by Jeff Shelby
The drive to Tim’s was short. There was very little traffic on the roads, and the downtown area of Latney was just waking up. The bank and Toby’s were open, but Sophia’s was still shuttered and the ice cream shop next door was darkened. Even the Wicked Wich looked deserted, although I suspected Mikey was already inside and prepping food for the day.
I pulled to the 4-way stop and waited for a school bus to turn, heading toward Winslow. Judging by the look of the kids filling the seats inside, it was probably headed to the high school.
Mack was quiet during the drive, and I wondered what he was thinking about. Was he imagining living here in this tiny town, feeling a little envious of what I had carved out for myself here? Or was he focused solely on finding and talking to Tim? It could be either, I thought. Or he could simply be thinking about wolfing down another burger at the Wicked Wich. Or he could be thinking about nothing at all. If I’d learned anything after twenty years of marriage and raising a son into adulthood, it was that all of these scenarios were equally likely.
I slowed down just before the turnoff for Tim’s hideaway. I didn’t know what else to call it, I realized. I’d never bothered to find out if he owned the land he was parked on or if he was squatting or what.
Mack straightened as soon as we pulled through the dense copse of trees and into the clearing, and I immediately saw why.
The pickup truck was back.
He was out of the car before I’d pulled to a complete stop.
“Mack, wait!” I said, shifting the car into park and yanking the key from the ignition.
He slowed his pace a little but didn’t stop.
He was already knocking on the door by the time I caught up with him, his foot tapping impatiently as he waited.
The door creaked open.
James peered out at us, a confused look on his face. “What are you guys doing here?” he asked.
Mack forced a smile. “We were hoping to talk to Tim.”
James expression clouded and he eyed us warily. “Why?”
“Just some questions,” Mack said, trying to keep his voice as light as possible. “I noticed the truck was back so figured he’d be around.”
James frowned and said nothing.
“What?” Mack asked, leaning in closer. I didn’t know if he was trying to peek inside or what.
“You can’t talk to him,” James said with a sigh.
Irritation flickered across Mack’s face. “Why not?” Mack demanded.
“Because he isn’t here.”
“What?” Mack’s voice rose. “What do you mean? Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” James said.
“How could you not know? He’s your brother.”
James looked Mack squarely in the eye. “Because he’s missing.”
THIRTY FIVE
“Missing?” I repeated.
Mack looked too shell-shocked by the news to say anything.
James eyes darted to me. “Yeah,” was all he said.
“But...but the truck is back,” I said, motioning to the pickup parked to the left of the camper.
James nodded. “I stayed the night here last night, hoping he would come back. Tried calling and texting him on his cell a bunch of times, but he didn’t respond and it didn’t look like he was reading my messages. I was worried something might have happened to him, you know?” He took a deep breath. “Besides the fact that I was sort of stranded here without my truck.”
“So what happened?” I asked. “It was just...back?”
James gazed at the truck. “Yeah, I woke up this morning and it was parked right there. But Tim was nowhere to be found.”
I glanced at Mack. As soon as he heard this from James, he headed down the steps.
James opened the door wider. “Where are you going?”
Mack walked toward the truck.
I turned my attention back to James. “There was no sign of him?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. He left the keys in the ignition.”
I nodded, thinking. Tim leaving like that certainly sounded suspicious...unless he had something to do with Miranda’s death and he had decided he’d be better off on the run.
“James,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm, “what do you know about your brother’s relationship with Miranda?”
He squinted at me. “Who?”
“Miranda,” I repeated. “The woman found in the trunk of the car.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, her.” He frowned. “Relationship? What do you mean relationship?”
I didn’t know how much I should reveal; after all, Mack had taken the picture from the camper, which was technically a crime.
“I think there might have been a connection between them,” I said.
James looked genuinely confused. “A connection? The only connection I see is the fact that she was found on his property. I’m pretty sure that’s why he ran.”
Mack had rejoined us. “Technically she was found on my property,” he said.
James bit his lip. “Well, yeah.” He toed the ground with his boot. “But your car was parked here. And, I don’t know, I think it must have spooked him or something.”
“So Tim didn’t know Miranda? Before...?” I let the words trail off, because there wasn’t a delicate way to say it.
James shook his head. “Not that I know of, no. He didn’t have many friends, you know? There’s a guy in town he knows...I think he’s a cook or something?”
Mikey.
I nodded.
“But other than that...” James was quiet for a minute. “He’s always been kind of a loner. Always into his own thing, you know?”
I looked around the clearing, remembering what I’d seen during my few minutes peeking inside of Tim’s camper. He was definitely into his own thing.
“Do you have any idea where he might be?” I asked. “I know yesterday you said he’d gone out hunting or something, right?”
“That was earlier,” James said. “I went with him but came back early.”
I remembered what he’d said. He’d come back and then gone into the camper. When he’d woken up, the truck was gone.
