of transaction he was making here Thursday?” Travis asked. “The time stamp on the security footage showed he walked up to the teller window at two sixteen.”
Tom walked to a computer farther down the counter and began typing. A few moments later, he groaned. “Looks like it was a cash transaction.”
“Such as?” Jamie asked.
“Breaking a large bill or cashing in rolled coins,” Tom said.
“Here are the security discs for the time period you wanted.” Susan handed Travis an envelope. Travis wrote out a receipt for her, then he and Jamie left.
“I got chills when Tom said it was a cash transaction,” Jamie said when they were in Travis’s cruiser. “Al had to know we couldn’t trace that.”
“Or maybe he was using the transaction as an excuse to hit on the cute teller,” Travis said. He rubbed his hands along the steering wheel. “Not that I really believe that. I think we’re on to something.”
“This might be the killer.” A shiver ran through Jamie as she said the words.
“Maybe.” He shifted the cruiser into gear and began backing out of the parking spot. “In any case, this feels like the closest we’ve gotten.”
NATE AND GAGE returned to the sheriff’s department and waylaid Travis and Jamie as soon as they returned. “We got something from Abel Crutchfield that might be useful,” Gage said as they followed Travis into his office. Jamie hung back, then followed, too, squeezing in to stand next to Nate. The soft, herbal scent of her hair made his heart race with a sudden memory of the two of them making out in the old Ford pickup he had driven at the time. Hastily, he shoved the memory away and focused on the conversation between the sheriff and his brother.
“Abel says he saw a woman—tall, thin, blonde—walking along Forest Service Road 1410 this morning,” Gage said. “She was alone, no car around. He said he didn’t get a real good look at her, because she had her head bent, talking on her phone.”
“Except there isn’t a phone signal out there,” Nate said. “For any carrier.”
“That does seem suspicious,” Travis said.
Beside Nate, Jamie shifted. “Maybe it isn’t really suspicious,” she said.
She flushed when all three men turned to look at her but continued, her voice even. “Maybe she was nervous, being out there alone. She heard the guy’s truck and pulled out her phone and pretended to be talking to someone so whoever was driving past would get the idea she could summon help if she needed to.”
“Do women really do things like that?” Nate asked and wished he could take the words back as soon as he said them.
“Yeah, they do,” she said, the expression in her eyes making him feel about three feet tall. “Because you know—men.”
None of them had a good response to this. The silence stretched. Finally, Travis said, “Let’s see if we can find anyone else who saw this woman. I also have a list of bank employees. Let’s talk to them and see if any of them remember ‘Al.’ Jamie, I want you to help with that. Most of the employees are young women—they might be more willing to open up to you.” He clicked a few keys on his laptop. “I just forwarded the list to you.”
“I’ll get right on it,” she said, then slipped out the door.
“I’ll see if I can find any campers or snowshoers or skiers or fishermen who might have seen a woman who fits the description Abel gave us,” Nate said.
“Let’s not drop the ball on his,” Travis said.
“Right,” Nate said. He wasn’t going to drop the ball on Jamie, either. He’d do whatever it took to make her see he wasn’t the boy who had hurt her seven years ago. She might never feel close to him again, but at least they could be friends.
Jamie left the sheriff’s department at nine o’clock, after working her way through half the bank employees on the list Travis had forwarded to her. So far, none of the people she’d spoken to remembered Michaela talking to anyone special, and they had no recollection of a single man who stood out for them.
She picked up a sleepy Donna from Mrs. Simmons’s house. Donna had already taken a bath and changed into a pair of flannel pajamas with large, colorful dogs all over them. Jamie had a pair just like them. Over the past couple of years, Donna had gotten into the habit of keeping a number of clothes at the caregiver’s house, which made things easier for everyone. As Jamie put an arm around Donna and escorted her into their house, she caught the smell of the coconut shampoo her sister used. The scent and the feel of the soft flannel beneath her hand transported her back to the days when Donna was little and Jamie, seven years older, often helped her get ready for bed. Once Donna was bathed and dressed in pajamas, the sisters would snuggle together in Donna’s bed, and Jamie would read to her until she fell asleep.
Tonight, she led her upstairs to the room across the hall from Jamie’s own and tucked her in. Donna turned on her side and studied the big whiteboard on her bedroom wall, where Jamie drew in a calendar every month and noted both sisters’ schedules. Donna liked knowing what was supposed to happen each day. “Work tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll see Henry.”
Right, Jamie thought as she kissed her sister, then switched out the light. Sometime tomorrow she’d have to find time to stop by the grocery store and check out Henry. He was probably harmless, but it didn’t hurt to be careful.
She walked across the hall to her room and exchanged her uniform for yoga pants and an oversize sweatshirt. Taking off the heavy utility belt and body armor was the definite signal that she was off duty. Time to relax. Except she was too restless to settle. She went downstairs and wandered through the familiar rooms—the kitchen, with its white-painted cabinets and blue Formica countertops; the formal dining room she had turned into a home office; and the wood-paneled living room with its comfortable tweed-covered sofa and chairs and heavy wood tables. The house was out of style but comfortable and familiar.
She and Donna had grown up in this house and had lived here together until Jamie had gone off to college. She hadn’t gone far—only across the mountains to Boulder, and the University of Colorado. She had studied business, thinking she would look for a job in Junction, so that she could be close to Donna and her parents. Then, her parents had been killed in a car accident, plowed into by a tourist who was texting while driving. The tourist had walked away with only a few bruises, while her parents had both been pronounced dead at the scene.
So much for a business career in Junction. Jamie needed to be in Eagle Mountain, with Donna. She might have sold the family home and moved with her sister to Junction or Denver or somewhere else, but the thought made her heart ache. Eagle Mountain was home. And Donna didn’t do well with change. She needed familiar things—her home, the neighbors she knew, her job at the grocery store—to keep her firmly grounded.
Jamie had moved back to Eagle Mountain for good four years ago. After a series of low-paying clerical jobs, the opportunity at the sheriff’s department had been a welcome relief—a way for Jamie to stay in Eagle Mountain and
