Paul’s truck had been seized and would be returned when the police were good and ready.
Didn’t matter. Ava knew where Uncle Paul had been staying to spearhead his ridiculous treasure hunt. It was a start anyway.
The Peak Season Trailer Park was as tidy as it had been for the last twenty years, nicely tended units with cement walkways between that were cleared of snow. Uncle Paul often stayed at the place over the years when he was avoiding facing Ava’s father.
“Paul’s a scammer and he always has been. Every time he shows up here he wants money for some ridiculous scheme,” her father had said with increasing frequency in the months before a blown tire caused the wreck that paralyzed him.
Marcia, her mother, would not reply, dipping her head and chewing her lip. Ava knew what she was thinking then.
He’s my brother. He needs my help.
The thought startled her, so like the words running through her own mind at that moment.
He’s my uncle. He needs my help.
But now a grimmer thought chased right along behind.
If he’s still alive.
He was her mother’s only relative. If he was dead, wouldn’t she feel it? Have some sense that his life had blinked out?
No, she acknowledged. She would not feel it. The place where her soul had been was sodden and numb. A nebulous hope was all she had left and she would hold on until it was pried from her cold fists.
Resolutely, she crunched through the snow to the caretaker’s trailer.
A familiar man with ruddy cheeks and a crew cut prickling his big head greeted her. His jowls were fleshier than she remembered. His overall rumpled quality remained the same from the faded jeans to the tattered down vest he might have been wearing steadily since she’d seen him some ten years before.
“Ava Stanton, you’re all grown up,” he said, squeezing her in a hug that nearly made her cry out.
“Hello, Bully. Good to see you.”
“You, too. Pauly told me you’re a real looker, and I can see he’s not joking.” Bully’s smile dimmed after a moment. “Uh, you know the cops have been here. Said he’s in trouble. Said maybe he’d been abducted.”
She told him what she knew.
Bully considered. “You think he’s dead?”
She sighed. “I’m not sure.”
His rounded shoulders slumped. “Ah, things finally caught up with Pauly.”
Her heart sped up a tick. “What things?”
Bully looked away. “You know. Pauly’s a scammer, no disrespect intended.”
“But what was he involved in this time, Bully? Who was after him?”
“Dunno. He was scared about something. Told me not to tell anyone he was staying here.” Bully’s eyes narrowed. “Wouldn’t even tell me what was up, and haven’t I known the guy for twenty years?”
She felt an inexplicable thickening in her throat. “Don’t let it get you down. He didn’t tell me, either.”
Bully’s shrugged. “Heard you was going to sell Whisper Mountain.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s the plan. Did Uncle Paul tell you?”
“Naw, just heard it somewhere.”
She wondered where, but she did not press the point.
Bully pulled a toothpick from the dispenser on his small table and chewed it. “Told Pauly I heard about the sale, and you know what he says to me?”
He leaned in close enough for her to catch the scent of bacon that clung to his flannel shirt.
Bully’s brow wrinkled. “He tells me, ‘Don’t believe everything you hear,’ and he flashes this smile like I-got-a-secret-that’s-going-to-turn-things-upside-down. What do you think that means?”
Ava could only shake her head. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“I’ll let you know if I think of anything.”
“That’s fine, then.” Bully nodded and handed her a key. “He’s staying in the one he always does, number 17. Some people came this morning and wanted to rent out a few trailers, but I ain’t about to rent that one out even though the police have cleared it. No one is staying in that trailer ’cept you until we figure out what happened to Pauly.”
Ava nodded, unable to speak, accepted another crushing hug from Bully and followed him outside, shivering. Bully’s puffy vest had a tear down the back, but the man seemed completely impervious to the temperature, as if he was showing her the way to some beachside cabana instead of a trailer parked in the snow. She trudged along the path to number 17, feeling the weight of the past twenty-four hours slowing her down.
What could she hope to discover in her uncle’s trailer?
“Here you are,” Bully announced grandly. “I just put a new microwave in not two months ago. Works slick as a whistle.”
She thanked him again, grateful that he did not trap her in another rib-crushing hug before he left.
Sliding the key in the lock, a movement caught her eye. Someone looked out from the trailer that faced hers.
Someone familiar.
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