Page 51 of Missing Pieces (Brantley Walker: Off the Books #12)

While he’d said yes to Slade’s suggestion that they focus on the case while the team worked out the logistics of Simon’s story, Atticus was now regretting it.

He wanted to be in the thick of things, not out here trying to figure out what equipment was necessary to hoist and move a bronze statue.

Who really cared? It was a damn statue. They could buy another one if it was that big of a deal, right?

At the same time, he wanted to figure out where the damn statue was, get it back to the high school where it belonged—provided it hadn’t been sold on the black market, melted down for cash, or whatever the hell someone would do with a giant bronze horse—and put this case in his rear view so he could focus on other things.

He was just torn between how much effort to put into it.

It was a statue for fuck’s sake. Surely it was insured.

“This should be quick,” Slade said as they turned down a dirt driveway. “Ethan’ll know what equipment they would’ve used.”

Atticus nodded. He was content to go with Archer’s theory that someone could’ve used a forklift, but when he tried to tell Slade that, anger had flashed in the man’s eyes. So when Slade argued that they needed an expert, not some podcast investigator—Slade’s words—Atticus didn’t argue.

And here they were.

“My guess is they hoisted it onto a flatbed, drove away with it.” He left off the forklift part.

“Had to’ve been something that didn’t draw attention,” Slade noted. “Not a single one of the people I talked to saw or heard anything.”

“Not that they’re tellin’ you, anyway. What’s to say one of those people didn’t take it?”

“For what purpose?”

“Hell, I don’t know. What purpose would anyone have for stealing a life-size bronze statue of a horse?”

“You want my honest opinion?”

Atticus glanced over. “Of course.”

“I think it was the rival team. The homecoming game is this weekend. It’s tradition for the football team to take a photo with the statue before the game. Without the statue, there is no picture.”

In some warped and twisted, teenage-brain way, that made sense. As an adult, Atticus didn’t get it, but that wasn’t to say he wouldn’t’ve done the same thing if he’d gone to a regular high school like these people.

Whatever the reason, they were up against a real clock if there was supposed to be a picture before tonight’s game.

In order for Coyote Ridge High School to uphold its tradition, the statue needed to be located and put back in place …

in a few hours. Jesus. What were the odds they’d stumble across it by then?

Even small towns had a lot of people. No way could they talk to everyone.

And who was the rival team? An equally small town?

Slade pulled the truck up close to a large metal building, effectively cutting off Atticus’s mental rant.

“Let’s see what Ethan has to say. Then we’ll go from there.”

Nodding, Atticus got out, then walked around to meet Slade at the single door with the small glass window. Slade turned the knob and the door opened.

When they stepped inside, Atticus heard the echoes of metal tools clanging.

The place was bigger than it appeared from the outside.

Tall ceilings, tons of equipment, and tools.

There was a small office to his right with what appeared to be a cluttered desk and computer.

Next to that what looked like a breakroom.

He didn’t see anyone in the brightly lit space, but it was easy to follow the sound.

“Ethan?” Slade called as they made their way toward the back wall.

A disembodied voice echoed with, “Who’s askin’?”

Slade chuckled. “Slade and Atticus.”

A man appeared—presumably Ethan—slowly rising from where he’d been working under the hood of a Walker Demo truck.

Atticus was convinced there was something in the water down here.

Something that made all the men extremely large.

Not to mention devastatingly good-looking.

Ethan Walker wasn’t quite as broad as his cousin Brantley, but he wasn’t small by any means.

He easily had a few inches on Slade’s six-foot-two and many on Atticus’s five-foot-ten.

Like Brantley, Ethan was a good-looking man with dark hair, steel-blue eyes, and a chiseled jawline.

“What’s up, cuz?” Ethan grinned, wiping his hands on a red towel before fist-bumping Slade in greeting.

“I’m not sure you two’ve met,” Slade said, gesturing between them. “Ethan, this is Atticus James. Atticus, this is my cousin, Ethan Walker.”

“Nice to meet you,” Atticus said, doing his best not to fidget.

“Likewise. What brings y’all by?”

Atticus listened while Slade laid out the story of the missing statue, a story that seemed to amuse Ethan if the gleam in his eyes was anything to go by.

“And you’ve checked the football field?” Ethan chuckled.

“Would it be there?” Atticus asked, seriously.

“Tonight it might,” Slade noted.

“But how would they move it? Wherever they moved it to.”

“My guess is forklift and a flatbed.”

Atticus didn’t look at Slade, not wanting to remind him that was exactly what Archer said.

“How do you use a forklift to pick something like that up?” Slade asked.

“Like a hoist,” Ethan explained. “Tie the straps around the forks and the statue, then raise it. From there, you could move the flatbed under it, haul it off.”

Exactly like Archer said.

Again, he wasn’t bringing it up.

“That’s what I’d do, anyway,” Ethan added with a grin.

“Any chance you stole a life-size mustang from the high school?” Atticus questioned.

“Not this time. Wish I’d thought of it, though.”

He seemed genuinely amused by the prospect.

“Know anyone who might?” Slade prompted. “Or heard anything? Rumors?”

“Nope. Whoever did it’s keepin’ it on the DL. That or it was the rival team and they towed that bad boy out of town.”

“Know anyone who’s missing a forklift?”

“Can’t say that I do. But you can get one pretty much anywhere.”

Also what Archer said.

Atticus glanced between Ethan and Slade, hoping one of them would add more. Something that would solve this case here and now so he could get on with his life.

When nothing else came from either man, Atticus cleared his throat. “Well, thanks for your help.” He looked at Slade. “I guess we’ll be knockin’ on doors.”

“Lemme talk to Braydon,” Ethan said. “See if he has any ideas. I’m sure he thought of it back in the day, so he might know a way to get one on the DL.”

It wasn’t a resolution, but it was more than they had. Atticus would take it.

“Perfect,” Slade said. “Thanks.”

“Nice to meet you,” Atticus said before following Slade to the door. “Who’s Braydon?”

“One of Ethan’s brothers. He’s a job foreman for Walker Demo.”

Atticus wasn’t sure how that benefited them, but he was at a loss, so he figured it couldn’t hurt.