Leo ducked as Jimmy’s car rolled past. The sheriff’s deputy didn’t even glance in his direction. The pickup started with a roar. Leo headed the opposite direction.

  Leo would deal with Jimmy later. He couldn’t be late for his next appointment.

  CHAPTER 21

  Mason drained the first pint of beer and reached across the table for the pitcher. Ice crystals frosting the glass melted into a puddle on the table.

  “Thirsty?” Rylee asked, sipping from her own glass.

  “Very,” Mason said, gulping half of the refreshed pint. He shifted against the confines of the booth. His leg brushed against Rylee’s under the table. She didn’t pull away.

  They sat across from each other in a narrow booth in Slice of Pine, the lone pizza joint in Pine Village. Rylee had said the pizza was mediocre, but the beer was ice cold. After a day spent in the sweltering Indiana heat, that was enough for Mason.

  Sitting in the booth, the air conditioning puckered his skin.

  Other than the bartender and another man at the end of the bar, they were the only patrons.

  “I can’t believe Leo arrested you,” Rylee said. “I’m sorry about that.”

  Mason shrugged. “What I can’t believe is he still holds a grudge from high school,” Mason said.

  Rylee shook her head. “That grudge runs deep, Mason. You didn’t just break Leo’s nose. You broke his plans to get out of Pine Village. With his nose smashed up, he started having breathing problems. Leo couldn’t pass the physical for enlistment into the military. After that, he was stuck here.”

  From the time Mason had left Pine Village for basic training, he hadn’t thought about Leo Blackwood. At her words, that scuffle on the practice field, once a distant memory, rushed back.

  The late August heat shimmered above the practice field, turning the clay practice field into a furnace. Near the end of the day’s drills, the coach’s whistle pierced the air, signaling another round of the one-on-one battles Mason dominated.

  The team formed a tunnel of bodies, creating a narrow corridor between them. Leo crouched into position, his cleats digging into the unyielding dirt.

  Opposite Leo, a sophomore named Jake squared up.

  “Stay low,” Mason coached the sophomore. “Drive with your legs, and don’t stop until he’s on his back.”

  “You’re going in the dirt,” Leo taunted, his voice muffled by his mouthguard.

  Coach blew the whistle. Pads cracked as the two mismatched opponents collided in a tunnel of screaming teammates. Jake, the sophomore, closed on Leo and dropped a shoulder into the senior’s stomach. Jake drove up, flipping Leo over and dropping him onto his back.

  The team fell silent at the surprise outcome. Leo lay on the ground, gasping for breath. As he struggled to regain his wind, the rest of the team erupted, pounding Jake on the helmet and shoulder pads.

  Leo recovered and got to his feet. He shoved a coach away and dived at Jake, pinning him down as teammates scattered. Leo ripped off Jake’s helmet and bashed the sophomore in the face.

  Jake already lay unconscious on the ground, blood streaming from his nose and mouth as Leo swung back for a second strike. Mason lunged at Leo, knocking him off of his prey.

  “Get off me,” Leo shouted. Still gripping the helmet, he swung upward at Mason.

  Mason drove forward and headbutted Leo, crushing his opponent’s nose against the helmet.

  “Unintended consequences,” Mason said as he finished his second glass. “Leo never got it fixed?”

  Rylee swirled the remnants of her beer in the glass. “That’s after two surgeries.” Rylee held a finger over her nose, kinking it at the middle joint. “His nose looks like it was broken in shipping. He can barely breathe through it anymore.”

  “I’m sure that adds to his sparkling personality.” Mason lifted the empty pitcher. “Refill?”

  “I’m on it,” Rylee said as she popped up from the booth.

  Mason watched Rylee as she left the bar. Whenever thoughts of her had crossed his mind since high school, he’d imagined her married with kids—just another Pine Village story of settling down young. But watching her now, the confident sway of her hips beneath her tennis skirt stirred memories of the summers they’d spent getting lost in rural Indiana while finding each other.

  Rylee turned. Mason flicked his eyes to hers.

  “Caught you,” she said, sweeping an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

  Mason held out his hands for cuffs.

