“Talley place,” Burke added. “Girl went missing.”
Burton nodded once. “That’s right.”
Burke shifted his weight. “Marked a walkaway.”
“That’s what it was.”
Burke frowned, not pushing—just working it through.
“She left everything behind,” he said. “Clothes. Work. Didn’t come back for any of it.”
Burton shrugged, folding the rag in his hands.
“People don’t always leave the way we think they should,” he said. “Especially when they’re young.”
Burke nodded once, like that tracked.
“Grant mentioned it,” he said. “Said the girls found some paintings up there. Got interested.”
Burton snorted lightly. “Yeah. They mentioned it at the party.”
“You don’t think there’s anything to it?”
“No,” Burton said. “We looked. No signs of trouble. No reason to keep it open.”
Burke let that sit.
“Wade Hollis came up in the file.”
Burton’s hand paused briefly against the edge of the bench before he reached for the rag again.
“Wade’s been in a lot of things over the years,” he said. “Doesn’t make him guilty of anything.”
Burton said it evenly, but he didn’t look at him.
Burke watched him a beat longer.
Then nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what I figured.”
Burton reached for a socket, turning back toward the engine.
Burke picked up the file.
He turned back toward the truck.
Nothing about the conversation had been wrong. Nothing Burton said didn’t make sense.
And still—as Burke pulled the door open and slid behind the wheel—something low and familiar tightened in his gut.
Like he’d almost seen something?—
and missed it.
He sat there, hands resting on the steering wheel, staring out at the stretch of pasture beyond the house.
Same fences. Same ridge.
