks in two counties over—Elm Creek and Red Hollow—they’ve had break-ins lately. Equipment theft. A few strange trucks lingering near barns before dark. Sheriff Hayes over there says one was a dark pickup with a cracked taillight.”
“Same as ours?”
“Fits the rumor.”
Rumor. In small towns, rumor was intel wearing overalls.
“Hayes owes me a favor,” Dunn went on. “I can ask if they’ve got plate fragments. You want me to loop you in?”
“Please.”
He nodded, thumb tapping against the mug. “Off the record, Peterson’s been jumpy lately.”
“Harold?”
“Yeah. Came by asking if we could limit patrols near his construction sites. Said they were spooking his contractors.”
“That’s strange timing.”
Dunn’s look was cautious. “That’s all I’m saying for now. You start tugging on that thread, it’s gonna pull hard.”
Which could mean one of two things—Harold Peterson knew something and wanted to keep it quiet, or Dunn suspected it but wasn’t ready to say it out loud.
I filed the thought away and stood. “Appreciate it.”
“You want advice?” Dunn asked.
“Always.”
He nodded toward the window. “Whatever this is—it’s not a fairground prank. You dig, dig careful. You and I both know what happens when folks start turning over rocks in Everwood.”
I smiled without humor. “They find snakes.”
“Or bones.”
Outside, the wind had picked up. I walked toward my truck, brain turning over old training protocols like cards in a deck.
Assess. Confirm. Report.
Except this wasn’t the field, and I wasn’t a soldier anymore. There was no command line—just instincts, memory, and the uneasy feeling that Everwood’s peace was more fragile than anyone wanted to admit.
As I started the engine, I sent two messages: one to Mason—Meet at the feed store in an hour. Bring Levi.And one to an old contact,Jake Rainer, a recon tech I’d served with years back who now worked private intel out of Junction City.
Need a run on local contractor permits and any shell-company vehicles registered in the last six months within 30 miles of Everwood. Will pay in beer or barbecue.
He replied almost instantly.Beer’s fine. Give me a day.The man hadn’t changed.
I turned toward home, the road dust trailing behind me like a thought I couldn’t shake. Milly would still be asleep, wrapped in quilts and sunlight. Part of me wanted to crawl back in beside her, pretend the world was simple.