“Maybe he’s out hunting again?” I suggested. “You don’t know for certain that he’s missing, right?”
It was a fair question, especially if all James was basing his belief on was the fact that his truck had been returned and Tim was gone.
“His gun is missing,” James said.
I frowned. “Doesn’t he use that for hunting?”
“And his knives. And his bows. And other supplies. It’s like he loaded up and took off.”
Mack spoke up. “On foot?”
James shrugged. “I guess. He doesn’t have any other means of transportation besides the camper. At least not that I know of.”
“Maybe he stole another car,” Mack muttered under his breath.
I shot him a look. “Have you called him in?” I asked James.
James made a face. “To the sheriff?” he asked incredulously.
I sympathized with him. He was the last person I would want to call in a situation like this, too. But he was also the only person James could call who might be able to do something about it. “Just so he knows he’s missing,” I said.
I thought about the last person who had been reported missing in town. Miranda. And even though the sheriff still hadn’t commented on whether or not Margaret’s sister was the same Miranda found in the back of Mack’s car, I was having a hard time believing she was someone else.
James looked back at the ground. “I haven’t. I suppose I should, though.”
Mack took a step closer and cleared his throat. “And you’re sure he didn’t know Miranda?”
“I’m sure.” James’s voice was firm. “As sure as I can be, knowing what I know about my brother.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Well, like I said, he was sort of a loner. If he’d had a girlfriend or something, I think I would have known about it
. We didn’t really have secrets from each other. At least not that I knew of...” His voice cracked and his eyes misted. “And now he’s...gone.”
I felt bad for James. I wasn’t sure he knew his brother as well as he thought he did, but I could tell that he was genuinely concerned for Tim’s wellbeing.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “This has to be hard for you.”
“It is,” James said, his voice full of sadness. “Because I really think he might be gone for good.”
THIRTY SIX
“What do you think?” I asked Mack as soon as we were back in my car.
James had returned to the camper, dejected and depressed. I didn’t know how long he was planning on staying in town—he’d been noncommittal when I asked—but I’d given him my cell number and told him to keep us informed if he heard from Tim.
“What do I think about what?” Mack asked.
“About Tim.”
Mack gave a quick shrug. “Who knows? Do I think he took off? Yeah, of course.”
“And what about what James said, about Tim not being involved with Miranda?”
Mack rolled his eyes. “Please,” he said, his voice laden with disgust. “Just because Big Bro doesn’t know about it doesn’t make it untrue.”
I didn’t want to point out that just finding a photo among stacks of other papers inside Tim’s camper didn’t make it true, either.
“Look, there’s one thing I know for sure,” Mack said as we bounced our way down the gravel drive and back toward the main road.
“What’s that?”
“Tim didn’t just take off for no reason.”
We were at the end of the gravel and I stepped down on the brake, bringing us to a complete stop.
Mack was right.
Something had triggered Tim to leave. According to James, it had been the simple fact that Miranda had been found on his property. He’s gotten spooked and just left. Taken his supplies and disappeared. I didn’t know Tim from Adam, but even I could see the holes in that story.
He’d left behind his camper and all of his supplies—well, everything except his hunting gear and some food. If he’d spent all of his time prepping for the end of times, why would he suddenly abandon everything? Wasn’t the point of his entire life to be prepared...and if so, why would he just walk away from it all? His camper was a drivable one, so if he’d intended to leave, why hadn’t he just gotten behind the wheel and driven off? Especially if the only thing he was running from was the memory of finding a dead woman on the property he camped out at.
The photograph Mack had found might not be enough evidence to connect Tim to Miranda’s death, but it was something that needed to be addressed.
And the only person who could answer the questions we had was Tim.
Which meant we needed to find him.
I turned right, accelerating at a slow pace, my eyes more focused on the side of the road than the asphalt in front of me.
“What are you doing?” Mack asked, frowning.
“I’m looking for a good place to pull off.”
“Why? Is something wrong with the car?”
“No.”
“Then why do you want to pull over?”
About fifty feet ahead the shoulder was slightly wider, with the trees hugging it a little less dense. I maneuvered the car as far from the road as possible and hit the brake again.
“I still have no idea what you’re doing,” Mack said.
“For a private investigator, you’re a little slow,” I told him.
His frown deepened.
“You want to find Tim, right?”
Wordlessly, Mack nodded.
“And we know he’s not at the camper. We also know he is no longer in James’s truck. Correct?”
Another nod.
“We know that Tim is comfortable being outside. Seems to actually prefer it, with all the hunting and fishing he supposedly does.”
Mack was staring at me, his frown morphing into more of a questioning look.
“So don’t you think it makes sense to go to him instead of waiting for him to come back to us? To civilization?”
Mack’s face screwed up in confusion. “What are you saying?
