Wolfhunter River (Stillhouse Lake #3)(54)

“Interestingly,” I say, and I’m a thousand percent relieved to change the subject. “I’m going back with Vera Crockett’s lawyer to see her this afternoon. He’s having some trouble getting a statement, and I might be able to get her to talk more freely.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t seem thrilled. “So we leave tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” I pause. “Is that all right?”

“Fine,” he says. I don’t know why, but I think he’s lying. Or at least suppressing something important. “Lanny will be glad to talk to you. I did my best, but broken hearts—”

“Sort of a mom thing?” I finish. “Probably.” I don’t tell him that for me, the only broken heart I’ve ever really had was from the first man I thought I loved. After the monstrous betrayal of my ex, nothing else can compare, and certainly never hurt as much.

Though thinking of Sam leaving comes very close. So does the thought that he and Miranda Tidewell were . . . whatever they were to each other. I wonder if he’s lied to me about the sex, or lack thereof. Sam doesn’t lie that often, but when he does, he does it disturbingly well.

By then, we’re passing the McDonald’s where we had breakfast, and then making the turn into the motel. We park. Most of the other cars that had been in the lot are gone—campers heading for the forest, I assume. Or couples who rented by the hour. The doors to our two rooms are closed, but I see the curtain tweak in the one occupied by my kids. That eases some tight knot in the center of my chest. Ten minutes seems like a long time for them to be on their own right now. I feel as if there are enemies all around, and I no longer know who the hell they are.

We both start talking at the same time. “Sam, I don’t know—”

“I’m sorry that I—”

When our words collide, we both fall silent, waiting for the other to proceed. He doesn’t. So I finally do. “I don’t know if I even want to think about moving away from Stillhouse Lake right now. The kids—they only just started to feel safe, and . . .” I trail off. He nods. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t go after that job. You should if it’s what you want to do. I won’t get in your way.”

I get out of the SUV before he can think of an answer. I don’t want to hear it. I go straight to the door of the kids’ room and knock, and before I hit twice, the door’s open, and Lanny throws herself into my arms. I walk her inside without breaking that embrace. “I was worried,” she says, and sniffles. “You were gone a long time.”

“I’m fine,” I tell her. I push her back a little and study her. She’s been either crying or fighting not to, and she looks puffy and miserable. I hug her again and smooth her silky, multicolored hair. “You know me. I’m not going to leave you. Not even when you want me to, because I’m the most annoying mom ever.”

She laughs a little and hugs me tighter. I look over at my son, who’s quietly watching us above the edge of the laptop. “Hey, kiddo,” I say, “how’s it going?”

“Fine,” he says. “I’m not the one who’s freaking out.”

“Don’t be mean,” I chide him.

“Yeah,” Lanny says, and turns her face toward him, still pressed against me. “Don’t be mean, jerk.”

“And you.” I bop her gently on top of the head. “Quit name-calling.”

“She’s been like that all day,” Connor says. “I don’t care.”

He does, though. He and Lanny were each other’s everything while I was in jail, then on trial. Even when I came back, they stayed close. They had to. It was us against the world. I know that has to end eventually . . . but not yet. I can’t bear it.

“Anyway, this town’s really weird, Mom. It was started because they trapped and killed bears and wolves and things; then they had an iron mine. But some of the histories say there were gangs of thieves here, too, who used to rob people and bury them in the forest.”

“Okay.” I sit on the edge of the bed where he’s propped up. “That’s interesting background. Anything more recent?”

“Three women went missing,” he says. I like that he’s so particular about his nouns; even at his age, he’s not falling into the trap of calling adult women girls, or worse, females. “And there are a couple of younger ones who maybe ran away but maybe not too. And a disappearing wreck! It’s cool, Mom, check it out.”

He swings the laptop around toward me, morbid delight all over his face. It’s a paranormal website talking about recent accounts of a devastating wreck near Wolfhunter—two cars, a head-on collision. A hunter apparently witnessed it from the trees on the hill above, but by the time he was able to get a signal and call the cops and make his way down to the crash site . . . there was no wreck. No bodies. The tire tracks and crash debris that was left along the shoulder could have been there for days. The article segues into a discussion of a local legend about a deadly crash in the 1940s that left several dead, and a ghostly car that has haunted the road ever since.

Odd. Marlene mentioned a wreck.

“When was this?”

“Last week,” Connor said. “But even years back, there was a story about a ghost car that drives that same road. Some people think that’s where the missing women went. Maybe the ghost car picked them up and took them away.”