Best Laid Plans(139)

Time to find out.





CHAPTER THREE



Ian’s description of Jess Sanchez was accurate. She was indeed tiny in every way—barely five feet tall, not even one hundred pounds. Black hair, brown eyes, naturally tan skin, a nose stud, and multiple piercings in her small ears. She looked more American Indian than Hispanic as her name suggested. She agreed to talk to Max after Max told her she was a reporter writing about Scott Sheldon’s disappearance, but her tone was indifferent. She told the guy she was working with that she’d be back in ten minutes; then they stepped outside.

“It’s freezing,” Jess complained as she zipped up her coat and pulled a cap over her short hair.

“Is there a lounge where we can sit?” It was cold, but the sky was so clear, it looked like it would shatter.

“I’m fine. So why are you here after nearly six months? No one cared when he got lost.”

“No one?”

She rolled her eyes. “Right. Search and rescue. Too dangerous, they said, to look for him in the storm. So Scott’s probably dead because it was too cold for everyone else.” She shoved her hands into her pockets and walked briskly. Fortunately, her legs were short and Max easily kept up with her.

“Jess, search and rescue did everything they could with the information they had. And, like you, I don’t think Scott survived.”

The girl stopped walking. Her cheeks were bright from the cold. “I didn’t say that.”

“Let’s look at the possibilities: One, Scott ran away, voluntarily disappearing. There’s no evidence to support that. Two, Scott stomped off in anger like his friends said, and has built a shelter and survived for six months. Or three, Scott died on that mountain before anyone started looking for him.”

Jess frowned, but didn’t say anything. Max continued. “There’s no evidence that Scott ran away or that he survived. I’m pretty certain he’s dead, and so is search and rescue. Even his mother, and parents are the most likely to believe that their child found some way to survive the unsurvivable. But I think there’s more to what happened that weekend than what your friends told the police.”

“My friends?”

“Tom Keller, Carlos Ibarra, and Arthur Cowan.”

“They’re not my friends.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“Art and Carlos used to be. But not anymore.” She averted her eyes, and the anger in her voice went down a notch.

“Why?” Max asked bluntly.

She shrugged, still didn’t look Max in the eye.

“Because of what happened with Scott?”

“No.” Jess was being evasive.

“What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know.”

Maybe not, but she knew something.

“I have to go back to work.” Jess turned abruptly and headed back the way they’d come.

Max followed. “Jess, I’m not leaving until I find the truth. Scott’s family deserves to know what happened. They deserve to bury a body, don’t you think?”

Jess stopped walking. She stared straight ahead, not facing Max. “I wasn’t on the camping trip. I don’t know what happened. I just—”

“What?”

“I just don’t think what they said happened did. But if it didn’t, they’re not going to say anything about it now, so we’ll never know the truth.”

She spoke fast, but Max understood. Jess thought her friends—her former friends—had lied.

“Tell me what you think.”

“I can’t. I mean, I don’t know what to think! Look, I really have to go.” She opened the door to the bookstore.

“Where can I find them?” Max asked her.

“Art and Carlos are on the top floor of Canyon Hall. Room four-twelve. Tom’s in the same dorm, but I don’t know his room.”

Jess closed the door on her. Max decided to let her go—for now. She’d be back to push Jess after the guilt and suspicion had had time to do their job.

Max almost smiled. She hadn’t even been here a day, and already her suspicions were proved right—meaning, she wasn’t the only one who thought what happened the weekend Scott disappeared was odd. Time to track down Scott’s so-called friends and dig for the truth.

*



No one answered when Max knocked on room 412. She considered her options.

She could search their room, but there were a lot of people going in and out. And if Cowan and Ibarra returned and found her inside, she might have a difficult time getting them to talk to her. Not to mention that being kicked off campus would make it harder to uncover the truth.

She walked down the staircase and passed three girls who were chatting about a party in another dorm. They’d heard about it on Twitter.

Max snapped her fingers. Social media. These were college kids; they made a career out of telling the world where they were and what they were doing.

She leaned against a wall on the first floor, just inside the main entrance, and pulled out her phone. She opened her social media app and found Arthur Cowan’s social profiles through his affiliation with Cheyenne College. Once she found Cowan, she found Tom Keller through a common association. Arthur and his roommate, Carlos Ibarra, had privacy settings on their accounts, so she couldn’t see their status reports or pictures, but Tom posted publicly—apparently everything he did when he did it.