Secrets Never Die (Morgan Dane #5)(18)

But Lance didn’t think so. Evan was on the run. He wouldn’t trust any adult.

Sharp pointed to the phone records. “Let me review the cell phone accounts, get Jenny started on the background checks, and call the ERs and urgent care centers. You two should be talking to Evan’s friends. They will be able to predict where Evan would go to hide better than anyone else.”

“I haven’t visited my mother since Mia and Ava were sick.” Lance worried about her. He’d spoken with her every day, but a video chat or phone call wasn’t the same as seeing her in person. When he’d been in college, he’d neglected to keep close tabs on her, and she’d suffered a major breakdown.

“I’ll call her now and give her the list of names, then stop in to see her later tonight.” Sharp nodded. “She works fast. She’ll probably have some information for us by then.”

Lance set the marker on the metal lip of the whiteboard. “Then Morgan and I will talk to Evan’s best friend, Jake O’Reilly.”

Sharp caught Lance’s eye. “You’re sure that Evan couldn’t have shot Paul?”

“Absolutely.” Lance knew it in his heart. “The only person Evan might hurt is himself.”

And that worried Lance the most. Evan wasn’t the most emotionally stable kid. If he had witnessed Paul’s murder, the trauma might be more than he could handle.





Chapter Seven

Morgan read the name on the mailbox and compared it to her notes. “One twenty-seven. This is the address Tina gave us for Jake O’Reilly, but the name on the mailbox says DUNCAN.”

“We’ll ask.” Lance turned into a long driveway. Jake O’Reilly lived on a small farm on the outskirts of Scarlet Falls. Eyeing the muddy barnyard through the Jeep’s windshield, Morgan reached behind her seat, grabbed the boots she’d been keeping there because of the heavy rains, and changed out of her nice flats.

Lance’s phone beeped, and he answered the call. “You’re on speaker, Sharp.”

“I’m reviewing Evan’s cell records,” Sharp said. “He has seven calls over the past two weeks from a mobile number registered to a T. Nelson. No texts. Just calls, while most of his other cell activity is texting.”

“Is this the first time that number appears on his phone records?” Morgan asked.

“In the past two months, yes,” Sharp answered. “I still have a few hundred texts to read, but I thought you could ask Evan’s friends if they know T. Nelson.”

“Thanks, Sharp.” Lance ended the call and opened his car door.

Morgan stepped out of the Jeep and scanned the property. Dark clouds gathered on the horizon, threatening rain. A two-story white farmhouse faced the road. Behind it, a red barn sat amid a scattering of other outbuildings. The cleared acreage around the buildings was divided into pastures. The smell of manure and freshly mowed grass lay thick in the humid air, and Morgan sneezed.

Hoofbeats approached, and Morgan pivoted to watch three slender horses gallop to the fence near the Jeep. They slid to a stop, prancing and snorting, mud splashing under their hooves.

“Can I help you?” A man led a slim black horse out of the barn. Lance was big, but this man would tower over him.

A rabbit darted out of a bush. The horse jumped, landing with wide eyes and splayed legs.

“Settle down.” The man tugged on the lead rope.

“We’d like to talk to Jake,” Lance called out.

The horse whinnied.

“Give me a minute. I’ll be right with you.” He led the gleaming animal to the pasture. Inside the gate, he unclipped the rope attached to the halter and stepped back. The four horses greeted each other, curling their necks and touching noses. Then they spun and galloped away. Mud flew from their hooves.

The man latched the gate and crossed the barnyard toward them. His jeans and work boots were streaked with mud. Hay stuck to his sweat-stained USMC T-shirt. Morgan read the SEMPER FI tattoo on his forearm.

“I’d shake your hand, but I’m filthy.” He raised his hands. “We seriously need this rain to let up for a few days. We’re drowning in mud.”

Lance handed him a business card. “Are you Mr. O’Reilly?”

“Hell no. My name is Steve Duncan.” He read the card and frowned. “You’re a private investigator? Is Jake in any kind of trouble?”

“No. We just want to ask him a few questions.” Morgan looked around for other vehicles or people. An old Honda was parked near the house. “Are either of Jake’s parents here?”

Duncan snorted. “No. Why do you ask?”

“We’re looking for Evan Meade,” Lance said. “He’s missing. I’m not just an investigator. I’m Evan’s hockey coach. We’re worried about him.”

“I wish I could help.” Duncan shook his head. “But I don’t know an Evan Meade.”

“Evan is Jake’s friend,” Lance explained. “We’d like to ask Jake a few questions. Maybe he has an idea of where we could look for Evan.”

“I don’t know any of Jake’s friends.” Duncan pulled a cell phone from his pocket and sent a text with surprising speed, considering the size difference between his huge thumbs and the tiny keyboard. A few seconds later, he read an incoming message. “He’s in his room doing homework. He’ll be right out.”