Page 34

After his shift, Luke headed home along River Road, his gut stiffening as it did each time he neared the new subdivision at Fawn Ridge.

This is where it happened.

Today, instead of quickly driving by, he slowed, taking in the few distant houses and storage buildings dotting the gentle slope to the right. Set far from the road, they were scattered amid clutches of forests and fields.

What if she’d stumbled to one of those places?

His signal clicking, he turned onto the dirt road leading to the nearest house. Along the way, he struggled with his thoughts.

I’m grasping at straws. Putting off what I should’ve done from the start. But I can’t turn myself in.

Not yet.

He needed answers. His urgency to end the mystery had increased in the wake of Hyde’s admission—he’d seen how it had brought a horrible part of Carrie’s and Vern’s lives to a close.

Vern.

Vern was a force unto himself, he thought.

I got this deputy job because of him. He moved heaven and earth to help me, all while dealing with his own terminal condition. And he triggered Donnie Ray Hyde’s confession.

And what do I do after killing a woman in LA?

Shaking his head, he looked out the window.

I hit a woman on this road. I’m not losing my mind. I didn’t imagine it. Please let her be okay. Somehow, I’ll find out what happened to her, then I’ll make this right.

Luke came to a stop in the driveway next to a white clapboard house. It had a tin roof and roomy front porch with wicker rocking chairs. Boards creaked when he stepped up. The intermittent whirring of a sewing machine could be heard through the screen door when he knocked.

A woman in her seventies wearing a print dress answered, gray hair tied into a knot. She had nimble hands, fingers that moved gracefully when she removed her glasses, letting them drop by the chain around her neck. A trace of concern tugged at her while she assessed him standing there in his uniform.

“Sorry to trouble you, ma’am.”

“No trouble.” Her eyes caught the nameplate on his breast pocket. “Is something wrong, Deputy?”

“Several weeks back, or longer, we had an unconfirmed report of a person needing help on the road there.” He turned to point, then turned back. “Near your property.”

“Oh, my, was it an accident of some sort? People drive so fast along that road.”

“Possibly. But no one was found. No one was taken to the hospital. No other reports. And, like I said, nothing could be confirmed, and it was some time ago.”

“So maybe a false alarm?”

“Do you recall seeing or hearing anything unusual on the road during a storm a while back?”

“Goodness, no, I don’t think so.”

“Did anyone come to your door needing help? Anything like that? It would’ve been late, around eleven thirty.”

“Eleven thirty?” She shook her head. “No, we usually turn in about ten, then I read for a bit.”

“So, nothing?”

“Wait, a deputy did come by.”

“When?”

“Oh, maybe two or three months ago. He was asking about somebody stealing lumber from those new houses.” She shook her head. “That big development is eating up our countryside. We didn’t notice anything then either.”

“You said ‘we’?”

“Me and my husband, John.”

“Could I talk to him?”

“He’s in Beaumont visiting his brother.”

Luke nodded, thinking. “Ma’am, would it be all right if I look around outside your place?”

“Look for what?”

“Well, maybe there’s an indication of someone passing through or something.”

“Look all you like.” She almost laughed. “But the only things passing through are rabbits and possums. Go ahead, I’ll fix you a glass of lemonade.”

Luke walked to the outbuildings, first coming to a shed without a door. Stepping inside, he was hit with a pungent, vinegary odor. Noticing feathers dotting the floor, he took it for a former chicken coop.

Nothing here , he thought, moving to a small garden thriving with tomatoes, onions and peppers. He looked for possible shoe impressions, but he couldn’t discern anything.

Near the garden’s edge, he saw overgrowth laced over the boards covering the mouth of an abandoned well. He moved them. A damp earthen odor escaped. He withdrew his flashlight and probed the darkness. He looked for a body, or signs of one, anything matching the fragment of pink fabric he’d pulled from his grille.

Nothing down there.

Moving on, he surveyed the pasture that backed up to woods. What do I think I’ll achieve doing this? I’m avoiding the inevitable. Realizing this cursory look was futile, he returned to the house. The woman got up from a chair on the porch and handed him a sweating glass of lemonade with ice.

“Did you find anything?”

“Thank you. No.” He smiled, touching the cold glass to his temple. “You might want to see about plugging that well.” He took a big gulp.

“I’ve been after John to do that.”

Luke nodded, took another sip.

“This is good, thank you.” He set the glass down. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’m sorry, you are?”

“Clara. Clara Price. And you?”

“Luke Conway. Thanks, Clara. I’ll be moving on.”

Seeing Luke off, she said: “A little warning.”

He stopped, turning to her.

“If you’re going to check my neighbor’s property—” She nodded to the right. “Raylin T. Nash, there, gets kind of ornery if you intrude on his privacy.”

“I’ll remember that. Thank you again.”

Driving along the lane, sorting his thoughts, Luke glimpsed through the trees: movement at the mouth of the roadway. Was it just a car passing by on River Road?

Or is somebody watching?