The Last to Vanish(47)
I had to see Cory, and on a Saturday morning at this hour, I’d place money on him still being asleep. He ran his tours late, stayed at the tavern until closing. Avoided downtown during the weekly farmers’ market. I didn’t call first. It was best if I caught him unprepared.
CHAPTER 12
THE DOWNTOWN OF CUTTER’S Pass on a summer weekend morning looked like a page out of a storybook. Streets carved out of a dip in the landscape, mountains rising up in the distance, trees filling in from all sides. There was an amber glow to the storefronts, still closed at this hour. And the town green was transformed for the weekly farmers’ market, tables and booths set up in a mazelike grid, foot traffic spilling over into the surrounding streets, children playing tag on the sidewalks.
I navigated through the downtown with my foot over the brake, until crossing the bridge at the far end of the grid, just past the welcome center, on the way out of town. Some of that water, I knew, came from Shallow Falls. All of it came from the mountain.
Beyond the campgrounds and the stables, the roads were wooded and residential, rising up in parallel tracks along the hillside, mostly with second homes, small but expensive rental properties that could be booked by the week, and a few locally owned plots that had been held on to from earlier generations. Some of the owners continued to hold on to them by renting out the upper or lower floors to visitors.
But most of the permanent residents lived just beyond this area, where the road meandered into the woods, set back in their own enclave of trees.
Cory lived about a mile outside of the downtown, on one such plot of land, with a driveway that crossed over a narrow stream, wood beams spanning the gap. I was never quite sure they were built to hold a vehicle, but everything about Cory was a leap of faith.
His place was an old ranch that he’d purchased from the Langshore family after Nora Langshore had passed, and the younger generations had all left Cutter’s Pass, not that anyone was surprised by that. There were people you knew would stay, and people you knew would leave. And there were others who left and returned, like Celeste—as if she had found no match for this place and brought back the things she loved from the outside with her.
Cory was always going to stay, I had no doubt. He lived with his two dogs, Billie and Tuck, both part retriever, and I could hear the dogs already barking as I turned off the engine of Georgia’s car. Billie had just been a puppy when we’d met, but Cory often brought them both into town. Whenever he was on shift, those dogs had a permanent spot at the back corner of the outdoor patio, water bowls left out, eager for a head rub from a customer.
I heard the wind coming, rustling the trees first, and then the wind chimes at the edge of his porch. When he’d taken over the Langshore property, he’d kept the hummingbird feeders and patio chairs and the wind chime that sounded just like the rain on the skylights of the inn.
Cory was at the door before I had a chance to ring the bell, clearly expecting someone other than me, judging by his expression. I tried not to take it as a slight.
“Hey,” he said slowly. There was a question in the greeting. I didn’t just turn up at his place. Hadn’t in more years than I could remember. But now I was struck by all the ways it was exactly how I had last seen it.
There was the place I’d sat with my feet propped up in his lap, watching the fireflies; there was the door I’d slammed on my way out of here for the very last time, because I couldn’t take the way he brushed aside any question that felt like something real. I’d sat in my car then, cooling off, waiting for him to come after me, but he hadn’t.
“I need to talk to you,” I said now, waiting to be let in. Hoping I wasn’t interrupting an overnight visit with someone new… or some tourist he’d met downtown.
Billie raced out from behind Cory, nudging my hand, and I scratched her head until Cory finally said, “Sure, come on in.”
“I thought maybe you’d be sleeping,” I said, standing in the middle of the living room, same stone fireplace and oversize sectional, but the walls had been recently painted, the stones whitewashed for a more modern look, the carpet pulled up and floors refinished. “This looks… wow.”
The entire inside had been partially gutted, the wall once separating the kitchen removed to open up the space. It was bright and airy, and I remembered that Cory had told me, once, how he wanted to flip old homes in the area. But he said it in the same way he said he wanted to see the Serengeti and visit the Seven Wonders of the World. I never imagined he would actually do it.
“I’ve been working on the house on the weekends. Figured it was finally time to make it my own.” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “Is everything okay? I heard about Trey’s visit with the sheriff.”
“What did you hear?” I asked. I wondered if Cory knew about the pictures from the camera, about the evidence of Farrah’s case that the sheriff declared unimportant.
He shrugged. “Just that. Rochelle said they were back in the office for hours.” Which was different from what the sheriff told me—Took him to lunch, he’d said. Maybe both were possible.
Still, if Rochelle had heard about the pictures, she would’ve known about my involvement, too. The fact that this hadn’t reached Cory meant the sheriff was keeping this from both of them. I wasn’t sure why. But I made note.
“I’m not here about Trey West, Cory,” I said.