I opened the driver’s side door. “I’m saying we need to go to him.” I stepped out of the car and spread my arms wide. “Because he’s out here, Mack. Somewhere. And we’re going to find him.”
THIRTY SEVEN
“You’re crazy.”
Mack was staring at me like I’d grown an extra head.
I stuffed my keys in my pocket and tightened the scarf wrapped around my neck. “What’s so crazy about going out to look for him?”
Mack snorted. “Uh, do you notice something about this place?” he asked, gesturing to the woods behind him.
“It’s cold?” I asked. The trees wouldn’t allow for much sunlight, and I knew it would feel significantly colder under the canopy of branches, despite the fact they were mostly bare and that we’d be buffered from the breeze.
“No, Rainy. It’s huge!” Mack waved his hand around. “You want to just traipse through the forest and look for Tim? You actually think that’s a good idea?”
I did. Because I didn’t think we had any better options. “What else do you suggest we do?”
Mack sighed. “I don’t know. Anything but this!”
“We might be able to find some clues—” I began, but Mack cut me off.
“Clues? What, in the snow? Like footprints or something?” He shook his head. “I’m an investigator, Rainy, not a tracker.”
“I’m not a tracker, either,” I told him. “I’m not even an investigator!”
“So then why are you trying to call all the shots?” he retorted.
I glared at him. “Because you haven’t offered any other suggestions, Mack Mercy. At least I’m trying to do something!”
I left him standing there and headed for the trees. My boots crunched on the snow and branches snagged against my jacket as I crashed into the woods. There was no sound behind me, no indication that Mack was following my lead. In fact, the only sound I heard was my own heavy breathing and my heartbeat drumming in my ears.
Oh well, I thought. He could wait by the car for all I cared. He’d be bored and cold, though, because I’d locked the doors and the keys were safely tucked inside my pocket. He could suffer for all I cared.
A minute or so later, I heard grunting and huffing behind me, and I smiled in satisfaction. He’d clearly decided it would be a better idea to tag along. Score one for me.
“What exactly are we looking for?” he grumbled from behind me.
“Tim.”
“I know that,” he snapped. I could picture the glare on his face. “So what? Footprints? Or boot prints, as the case may be?”
“Sure,” I said. My eyes were focused on the ground in front of me, not so much looking for prints but trying to avoid fallen logs and other debris that might cause me to trip. I’d already stumbled a couple of times and the last thing I wanted was a twisted ankle or a face full of snow.
“We should probably split up,” Mack said from behind me. From the sound of his voice, he had moved a little closer.
I stopped and turned to look at him. He was at least dressed more appropriately for the weather on this outing, thanks to the donated clothes Declan had brought over, but his cheeks and nose were red, and he still looked remarkably out of his element.
I wondered if I did, too.
“Why?” I asked. I was breathing a little heavier than normal and my breath came out in white puffs, like mini clouds floating in the forest.
“Cover more ground,” Mack said.
“What if we get separated?”
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone. “Isn’t that what these are for?”
He had a good point. “Okay,” I said, turning back around. “I’ll keep going this way.”
“I’m peeling right,” he told me. “Back toward Tim’s place. Maybe he decided to s
tay close to home.”
I nodded and kept going, trudging through the snow, trying not to think about how cold I was. The forest was peaceful almost, a sea of white in front of me, and I did my best to focus on how pretty it was. Snow blanketed the ground and coated the tree branches, and there was virtually no sound: no birds chirping, no squirrels scurrying about, no deer moving about in search of food.
I knew Mack was with me, probably just yards away, but I’d never felt more alone. It was beautiful to look at but for some reason, the peaceful feeling began to dissipate and the woods suddenly felt eerie, like I was caught in some winter horror movie where something was about to go seriously awry.
I shook my head, trying to snap myself out of it. I was looking for a missing man, someone who had taken off for unknown reasons. And sure, we suspected he might have something to do with a woman’s disappearance and death, but that didn’t mean I was in any danger. It wasn’t like I was going to accuse Tim of anything if I found him out there. We actually had the perfect story for why we were looking for him in the first place: his brother was worried sick and we were just offering a helping hand.
What could possibly go wrong?
THIRTY EIGHT
I spied the footsteps a few minutes later.
Off to my left, there was a trail of prints that meandered between two trees.
My heart skipped a beat.
I opened my mouth to call out for Mack, then thought better of it and pressed my lips together. From this distance, about fifteen feet away, they looked like footsteps, but it would be wise to get a closer look, just to be sure.
I took a tentative step toward them, an uneasy feeling washing over me. They definitely looked like footprints.
But they were small, smaller than the prints my boots were leaving in the snow.
I frowned.
Tim wasn’t a huge guy by any stretch of the imagination, but I hadn’t noticed that he had abnormally small feet.
I crouched down next to the first set of prints. The treads were deep, almost as though the boots were new and the bottoms hadn’t been worn down from use and exposure.