  A thwack from the end of the bar drew Mason’s attention to the customer in the farthest bar stool. A pounding gavel rapped against the bar top a second time. Mason recognized the man as the same one who had barreled into him coming out of Mrs. Whittaker’s diner.

  “Charlie!” The man waved over the bartender. Mason caught the glint of a wedding band. “How about another round?” His words slurred together.

  Although more lively than when Mason had first seen him, the glassy-eyed man still looked haggard, with pale stubble masking the deep lines on his face. His wiry white hair was rowdy and unkempt, and his white collared shirt hung from his frame.

  Mason watched the interaction from his seat. The bartender, Charlie, sauntered over and swiped the empty glass. He swirled a towel over the polished wood in front of the drunk man. Charlie kept his voice low.

  Mason nodded to the two men as Rylee sat down again. “Do you know that guy?”

  Rylee flicked her head over her shoulder. “Which? The drunk?”

  Mason grunted.

  Rylee traced the top of her glass with a long finger. Ragged cuticles bordered her short fingernails. In school, Rylee had chewed them every time a test drew near. She hadn’t shaken the habit as she’d grown up. “I’ve seen him around town sometimes,” she said. “No idea who he is.”

  “Remember when we knew everyone in town?”

  It was Rylee’s turn to shrug. “You say that like it’s a good thing. Places change, Mason. People move away. People pass away.” Her eyes went round, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean….” Her voice faded.

  “It’s okay. And you’re right. Places change.” Mason looked at the drunk at the end of the bar. The bartender stormed away from him and snatched the phone from the wall. “Although not always for the better.”

  Rylee poured each of them another pint and held it up, her smile inviting. “To old times.”

  They clinked glasses.

  Mason watched as locks of dark brown hair fell around Rylee’s face as she drank.

  “What are you doing in Pine Village? Don’t you live in Indianapolis?” he asked.

  Rylee nodded. “About half the time. The other half, I work at the student health clinic at Purdue.”

  “Do you still live in your parents’ house?” Mason asked.

  Rylee grimaced as she sipped beer. “Leo still lives there. I rent a small place about a few miles east of town for clinic days. I stay with a friend in Indy when I have hospital shifts.”

  Mason arched an eyebrow. “A friend?”

  Rylee leaned over the table. She whispered, “Jealous?” Her eyes shimmered.

  Mason offered a lopsided smile. “Always.”

  She winked. “Good to know. The friend is a woman I went to medical school with. Not having to rent two places helps with my student loans. I have debt up to here,” Rylee said, holding her hand straight above her head.

  The move pulled at Rylee’s clinging sportswear. Mason’s gaze flicked to the rustling under her shirt.

  Rylee cleared her throat. “Anyway, I finished up my tennis lesson and was on my way home when I saw you.”

  “You’re still playing?” Rylee had dominated the tennis courts in school. Mason had expected her to get a scholarship, but one never materialized.

  “As often as I can. Helps keep me in shape.”

  “It certainly does,” Mason said, emboldened by several pints.

  The restaurant door opened behind Mason, and Rylee looked up at the noise. “Shit,” she said.

  Leo Blackwood came into view beside the booth. “Well, isn’t this a nice surprise.”

  “What are you doing here, Leo?” Rylee said, her voice sharp and clipped.

  Leo turned to the bar and waved. “Charlie called me about someone needing a ride.”

  Rylee shook her head. “You’re a chauffeur now? That’s what the sheriff has you doing?”

  Leo’s bald held turned pink. His hard eyes flicked to Mason, then back to Rylee. He pressed on a smile. “Just being neighborly. You’d know about that if you moved back home full time, Rylee.” His focus shifted to Mason. “What about you?” he asked. “You got a home to get back to?”

  Mason sipped from his glass. “Hearing you talk about how neighborly it is around here has me all nostalgic. With the house empty now, I might even decide to stay.”

  Leo pressed his fists into the table, leaning over. “You should think twice⁠—”

  “Did you find your missing deputy?” Mason asked.

  Leo stood, his mouth slack. “What?”

  “Kyle Thornton. Jimmy mentioned Kyle hadn’t been heard from in a few days, and that you two were going looking for him. I’d expect a missing deputy to warrant a bigger response than a simple welfare check.”

