Page 29 of The Lovely and the Lost
I felt my eyebrows skyrocket.
“Traveling the world?” Free continued. “Partaking of death-defying adventures in some of the worst and scariest places this planet has to offer?”
“I would like to say that this sounds vaguely familiar,” Jude replied. “However…”
However. That wasn’t the beginning of a sentence. It was the end of one. Cady hadn’t told us anything—not about her past, not about this SAR team, and not about Ash. For once, Jude did not offer up a maniacally optimistic view of the situation.
A protective instinct stirred inside me. If there was one thing that could distract me from the predator who had Bella, it was a threat to my family. Whatever secrets Cady had been keeping, whatever answers she’d withheld—they meant something to Jude.
“Did you find out anything else?” I asked Free, talking for Jude the way he’d always spoken for me. “Who Ash was? What happened to him?”
“Ash’s full name,” Free said after an appropriately dramatic pause, “was John Ashby.”
“Ashby.” Jude was the one who made the connection. “Isn’t that Ness’s last name?”
“I’m guessing Ash was either her nephew or her son.” Free wound her blond hair around her fist. Even when it came to absentminded hair twirling, she did nothing halfway. “There’s more of a story there,” Free declared, “but dragging those particular skeletons out of the family closet might require venturing back to town and finding some chattier locals.”
I didn’t know what was going on inside Jude’s head. I wasn’t even sure ifhethought that Ash was his father, or if Free and I were the only ones who’d gone there. But I had enough question marks in my own past to know how they could eat at you, tearing chunks out bit by bit.
Cady had leashed me for the remainder of the search. There was nothing more I could do for Bella right now. But Free and I? We could make another trip to town. We could find some chatty locals—for Jude.
Jude wasn’t about to sit out this particular adventure—and neither was Silver. Given the German shepherd’s history of keeping an eye on us in Cady’s absence, that was hardly surprising.
Also unsurprising: the fact that it didn’t take long for Jude to recover his voice. “It’s a lovely day for being inexcusably nosy, is it not, ladies?”
“I believe the phrase you’re looking for,” Free put in as we hugged the side of the winding road that led into town, “is that it’s a lovely day for mischief.”
“Miscreants’ Creed,” I said, a small smile creeping over my lips. “Line one.”
As we hit the outskirts of town, we drew a few looks from locals.
“I was thinking we’d head for the wilderness-supply store.” Free chose that moment to saunter across the street, well aware that people were watching and completely unbothered by the attention. “It was closed earlier, but my little sojourn by the local pool hall last night led me to believe that Hunter’s Point is the kind of place where people nickname their guns and keep their wilderness supplies well stocked. Ten-to-one odds say the place is a family business that’s been here for years.”
“Phoebe Eloise,” Jude said fondly. “Have I ever told you that you’re terrifyingly perceptive?”
Free lightly kicked a rock and watched it skid across the concrete. “Call me by my full name again, Saint Jude, and play Russian roulette with your chances of waking up tomorrow morning with only one eyebrow intact.”
Jude meditated on that threat as we made our way to the supply store. The bell over the door alerted the shopkeeper to our arrival. Free went in first, and I went in last. The place seemed to be about one part hardware store, one part camping outlet, and one part armory.
“Can I help you kids with something?”
The man behind the counter was about seventy-five, dressed in flannel with a beard he kept shaved close to his face. There was nothing unwelcoming about his expression, but I wasn’t sure it was welcoming, either.
“Jackpot,” Free murmured to me. “I bet he’s worked here for forty years. The older they are, the more they like to gossip.”
“I am hopeful that you can help us, fine sir.” Jude offered the old man his most charming smile. “Do you have any thoughts on the kind of supplies one might need if one were hoping to spend some time in beautiful Sierra Glades National Park?”
“You’re Cady Bennett’s kids, aren’t you?” The old man met Jude’s question with a question. “Your mother was one of my best customers when she was growing up. If you asked her about supplies, I imagine she’d tell you that it depends on where you plan on heading. The Glades has nearly as many ecosystems as it has trees.”
Near the door, Silver watched the old man for a moment, then settled down, laying her head on her front paws. I took that to mean that she’d decided that if push came to shove, we could take him.
“Some folks head out to the mountains,” the shopkeeper continued, leaning forward, his elbows on the counter. “Others prefer the canyons or the foothills or making their way along one of the purest, cleanest rivers in the country.”
I edged farther into the store, keeping half an ear on the shopkeeper and waiting for Jude to cut to the chase. A glass display case caught my attention. Inside, I counted a dozen knives. As the old man rattled off something about ancient forests and three-hundred-foot-tall trees, I couldn’t help thinking that the blades in the case looked lifeless.
No matter how sharp its edges, no knife could hold a candle to fang and claw.
“Have you lived here long?” Jude fed the shopkeeper another easy question, and I continued my circuit through the shop. The next case over held guns.Rifle. Hunting rifle.A tinny taste rose in the back of my mouth. By the door, Silver lifted her head slightly, knowing brown eyes meeting mine.