know if they’ve been there.”
He sure would, Kelly thought. “So what made their parents worry?”
“They knew the girls were going out last night. Each of their families thought they were staying at one of the other girl’s homes. Apparently nothing definite had been arranged except a pajama party at one house or the other. By the time parents started worrying and calling each other, it was late and they all figured it wasn’t that...simple.”
It was so unlike the sheriff to hesitate over a word. She guessed he was as worried about the young women as anyone. As certain this wasn’t going to end well.
“There’s still hope,” she said, rising as she realized he was done. “I’ll head straight for the tavern. Do we have a target for my dog?”
“The parents are each bringing some clothing. Guess you’ll have to wait until they get here.”
“Or Bugle could smell the car interior. It’s in the impound lot now, right?”
“He might get more scents than the girls.”
She shook her head. “The parents aren’t going to pick up a piece of their clothing without touching it. He’s going to get multiple scents. One of the wondrous things about him is that he doesn’t get them mixed up.”
He put up a hand. “Whatever you think best.” Glancing at the old wall clock to his right, he added, “Another half hour at least before anyone will be at Rusty’s.”
“I’ll be there when they are.” She paused. “We’ve got photos and personal data?”
“Not enough. Ask Sarah Ironheart. She may have been able to pull a digital copy of the yearbook. It won’t be printed for another two months. Otherwise we’re waiting for photos and all the rest from the parents.”
She didn’t want to meet the parents. Cowardly of her, she supposed, but right now all they could do, once they provided necessary information, was slow her down.
It wasn’t that she didn’t care. It was that she would care too much.
Sarah Ironheart sat at a desk near the front of the office, images scrolling across her monitor. A woman in her fifties, partly Native American, she had features that had worn the years well. Her long black hair, now streaked with gray, was caught in a ponytail on her neck, and the collar of her uniform shirt remained unbuttoned.
There was a chair beside the desk, and Kelly slid into it, waiting for Sarah to reach a pause point. “Damn it,” Sarah said finally.
“What’s wrong?”
“The yearbook editors haven’t organized much of this file. I don’t know how they’ll get it finished in time to print it and put copies in students’ hands by the end of the school year. Heck, some items aren’t even in the total file yet, but in separate pieces.”
Sarah leaned back in her chair. It was old and groaned as it tipped backward. “Coffee,” she said as if it were the answer to everything.
“Want me to run across the street?”
Sarah cocked a dark eyebrow at her and smiled. “Trying to escape?”
Kelly half shrugged, feeling rueful. “I’d like to avoid the parents. Guess I can’t.”
“All of us should be that lucky. You still need a target. They’re bringing them.”
Kelly didn’t even try to argue. Yeah, Bugle could pick up the girls’ scents from the car, but they’d be much stronger on items of clothing. “Stay,” she ordered Bugle. He waited, still as a piece of statuary, while Kelly stood. “How do you like your coffee?”
“Black. Thanks.”
“No problem.” The coffee bar was against the back wall, a huge urn that simmered all day long. The coffee was famously awful, but it carried a caffeine charge. What amused her, however, was that just in the time she’d worked here, she’d watched the addition of about seven types of antacids to the table behind the foam cups.
Velma, the dispatcher who had been with the department since the dinosaurs had roamed the earth, still smoked at her desk despite the no-smoking sign right over her head and made the coffee. No one ever complained. But now there was that row of antacids. Velma ignored it.
Kelly smothered a smile at the incongruities but poured Sarah her coffee. She’d like some herself, but she’d wait until she could get something that wouldn’t hit her stomach like battery acid.
Sarah thanked her as she returned and handed over the coffee. Then she rubbed her neck once and returned to scanning the images on her screen. “It would help,” she said quietly, “if all these photos were labeled by name. Or sorted by class.”
“Still early days, huh?”
“For the yearbook, evidently.”
Just then the front door opened and a blast of cold air could be felt all the way across the room. Kelly immediately recognized Allan Carstairs, the county’s animal control officer. Although he was loosely attached to the sheriff’s department, he seldom wore a uniform. Today a dark blue down parka with a hood covered him to below his narrow hips—funny that she could see those hips in her mind’s eye—above jeans. Thermal long johns, she guessed. A staple for everyone during parts of the year. Like the insulated winter boots on his feet.
She watched him ease his way through the room, pausing to talk to some of the gathered deputies. At last he approached the spot where she sat with Bugle and Sarah.
“How’s it going?”
“I guess we’re going to see,” she answered.
He nodded, his expression grim. Sharp angles defined his face, giving him a firm look that rarely vanished, even when he smiled. Gray eyes met hers, but right now the gray looked more like ice. It wasn’t a warm color.
“Which three girls?” he asked.
Sarah spoke. “Jane Beauvoir, Mary Lou Ostend and Chantal Reston.”
Kelly felt her heart squeeze. Jane had been the only one she’d met, but still. So young. So entitled to a future.
“Hell,” said Al. “Chantal volunteered with me last summer.”
“We need to get the rest of the K-9 units in here,” Gage suddenly called from the hallway that led to his office in the back. “Where the hell is Cadel Marcus? Jack Hart? What kind of search can we run without the dogs?”
“A sloppy one,” Kelly muttered. Bugle eyed her quizzically.
Impatience grew in Kelly. She wanted to get on with it, find out if the girls had been seen at the roadhouse last night. If so, there might be a clue about who had picked them up. Or might have. At this point, however, it had clearly been no simple offer of a ride home.
The door opened again, this time for longer and letting in more icy air as the fathers of the three girls arrived. Randy Beauvoir entered first, followed by Kevin Ostend and Luis Reston. Kelly knew all three of them by sight, but only vaguely as she’d never had any business