  Leo jabbed a finger at his sister. “You need to get him out of here.” Before she could say more, Leo marched to the drunk at the end of the bar. The man waved him off as he swayed to his feet, propped up by the bar. Mason waited for the man to keel over as he detached from the railing. The drunk staggered out of the restaurant with Leo trailing close behind.

  Mason leaned close to Rylee. He caught the floral notes of her perfume. “Laugh like I said something funny.”

  Rylee threw her head back and roared at the ceiling. Mason resisted turning around. The echo of the door slamming reverberated through the restaurant.

  “You were right about his nose,” Mason said. “It looks like a jagged ski slope.”

  Rylee laughed again. This time her response was genuine.

  “What do you have planned for the rest of the day?” she asked.

  Mason pushed against the booth. The sweat that had coated him had dried in the arctic blast of the air conditioning in the restaurant. He felt the salt grind against his skin.

  “I need a shower,” he said.

  Rylee slid a few twenty-dollar bills under the pitcher. “Me too,” she said. She stood up and took a few steps toward the door. She called back to Mason. “Are you coming or not?”

  Minutes later, they burst through the door of Rylee’s condo. She stripped off his T-shirt as the door closed. Mason kicked off his boots as his fingers found the clasp on Rylee’s sports bra. Rylee grabbed Mason’s belt and tugged him into the shower, a trail of clothes following in their wake.

  CHAPTER 22

  Jimmy idled at his desk at the back of the bullpen. He hammered on the yellowed keyboard attached to the high-end computer, feigning work. He treated the aged keyboard like a cherished heirloom. The keys, worn shiny from years of stabbing fingers, emitted a satisfying clack with every press. Other people in the office joked about how much noise his keyboard made, but Jimmy ignored them.

  At least he tried to.

  The sheriff’s phone rang. The closed door muffled the words, but Sheriff Pope’s twang was unmistakable. Her voice rose sharply, then quieted as quickly as it rose.

  Jimmy offered a silent prayer the sheriff would leave soon. He’d headed straight to the sheriff’s department after his second visit to Kyle’s apartment. He wanted to dive into the map and figured the department had the best resources in town to help make sense of it.

  When he had entered from the rear door, he’d found Sheriff Pope still in her office, phone in hand. Late hours weren’t like her. Pope closed the blinds to her office as he walked by.

  Now Jimmy plinked away on the computer, catching up on news and reports while he waited for the sheriff to depart.

  A few minutes later, Sheriff Pope left her office and headed for the door. Not wanting to give himself away, Jimmy kept his eyes on the screen. Before she reached the front door, Sheriff Pope turned and marched straight back to his desk.

  “Burning the midnight oil, eh, Jimmy?” Sheriff Pope asked.

  Jimmy leaned back in his chair. “More like the nine-thirty oil, Sheriff.”

  A smile formed and evaporated. “That’s true.” Sheriff Pope rested on a corner of his desk. “I just talked to Leo about the trip you took over to Kyle’s apartment. He seems to think the neighbor, the young woman you spoke to, might know more than she’s telling us,” Pope said. “You got anything to add to that, Jimmy?”

  Jimmy’s hands grew damp. He tucked them under his desk.

  “Sheriff, that doesn’t seem plausible to me,” Jimmy said. “The woman”—Jimmy flipped through the notes on his pad even though he knew her name—“Miss LaTanya Moore. Student and a single mother. She wasn’t evasive.”

  “Leo says otherwise.”

  Jimmy laughed. “Sheriff, if Leo started asking you questions, how would you react?”

  Sheriff Pope nodded. “Yeah, I can understand that. Still, there are lots of single mothers in prison, Jimmy. Leo also said she had a key to Kyle’s apartment. She certainly had an opportunity if she wanted it.”

  “An opportunity to do what?” Jimmy asked.

  “That’s the question,” Sheriff Pope said. “Maybe she’s got a grudge against police. A brother in prison she believes was wrongly incarcerated, perhaps.”

  Jimmy chewed the inside of his cheek. “Sheriff, nothing showed any foul play inside Kyle’s apartment. The neighbor couldn’t have been taller than five-four. The idea that she overpowered Kyle, somehow hid the body, and got rid of his car isn’t believable.”

