Page 49 of Silent Bones

McKenzie glanced over. “Texting Callie?”

“Yep,” Noah said. “Told her to give me an update on the Airstream search warrant. I still haven’t heard back.”

McKenzie popped open the passenger door. “You starting to think this is about more than rage?”

Noah slid behind the wheel. “If half of what Theresa said is true, it’s about fear. Control. Shame. And the kind of secrets that twist people up inside.”

“It certainly would provide Mr. Linwood with a motive, but it still makes no sense, why kill all of them including his son?”

Noah glanced at him and raised his eyebrows.

He turned the key in the ignition.

12

It was almost hypnotic. The wipers squeaked across the windshield in slow rhythm, smearing a thin film of drizzle as Noah drove west along Route 30. Pines closed in on both sides. The sun had dipped behind the ridge, leaving a flat gray glow over the road and just enough visibility to make out the curves ahead. He hadn’t spoken in ten miles.

Beside him, McKenzie cracked his knuckles against the doorframe. “You think Jesse’s dad could’ve done it?”

Noah’s jaw tensed. “You’re asking if a man could murder his own son.”

McKenzie shrugged, not glibly. “I’m asking if a man like that could. Theresa wasn’t just talking drama. If it’s true Jesse’s father caught them and beat the hell out of him after, and then Jesse turns up dead?—”

“Doesn’t mean Mark killed him,” Noah cut in. “But it means we have to ask questions we wouldn’t normally ask.”

“Hell of a question,” McKenzie muttered. “I’ve seen controlling dads, but that’s a different breed.”

Noah didn’t answer. His thoughts drifted back to the way Theresa’s voice broke. To what she’d said.Stephen said Jesse’sdad would never let anyone find out. Not in this town.That wasn’t just concern. That was fear.

He shifted in his seat, still feeling the stale weight of the motel coffee and no lunch. His headache hadn’t gone away since morning. It throbbed now behind his eyes. Whatever was happening in this case, it was slipping away from neat explanations.

The phone buzzed in the console cupholder.

He tapped Bluetooth. “Sutherland.”

Callie’s voice came sharp and fast. “Logan Forrester. I found him.”

McKenzie straightened in his seat. “Our missing camper? Are you serious?”

“Where?” Noah asked.

“Pines Edge Motel. Tupper Lake. Room 6. Clerk said he’s barely moved since he checked in, two days ago. Paid cash. Name’s on the registry, real name too.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Not yet. Didn’t want to spook him. Figured you’d want to take this one.”

Noah glanced at McKenzie. “We’re on our way.”

He flipped the lights on and accelerated toward Tupper Lake.

The Pines Edge Motelwas a place you drove by without noticing, or maybe the kind of place you pretended not to notice. A tired L-shaped strip of two-story rooms with a rusted ice machine and a dented Coke machine buzzing faintly beside the office.

A faded neon sign blinked over the main door: PINES E GE MOTEL. The “D” had burned out.

Three cars were in the lot. One was a sun-bleached Corolla with mismatched hubcaps. Noah pulled in beside it. The rain had picked up, nothing dramatic, just a thin, steady drizzle that gave everything a film of tired shine.

“Looks like a meth bust waiting to happen,” McKenzie muttered as they stepped out.