The Overnight Guest(67)

“No, I’m sorry,” the paramedic said apologetically. “The sheriff and the police have to do their investigation. Someone else will come for your brother. But when they do, they’ll take good care of him, I promise.”

Josie wanted to believe him, but so many people had been telling her how everything was going to be okay. Nothing was okay, would never be okay again.

“Agent Santos will want to talk to us again,” Matthew said, rubbing his hand across his face. “When will this end?” he pleaded.

Agent Santos made her way toward them. She had removed her black suit jacket and was sweating through her cobalt blue blouse. “We’ll have the crime scene techs go over everything, collect evidence. But it does appear...” She stopped speaking as if suddenly remembering Josie was only twelve.

“Go on,” Matthew urged. “Josie has the right to know.”

“It does appear as if it’s another homicide,” Agent Santos said, wiping the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand.

Though Matthew had prayed that Ethan would be found safe there was a part of him who knew his grandson was already dead. He knew Ethan wasn’t capable of what people were whispering about. Though the medical examiner would make the final determination, it looked like Ethan had been beaten and strangled to death before being hidden in the feed bunk beneath a blanket of hay by the monster who had killed Lynne and William.

Ethan had been here the entire time, right beneath their noses.

Matthew clutched Josie’s hand and watched as deputies clustered around Agent Santos. “We need to regroup,” Santos said. “Any word on the phone calls to the Allen house? The calls were obviously not made by Ethan. We have to find out who’s behind them.”

“Not yet. I’ll check on it,” Randolph said.

“Let’s gather everyone together. See where we are with the sex offenders in the area. And we need to find Ethan’s truck. If we find that truck, I think we’ll find the girl.”

Matthew hoped they would find the Allen girl but feared she met the same fate as the others. There was just Josie left, Matthew realized. She was all they had left. They were all she had.

Search and rescue volunteer Sylvia Lee brought the T-shirt close to the dog’s nose, and Jupiter, her one-hundred-and-ten-pound bloodhound, snuffled at the fabric.

“Go find,” she ordered, and Jupiter lifted his long, wrinkled face and sniffed the air. Jupiter focused his attention on the trampoline near where the missing thirteen-year-old girl was last seen. He circled the trampoline and then turned back toward the house stopping at the barn and lingering momentarily.

He lowered his snout and trotted toward the cornfield. Sylvia held tightly to the long rope that connected to the dog’s harness as Jupiter pulled her along. Though it was still early, Sylvia was already sweating, and the cuffs of her pants were drenched with morning dew.

Jupiter stopped just short of the corn but once again changed course and headed past the house, up the lane, and toward the road.

As soon as he stepped onto the gravel, Jupiter paused momentarily, his nose testing the air. He was a dignified-looking dog with a wrinkled face and solemn brown eyes. He seemed to understand the gravity of his work, understood that people depended on him to bring their loved ones home. He took his job very seriously.

Jupiter hesitated. He took a few steps toward the west, stopped, and then looked to the east. Sylvia was patient. If the girl had come this way, Jupiter would find the scent. Back and forth, Jupiter paced. He seemed intent on a spot just off to the west but then quickly lost interest. This could mean many things: the scent could be fading, the girl could have gotten into a vehicle and driven off, or she didn’t move in that direction.

The loose skin around his jowls swayed as Jupiter looked from left to right. And coming to a decision, he headed east. Jupiter was onto something now, and Sylvia had to trot to keep up with his pace. They moved down the road at a quick clip; gray dust collected on Sylvia’s shoes and Jupiter’s paws. His long, droopy ears turned ashy as they brushed across the ground.

Sylvia could feel Jupiter’s excitement through the length of rope. He had picked up the girl’s scent. They moved farther from the Doyle home but Jupiter stayed primarily on the road. Every few hundred yards or so he would veer off into the tall grass or down into a ditch. When this happened, Sylvia’s pulse would quicken. Though she wanted to find the missing child, she didn’t want to find her lying among the switchgrass and chicory at the side of the road.

Periodically, a vehicle drove slowly past, the driver lifting one finger from the steering wheel as greeting. The tires kicked up dust and the minuscule scent particles that Jupiter was tracking.

Gravel dust clung to Sylvia’s sweaty skin and coated her lips. She unhooked the water bottle strapped to her belt and took a long swallow. Up ahead was a farm. Or what used to be one. It looked like a salvage yard. A large barn listed dangerously to one side, and rows of farm equipment and broken-down vehicles filled the yard. A wall of tires blocked Sylvia’s view of the rest of the property and a burnt rubber smell permeated the air.

Jupiter suddenly yanked the leash to the left, nearly lifting Sylvia off her feet, and disappeared into a ditch thick with prairie grass, pulling Sylvia down with him. The grass came up past her waist and the dry, rough leaves rasped against her skin.

Suddenly, the leash went slack. The only way Jupiter would stop was if he found what he was looking for.