The Last to Vanish(37)

“She’s my ride,” Trey explained. I got the sense he wanted me here. Wanted a witness, someone on his side to help navigate the intricacies of Cutter’s Pass.

But Sheriff Stamer was already gesturing him past reception, a hand on his shoulder. “We can get you right back after,” he said, a tight-lipped smile at me as he peered back. “I don’t think we need you in any official capacity for this, Abby.”

I nodded, taking the hint.

Once the door to the offices shut behind them, Rochelle jutted her thumb over her shoulder, pointing in their general direction, and said, “That is not a good idea.”

“I just took him on a hike,” I said. Her directness always managed to keep me off kilter, as if I needed to defend myself against something that hadn’t happened yet.

She smirked. “Also not a good idea, if you want my opinion.”

I didn’t. “Just trying to help,” I said. There was something unsettling in the way she always seemed to be assessing me. I had a feeling I would always be an outsider to Rochelle, no matter how long I lived here.

“You know—” she began, just as the phone rang. She raised one manicured finger, bracelets jangling on her wrist as she did. “Sheriff’s office,” she said, holding the phone between her cheek and shoulder, hands poised over the keyboard in front of her.

I took one of the wrapped mints from the dish on her desk and headed for the exit before she could finish her thought.

“Hey,” I heard her call after me, just as the door swung shut, but I kept walking. I could imagine the warnings well enough; I’d lived here long enough to know them myself: You shouldn’t get involved and Don’t encourage this, there’s nothing left to find. But for once, they were wrong. And for once, I knew it first.





CHAPTER 10


I SAT IN MY CAR, wanting to hear whatever the sheriff was going to tell Trey. Whatever Trey was going to tell the sheriff. Thinking of how I could find a way to linger—

My cell rang in my purse, making me jump, then fumble for the device. It was Georgia, calling from her cell.

“Abby,” she began, as greeting. “Are you still in town?” I could hear the wind moving across the microphone, knew she was outside, where she could get the best signal.

I closed my eyes, pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose. “Yes, I’m heading back soon.”

“No, it’s fine. Just, that group in the Forest View rooms, they went out on a hike and asked if we could schedule a horseback tour for tomorrow. The computers are down, something’s definitely happening with the lines here.”

“I already called it in to Harris,” I said.

“Great. But could you swing by, while you’re down there? They’re always more likely to move things around for you anyway.”

I couldn’t argue with her assessment. When I’d first arrived, I’d spent a lot of my downtime there, visiting with the horses, something that always calmed me, reminded me of home. “I got it,” I said. I’d rather go there than back to the inn right now anyway.

“Thanks…” Her voice trailed off. “Hold on.” The sound of feet on gravel, and I pictured her walking across the lot. “Is Cory here? Is that his car in the employee lot?”

She must’ve been able to see it from where she was standing.

“Yeah, Celeste had him doing some grunt work today.”

“Great,” she said again, this time dry and monotone. “All right, see you soon,” she said before disconnecting. It sounded like both a question and a plea.



* * *



BEYOND THE BRIDGE, PAST the campgrounds, I first saw the sign for the zip lines, tucked into a canopy of trees. A right at the next intersection and a narrow road wove up a hill before the entrance for the stables. An arch over the dirt road, bronze lettering, bracketed by horseshoes on either side. There were several other cars in the lot, including Jack’s van.

It was hard to miss: Jack’s permanent residence was an old-school van he’d converted into a living arrangement, which apparently suited him just perfectly. When he was in town, he generally parked it on his parents’ land and used their shower and laundry. Otherwise, the van served as his own home base that he brought out on trips.

A cloud of dust hung in the hot air as I exited my car, heading for the barn with a sign over the door, instructing visitors to enter here for checkin.

The owners’ daughter was behind the front desk, drawing in a sketchbook; Sylvie had large brown eyes and hair the same shade, currently parted sharply down the middle, tied up in two buns.

“Hey, Abby,” she said, closing the black book, sticking the pencil behind her ear. She looked so young; I couldn’t believe I’d been her age when I’d arrived here, on my own. She was just a few months out of high school—I’d been here for her graduation party earlier in the summer—but I’d known her since she was a child weaving between her parents’ legs as they ran lessons and tours from the barn.

“Hi, Sylvie.” I leaned one arm on the counter. “Is that Jack I see here?”

She shook her head. “No, he’s out. We were short-staffed, and he’s been staying here on and off, so…”

“I didn’t know he was staying here.” Over the years, I’d seen his van in downtown, at the campground, off the road down by the river, and occasionally, at Cory’s.