  Sheriff Pope glanced over her shoulder. Donna, the office manager, handled a phone call. “Jimmy, sometimes in police work, you have to make it believable,” the sheriff said. “I’ve got a missing deputy and no leads. Right now, that woman is the closest thing we have.”

  Jimmy’s mouth went dry. He sipped from a flat Mountain Dew. “What are you asking, Sheriff?”

  The sheriff stood. She gave him a reassuring smile. “You’ll figure it out.” She waved to the computer on his desk. “You’re a smart guy. You’ll do the right thing. Bring Leo into it if you have to. I’m counting on you. Kyle’s counting on you, too.”

  The sheriff turned on a heel. Her boots squeaked on the tile as she strode out of the bullpen and through the front doors of the office.

  Jimmy turned over the conversation with Sheriff Pope, questioning if he’d understood her request. Or was it an order? He stared at the small picture frame on his desk, the only personal item among the piles of paperwork. The photo showed his parents, John and Emily, flanking Jimmy the day he’d graduated from the Indiana Law Enforcement Academy. His father, a third generation of struggling farmers, radiated with pride for his son.

  A voice intruded on his thoughts.

  “Sorry?” Jimmy asked.

  Donna repeated herself. “You staying all night?”

  He rocked forward in the office chair and resumed banging away on the keyboard. “Got a few more things to wrap up,” he said.

  “Don’t stay too late, hon. Leo took off out of here over an hour ago.” Donna reached into her lunch bag and left a clear container on his desk. “I didn’t eat my chicken salad. You’re welcome to it.”

  Jimmy tapped the container. “Thanks, Donna. I appreciate that. Did Leo say where he was going?”

  Donna shook her head. “He didn’t say, hon. Usually, Leo’s ready to talk my ear off. Tonight, he just marched right out of here. If you ask me, he seemed downright stressed about something.”

  Jimmy grunted. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow and see what’s on his mind.” Jimmy had known Leo Blackwood for his entire life. In that time, Jimmy couldn’t recall a single moment when Leo had had anything on his mind other than bad intentions.

  Donna and Jimmy shared the awkward goodbyes common in office life. Donna trudged out the front door to her waiting car.

  Once Jimmy heard the engine fade into the distance, he pulled the map that he’d found at Kyle’s from his back pocket. Still held in the plastic zip-top bag, he removed the folded paper and laid it flat on his desk. In the precious moment he’d had to look at the map at Kyle’s, Jimmy had thought the map was a classic topographical map with lines denoting contours and changing elevations.

  Now unfolded, Jimmy found it was a survey map from the US Geological Survey. Grid lines sliced the map on major latitude and longitude markers. Pale blue wrinkles twisted across the map, ignoring the orderly greens and browns denoting farming plots. Slashes of reds and whites and blacks denoted roads in varying scale.

  A handful of blue hand-drawn dots clashed with the codified organization of the map. Someone—Jimmy guessed Kyle—had circled seven different places. Four of them were crossed out in the same blue marker as the circle.

  Shifting to his computer, Jimmy’s fingers sped into a blur across the keys. The clack of each key press centered him. Switching to Google Maps, he entered each set of coordinates, starting with the crossed-out circles. Kyle hadn’t left dates on the map, meaning Jimmy didn’t know what order the missing deputy had crossed off the locations.

  Jimmy’s hands stopped and hovered over the keyboard. He mentally listed what he knew and came up with more questions than answers. He didn’t know whether Kyle had visited the locations, heard something about the sites from some unknown informant, or surveyed the locations online like Jimmy was doing now.

  Jimmy twisted his neck to the right. A series of pops reverberated up his vertebrae, like popping bubble wrap. A sharp jerk to the left, and he was rewarded with another chorus of snaps. He got back to work.

  Over two hours later, Jimmy stared at the yellow legal pad to the right of his keyboard and reviewed his findings. Each location was a farm owned by longstanding Pine Village families, and each had sold within the last two years. He couldn’t check who had purchased the farms since his office computer didn’t give him access to property sales records, but common to farms in central Indiana, each sat on a hundred or more acres, often miles from the nearest neighboring farm.

 

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