The Last to Vanish(32)

“I think some people don’t want to be found,” I said.

Trey flinched, eyes wide. He stared back at me before responding, voice low. “My brother might be kind of a jerk, but he wouldn’t do this to my parents.”

“I didn’t mean…” I shook my head, looked away. This was why I didn’t usually answer the question. There was no good answer. And now I was alone in the woods with a man I didn’t know, his demeanor vacillating between hope and anger. I’d seen the swing in him the night before, in the chaos of his room. How quickly that switch could be triggered.

In the absence of answers, a lot of things could grow.

“We should get back,” I said, checking my watch. I crossed the log bridge, slightly unsteady, felt Trey’s footsteps reverberating in the wood as he followed close behind.

I didn’t pause, didn’t wait. I hitched my bag onto my back, pulled the straps to tighten it, and started walking. Nothing good ever happened out here.



* * *



TWO AND A HALF miles in silence was a different type of grueling, and I endured it trying to figure out what he was thinking. What he would do next. The trail was much more populated at this time, with day hikers coming in from town, setting out with picnics on their backs, and I was glad for the existence of them. I thought of Farrah, the possibility that someone had followed behind as she descended the steps, without her knowing. I thought of the cairn again, with that single red flower: a memorial; a warning.

At the exit to the trailhead, Trey stopped walking.

“There’s nothing out there,” he said, and I shook my head.

“No,” I said. “Not now.”

“There’s nothing in this flash drive, either.” He took it from the outer pocket of his pants, had carried it with him to the falls. Like he believed in the danger in leaving it behind, just as Landon must have.

I pressed my lips together, agreeing. Nothing that would get him any closer to finding his brother, at least.

“I’m going to bring it to the sheriff,” he said.

I remembered what Marina said, about Trey being here for a reason. “I can set it up for you,” I said. Just being helpful. Just an extension of my job. I started walking toward the parking lot, where I could get the best signal.

“Abby,” he called until I stopped walking, turned back. “He was afraid. You can feel it, right?”

The flash drive hidden in the bedpost. The lies he told at the inn—I’m working on a book—to keep this place from knowing what he was looking for.

I sensed it in myself, something steadily building.

“Yes,” I told Trey honestly. “I can feel it.”





CHAPTER 9


I CALLED ROCHELLE AT THE sheriff’s office as soon as my phone registered a bar of signal, standing at the intersection of the gravel path and our parking lot. We weren’t exactly friends, but I had her number in my phone as a necessity by nature of our jobs. So the sheriff could reach the inn; so the inn could reach them.

I listened to the phone ringing as Trey sat on a log at the perimeter of the parking lot, walking stick resting beside him, unlacing his boots, pulling them off carefully. He winced, and I looked away. Blisters that would take days to heal, I was sure.

Rochelle didn’t pick up, but instead of leaving a message, I sent a text: Landon West’s brother would like an appt to see the sheriff today

Almost immediately, I could see she was responding. Rochelle was an excellent multitasker, had worked at the sheriff’s office since she was a high school intern in the summers, and now no one was sure if the place could run without her. I pictured her with the office phone tucked to her shoulder on some other call while she pulled up his calendar on the computer to respond to me.

“You can get service out here?” Trey asked, pulling out his own cell to check.

“This is the best spot,” I said.

My phone dinged with a text from Rochelle: Can he be here in an hour?

Yes, thanks. I responded without asking. “One hour,” I said. I checked my watch again, knowing I’d be pushing things with the start of my shift. “How about I take you? The parking situation will be ridiculous right now.” It was high season, and it was a beautiful day, and the streets would be packed with people we didn’t know, pouring in on foot and by car, walking from shop to shop or mingling on the town green, taking photos in the middle of the road, in the spot with the best view of the mountain in the distance, framed in the background as the road curved up toward the inn.

“Yeah, okay, thanks,” he said. “Just give me a chance to clean up first?” He handed me his walking stick as he stood barefoot in the gravel lot. Now I was the one to wince.

“I’ll meet you out here in forty-five,” I said as he turned away, walking tentatively across the lot, heavy on his heels.



* * *



WHEN I ENTERED THE lobby, there was a woman standing next to the fireplace, checking her watch. Midthirties, blond hair in two thick French braids, a line of piercings up her left ear. Mountain View Two. The Millers.

Georgia was nowhere to be seen.

I dropped the two walking sticks into the bin. “Hi, can I help you with something, Mrs. Miller?” I asked, hoping she recognized me from checkin, even though I was in hiking gear and sweating and carrying a pack.