Page 17 of The Bright Lands

Who is this?

If this is Dylan answer the phone.

Where is my brother.

“Why did you assume right away that this isn’t him?” Clark said.

“Because even when he’s upset he doesn’t text like this. Look.” Joel pulled down an earlier message, one that began,i can’t quit football. “That message Sunday night is the reason I came down here in the first place—there’s something wrong with my brother. Not that the investigator bothered to ask.”

Clark read the message twice. “What’s the Bright Lands?”

“Fuck if I know. Did anyone get hold of the guy Dylan and his friends were supposed to be staying with at the coast?”

She pushed the phone back across the table. She tried to smile. “You have to know I can’t tell you that.”

He nodded, played his fingers on his glass.

“Hey,” Clark said. “Maybe the message this morning was just a prank—KT or Jamal got hold of Dylan’s phone and decided they wanted to put you through the wringer. Boys can be like that.”

“How did they get through the phone’s passcode?”

“Maybe they saw Dylan type it in one time. Maybe he didn’t have one.”

“And Troy never sent you anything like this? Back after—everything?”

Clark wondered if Joel realized how rude he had become. She poured another shot for the both of them and said calmly, “How is New York?”

“Isn’t it a hell of a coincidence?” Joel went on like he hadn’t heard her. “Two football players who both run off for no obvious reason?”

“Joel, I don’t quite know how to say this. The biggest game of the season is Friday. It must be plenty of pressure.” She slid her glass back and forth. “People around here might say a coincidence is you turning up after ten years away and your brother running off the next morning.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I have an alibi.”

She downed the drink. “I ain’t accusing you of anything. Listen—boys your brother’s age do strange things. Present company included, yeah?”

He struggled to return her smile.

“You’ll be happy to know the fat fucker who arrested you at the park had to go on medical retirement,” she said.

“Heart attack?”

“Something more satisfying. Old Deputy Grissom was out riding his horse this summer and the damn animal spooked, fell on him, dragged him over a rock. By the time some hikers found him, he’d had so much brain bleeding he’d percolated into a vegetable.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You shouldn’t be. Listen, Joel—” She waited for him to meet her eye. “We care, alright? The whole department, the whole town, we love Dylan. The sheriff’s already gotten a call from the mayor about it, just like he has from every man in the Chamber of Commerce. If Investigator Mayfield says he’s going to call KT Staler’s brother then he’s going to call him. But you’ve got to bear with us, alright? We had two officers take jobs in the city this spring. Thank God we had Browder join up because Grissom’s retirement would have put us three down otherwise. It’s a big county. All the usual rambunction. We got the meth crazies breaking into trucks and farms, we had someone burn down that damn church—”

“So itwasarson?” Joel said, tilting his head. “My mother said it was an electrical fire.”

Clarktsked. She’d forgotten how sharp Joel was. “Have a good night, Mr. Whitley.”

She rose to go but he grabbed her hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, and sounded like he meant it. Sounded suddenly, thoroughly defeated. “I know it sounds crazy but I was just—I woke up afraid. I spent all night dreaming about my brother.”

Clark’s hand lingered under his. So had she.

SUNDAY

THE SEARCH