The sheriff’s lips spread wide in a grin. “Yep. Most folks call me Boomer. Gone by that name since middle school.”
Ah. The familiarity of small towns where everyone knows each other, and there’s no need for formality. I like the ease of it.
“Thanks for seeing me.”
“No problem. Why don’t you fill me in on why you believe your brother is missing.”
I launch into a condensed version of the tour, describing how I lost contact with my brother. In case it was important, I also let him know about the tour guide and the information she shared about my brother leaving before the tour ended with a girl.
“So, he’s with a local?”
“I don’t know.” I frown. “My brother is young. He’s a bit wild, but he doesn’t blow me off. He’d never worry me like that.”
Boomer scratches his jaw. “I see. About what time did he leave the Mayfield?”
That was an easy answer. “About two-thirty or so. I lost contact with him during the tour while I was checking out one of the rooms. He didn’t follow me.”
Boomer sits back and folds his arms across his chest. The veins pop as his muscles bulge. He’s stacked. I’ve never seen a guy this ripped up close. What do they feed these country boys? The guy in the hotel on the thirteenth floor was almost as big as him—a body like granite, strong and powerful.
“You think he went with this girl and lost track of time?”
“No,” I reply firmly. “He would have checked in with me at some point.”
“Does he have a history of drug or alcohol abuse?”
I hate questions like this. There’s never a way to answer that doesn’t make someone look bad. “In the past. He’s sober now. Ten months.” I’m proud of Thad. He’s come a long way since his partying days in the frat house.
“That’s good. I’ll be right back.” He exits the room and returns within a minute with a laptop. “Give me his name, age, date of birth, and address.”
“Thad Scott. Age twenty-four.” I give Boomer the rest of the information he asked for and wait as he types it into whatever database he’s using. “To be honest, I’m worried.”
Boomer lifts his head. “Tell me.”
“We’ve lived in Ohio most of our lives. Our parents split their time between Florida and Columbus, depending on the season. We had a great childhood, and I’ve always been close to my brother. But a few years ago, one of Thad’s childhood friends committed suicide. It hit him hard. It’s been a long journey to sobriety, but he did it.” The sheriff bobs his head, listening withan intensity I appreciate. “I’m his sister and sponsor. He never fails to check in with me, Boomer. If he’s not answering his phone or going back to our room at the Hanging Tree, there’s a reason. He’s not just sleeping off a hangover or recovering from a hard night. Something happened to him.”
Tears burn my eyes as I hold them back.
Boomer reaches across the table and pats the top of my hand. It’s a caring gesture, and he quickly removes his touch to keep it professional. “I’m sorry for his loss. I get how that could drive a man to drink or find ways to forget. No judgment.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s a bit early to file a missing person report. He’s not been gone twenty-four hours yet.”
“I don’t care, Boomer. I want to file one. I’ll sit here until three a.m. tonight if that’s what it takes.” I lift my chin, determined to see this through. The sheriff needs to know that I’m serious. Thad is in danger. I canfeelit.
“I’ll get the paperwork started, Miss Scott.”
“My name is Natalya, but you can call me Nat.”
“All right, Nat. Give me your number so I can contact you as soon as I have news.”
I tell him and then ask for his number.
Boomer slides me his card. “Try not to blow me up in the middle of the night unless it’s an emergency. I’m a grumpy bear without my coffee and a decent night’s sleep.”
“Noted.”
Boomer shuts the laptop and rises to his full height. He’s a massive guy, taller than my brother. “You’re staying at the Hanging Tree, right?”
