to Cabool.”
“Only halfway. You’d better get thee to a safe hotel and get some rest. You won’t do Emma any good if you have a wreck.”
Sarah needed coffee. The clock in her dashboard told her it was nine-thirty. Two and a half more hours of driving, and she still had no idea if she would find Emma when she arrived at her destination.
“I checked out Nick a little more thoroughly,” John said.
“How?”
“It’s all about computers these days, cuz. It’s there—you just have to find it.”
“So...what did you find?”
John chuckled. “Can’t help yourself, can you? I have a feeling you might be carrying some glowing embers for the guy.”
She felt herself smiling in spite of everything. “John.”
“Sorry, but if Nick wants you to know about his business, he’ll have to tell you himself.”
“Did you read his blog?”
“Yep. Cuz, don’t freak, but I’m afraid he might be onto something. He asked for information about a toxin leak many years ago in a river about twenty miles from Jolly Mill, but unless he comes up with more there, I think that’s a no-go. Still, something’s up.”
“Nick didn’t say anything about that.” She shoved open the door, stepped out into the cool night air and was nearly sideswiped by a speeding motorcycle. She ran around the front of her car and into the ditch on the other side, her footing precarious.
“Breathe, Sarah.”
“I’m breathing.” But this was feeling too real.
“What’s wrong?” John asked.
“Someone intentionally called Edward just before the explosion. Everyone in town probably knows about the bad cell reception in that conference center, so they must have known he would step outside. Our parents were best friends. Those meetings they had every year? They used to hold them in a place on Spring River until that toxin scare. After that, Dad made the decision to change the venue to the conference center at Jolly.” She stepped from the soggy, weed-filled ditch into the heavier darkness of the woods. “The man who owned the place on the river killed himself after the dioxin spill at Verona, and Dad blamed himself.”
“What? Why?”
“Because when Dad withdrew from the Spring River center, others did, too.”
“That’s no reason for Uncle Mark to blame himself. He was protecting people.”
“What if someone else blamed him for that poor man’s suicide? The guy lost his income and lost hope.”
There was a hesitation. “Okay, listen, Sarah, I’ve got some vacation days coming to me. I could call the chief, see if—”
“No, you don’t need to go to Jolly. You need to get that detective position.”
“This is getting a little too much for nonprofessionals to handle.”
“Nick told me there’s an ex-cop he’s working with.”
There was a heavy sigh. “Guess you know where to find Nick.”
“I practically lived at their house half the time when I was a kid.”
“I’ll update you if I find anything else. You stop and rest. And, Sarah—”
“I know. You’ve got my back.”
“That’s right, cuz, I’ve got your back.”
* * *
The gentle melody of Sarah’s voice echoed in Nick’s mind instead of the scrape of the hasp he eased over one of the push mower blades. She was coming here. The last time he’d seen her in person she’d had long, Goth black hair and her beautiful eyes had been overwhelmed by the heavy makeup. How would she look as a grown woman?
He realized he wanted to see her, looked forward to it.
Once again breathing in the scent of motor oil, dried grass and gasoline in the two-car garage, he glanced at the clock and wondered where Dad was. For the time being, both of them had been parking their vehicles in the driveway so there would be room for Nick to work on the mowers and lawn-care equipment he’d purchased two weeks ago. Dad had pulled Mom’s car around back to a shed where he wouldn’t have to look at it every time he stepped to the kitchen window. He refused to drive it. Instead, he continued to rattle around in the twenty-year-old Ford pickup he’d always driven. Small-town pastors didn’t bring in millions from their congregations.
Nick’s thoughts returned to Sarah and the stress evident in her voice, her sorrow over the loss of her parents, the love he’d heard between the lines for her younger sister. Nothing felt quite real tonight. Except for Sarah.
Like Dad, Nick was still grieving hard over Mom’s death. After the shocks in life these past couple of years, he was still scrambling to catch up with a lot of things. Maybe he was grasping for something from the past—something of comfort. If nothing else, Sarah’s presence, even over the airway, had served to take him back to a gentler time when she was his friend and confidante, solid and serene and capable of gentle humor. Her twin had the infectious giggle and quips that kept everyone else laughing, but sometimes it was at the expense of others. Sarah never did that.
He was turning the rotary to the next blade when he heard the unique murmur of a Volkswagen Beetle engine pull to a stop outside the house. The engine died. He frowned. He’d neglected to ask Sarah what kind of car Emma drove.
A car door closed, and he was waiting for the chime of the doorbell when a knock against the garage door three feet away startled him.
“Dr. Tyler?”
Young. Feminine. Sounded a little shaky. And he couldn’t ignore the title. Respectful, as she’d seemed online and on the phone. Emma. He hesitated, relieved beyond expectation that she’d arrived safely, but for Sarah’s sake unwilling to make her entrance an easy one. She must have seen his work lights seeping out from beneath the big door. It was why she hadn’t gone to the front.
“Hello?” she called.
“Yes?” He drawled the word slowly.
“Um, I’m Emma? You know, Russell?”
He waited for more explanation.
“We emailed and talked to each other a few times about our mothers?” she continued. “They were friends. And you went to school with my sisters. The twins? Do you remember Shelby and Sarah Russell?”
Shaking his head, amazed she’d think he wouldn’t remember, he grabbed a slightly stained work rag and wiped as much grass and oil as he could from his hands. “Don’t you live in Sikeston?”
“Well, yeah, but I came here to see you.”
Sarah was right: this one was a handful. “And Sarah’s waiting for you in the car?”
