Missing In Conard County. Rachel Lee
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she answered, trying to sound alert and not groggy.
“Kelly, sorry to wake you,” came the gravelly voice of the sheriff, Gage Dalton. She guessed her attempt to sound alert hadn’t worked very well. “You found a car in the ditch along the state highway last night, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.” She closed her eyes, remembering. “About eleven o’clock. A trace on the tag said it belonged to Randy Beauvoir. I called and got no answer. Figured someone had picked the occupants up because it was so cold. No sign of any trouble, appeared to be a simple loss of control. I tagged it for tow because the rear end was dangerously near the edge of the traffic lane.”
All of which had been in the report that she had typed at five that morning. Holiday weekend, lots of activity and lots of people not home. New Year’s.
“I know you’re probably still tired, but we need you to come in. Three girls are missing, last known to be in that vehicle. Their parents called us half an hour ago.”
“Oh, God,” she breathed. “I’ll be there right away.”
SHE FILLED BUGLE’S bowls with kibble and fresh water, then while he filled his belly she hurried into a fresh uniform. Which girls? The thought ran around inside her head like a hamster on a wheel.
Beauvoir. She didn’t know the family well, but she’d met Randy and May’s daughter briefly last fall during one of those “don’t drink and drive” demos they put on every two years, showing the graphic aftermath of an accident. The girl, woman really, had been pretty and engaging and full of questions because she said she wanted to become an EMT. Eighteen and full of promise.
“Oh, God,” she said aloud once more.
Bugle looked at her, forgetting his food.
“Go ahead and eat,” she told him. “Who knows when this day will end.” Or how.
SHE GRABBED SOME dry cereal from the cupboard, poured milk on it and ate it too quickly. A couple of power bars wound up in her jacket pockets after she donned her utility belt and gun.
Time to go.
Anyone who’d grown up here should know better than to wander away from a vehicle on a cold night. It was easy to get lost out there on those open expanses, and people ought to be aware how fast the cold could become fatal. She couldn’t believe three high school women wouldn’t be aware. It was possible, but she was more inclined to believe someone had offered them a ride.
It would have been considered criminal by most folks around here to leave someone with a broken-down vehicle in such cold.
But if someone had offered a ride, who? And where had the girls gone?
Her stomach kept taking one plunge after another as she drove to the office. Bugle whimpered in his caged-in backseat as if he felt her anxiety.
“It’s okay, boy,” she said, trying to sound calm. Okay? Less and less likely.
THE SHERIFF’S OFFICE was a beehive of activity, with barely enough space to move around other personnel. Conversation was quiet, weighted with gravity. It looked like the entire department’s staff was here, along with the city police department under the direction of Chief Madison.
Before she heard a word, she recognized that a search was about to get underway.
“Kelly?”
Sheriff Gage Dalton waved her back to his office. She wormed her way through the crowd with Bugle, greeting everyone with a nod. She knew them all but there was no time for conversation, not now. Bad things were afoot.
Once inside the sheriff’s office, she closed the door at his gesture and took the seat facing his desk. Every time Gage moved, pain flickered across his scarred face. The result of a long-ago bomb when he’d been with the DEA. While he tried to give the pain no quarter, she didn’t mind his manual suggestion that she close the door herself. Why would she?
Bugle promptly sat beside her, ears pricked, at attention. He sensed something.
“Okay,” he said. “You know we don’t usually respond to a missing person report this quickly, especially not when the missing are legally all adults. Any one of those young women has the right to skip town and disappear.”
She nodded. “But not right before high school graduation. Five months before college and vocational schooling or whatever.”
“Exactly. Plus, how likely is it for three of them to pull a disappearing act and take nothing with them? One might, but not all of them. So we’re going to start looking immediately. You found the car last night around eleven. We’re not quite eighteen hours into this. Maybe a little more. I figure the first thing to do is start looking along the state highway. You said the car was facing west in the ditch?”
“Mostly. It might have spun out, I can’t be sure, but I had the impression it was on its way back toward town. I also didn’t see any tire skids, but that doesn’t mean much as dark as it was. I didn’t spend a whole lot of time looking, because there was no injury and no damage.”
Gage nodded. “I’ve sent some people out to look at the highway for any kind of marks. So what have we got east along that road that might attract three young women on a holiday weekend night?”
Kelly was sure he knew the answer. “Rusty’s Tavern. You want me to take Bugle out there?”
He nodded. “They’ll be opening soon enough. Maybe one of the bartenders will remember them. Regardless, Bugle will know if they’ve been there.”
He sure would, Kelly thought. “So what made their parents worry?”
“They knew the girls were going out last night. Each of their families thought they were staying at one of the other girl’s homes. Apparently nothing definite had been arranged except a pajama party at one house or the other. By the time parents started worrying and calling each other, it was late and they all figured it wasn’t that...simple.”
It was so unlike the sheriff to hesitate over a word. She guessed he was as worried about the young women as anyone. As certain this wasn’t going to end well.
“There’s still hope,” she said, rising as she realized he was done. “I’ll head straight for the tavern. Do we have a target for my dog?”
“The parents are each bringing some clothing. Guess you’ll have to wait until they get here.”
“Or Bugle could smell the car interior. It’s in the impound lot now, right?”
“He might get more scents than the girls.”
She shook her head. “The parents aren’t going to pick up a piece of their clothing without touching it. He’s going to get multiple scents. One of the wondrous things about him is that he doesn’t get them mixed up.”
He put up a hand. “Whatever you think best.” Glancing at the old wall clock to his right, he added, “Another half hour at least before anyone will be at Rusty’s.”
“I’ll be there when they are.” She paused. “We’ve got photos and personal data?”
“Not enough. Ask Sarah Ironheart. She may have been able to pull a digital copy of the yearbook. It won’t be printed for another two months. Otherwise we’re waiting for photos and all the rest from the parents.”
She didn’t want to meet the parents. Cowardly of her, she supposed, but right now all they could do, once they provided necessary information, was slow her down.
It wasn’t that she didn’t care. It was that she would care too much.
Sarah Ironheart sat at a desk near the front of the office, images scrolling across her monitor. A woman in her fifties, partly Native American, she had features that had worn the years well. Her long black hair, now streaked with gray, was caught in a ponytail on her neck, and the collar of her uniform shirt remained unbuttoned.
There