Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
While I was packing gear to join the search, Marin’s Ford Ranger turned up a few miles southeast of town called Thrasher’s Corner. It’s a place that likely hasn’t changed since I was a horny teenager. Sometimes, my friends and I would sneak onto the nearby orchard to party, but it’s also a place with private spots in the trees for parking and making out.
Which was Marin Lambert there for?
On my drive, I call Beth to find out if that’s where she was last night, but when she doesn’t answer, I realize the diner’s probably too busy for her to even hear her phone ring.
Though I’m not responsible for finding Marin Lambert, I can’t help the questions unspooling in my mind. Beth never saw her last night, so where was she? Does Marin have a boyfriend? Who are her other friends? Had she confided in anyone about her change in plans last night? Has she been acting different lately? Memories from when Ava helped Marin at Sofie and Zach’s wedding flash through my mind. She’d been an innocent, gangly kid then. How has her life evolved since?
I ignore the tug of answering that same question .
My life changed that night, too, and I’ve been trying to find my footing since.
Because the parking area where they found Marin’s Ranger could turn out to be a crime scene, I’m not surprised to see the search and rescue team setting up at an old truck weigh station a half a mile from Thrasher’s Corner, the small building boarded up and tumbleweeds caught in the rusted barbed wire fencing. I park next to the row of vehicles belonging to the small crowd of volunteers gathering around a tall, brawny man at the open tailgate of a dark blue Ford pickup.
My spine goes taut. Captain Parker Greely.
From the back of Mom’s truck, I grab the daypack I brought from the house stuffed with essentials and step down to the sun-bleached concrete. A car whizzes past, kicking up grit.
“Three teams,” Captain Greely barks while pointing at locations on the topographic map spread on the tailgate.
The crunch of gravel under my boots draws a few looks in my direction. Most are men in their forties and fifties. Some are likely Captain Greely’s firefighters helping out on their day off, but there’s a kid young enough to be in high school. Marin’s boyfriend?
“Where the hell did you come from?” Captain Greely says to me, arching an eyebrow.
“Uh, Florida, sir,” I reply. To anyone else, this could be a gentle ribbing. But he’s going to have to try harder than that to rattle me. Like, a lot harder.
He holds my gaze for a moment longer, then returns to outlining his plan and what little we know about Marin’s movements.
“Hutchins,” Captain Greely says with a nod as we break into teams. “You’re with me.”
As we break into teams, a friend I haven’t seen in years, Jeremy Fisher, trots over. He left the Air Force and moved home about a year ago, but I don’t know details. We’re not close the way we used to be.
“Heard about your mom. ”
I huff a sigh because if he’s heard, then half of Finn River has too, and my mom won’t like it one bit. “Yeah, thanks.”
“Let’s hang out before you leave town,” Jeremy says, then flashes me a grin before rejoining his team splitting off into the orchard.
I hurry to catch up with Captain Greely’s team turning into the gravel parking area. The third team continues to the dirt road that disappears into the trees, toward the river.
“Has anyone pulled surveillance cam footage from that service station two miles back?” I ask Captain Greely. The cool air feels thick in my throat and the wet ground edging the road has a sharp, almost bitter scent.
He doesn’t break his stride. “Not our role here.”
He’s right, yet it would be nice to know if Marin Lambert was seen on her way here, and if she was alone.
“Has anyone else come forward with information?”
He shoots me an icy glare. “You and Troy are gonna sweep the road and look for signs she may have been on foot. Don’t step in any of the tire tracks.”
“Understood,” I say, resisting the urge to snap my heels together.
The parking lot’s gravel has turned to a soupy mud thanks to last night’s snow. Tire tracks crisscross the area from both sides of the corner. There’s no way Zach’s team is going to find anything useful. Deeper into the trees, thin patches of snow haven’t melted, but none are marked by tire treads. On a snowy Wednesday night in May, it’s not like a lot of kids would be out here.
Parked at the far end of the lot is a white Ford Ranger, dented on one side, the paint rusted at the crease in the metal, like it happened long ago. The paint on the tailgate is scratched thin, probably from loading hay bales. Like it was a farm truck in its former life.
The deputy working the vehicle with Zach glances up just as I realize who it is—Everett Rumsey, a fellow Finn River Falcons football teammate and one of the few friends who have stayed in touch.
I’m tempted to ask about his big, boisterous family and his nine- year old son Logan, but we both have work to do, so catching up will have to wait.
Everett gives me a quick nod in acknowledgment, and I do the same.
Captain Greely peels off in their direction but I continue to the road that snakes up into the trees. Troy falls in next to me.
“You friends with Marin?” I ask him.
He nods.
“I’m Ryan,” I say.
“Troy,” he replies. Our eyes meet for a split second. I’m no mind reader, but his face is set in determination. Or maybe it’s dread.
Where was he last night?
“What are we looking for?” Troy asks.
In between rocky sections, the road is marked by several tire tracks—someone has driven this road recently. No obvious footprints, but it’s too rocky to be sure. I study the lush grass edging the road for any kind of disturbance. “Anything out of place. Anything that catches your eye. A color that shouldn’t be there, or a broken section of vegetation. A sound. A smell.”
He grimaces. “Okay.”
The downhill side of the road falls away, gradual at first, to a slope of granite boulders and stubby pine trees and alders. A few white patches of snow remain from last night in the shaded areas, which keeps tricking my eyes. Since we mustered at the weigh station, low clouds have moved in from the west, likely bringing rain, which won’t help the search.
“Do we know what Marin’s wearing?” I ask.
“Her blue coat was missing from the house.”
Hopefully she wasn’t dressed like Beth last night. From the radio in my pocket comes a burst of chatter, but it’s just the team leaders checking in. I turn the dial to a low murmur.
“I saw her outside the bagel shop at like seven yesterday morning,” Troy says. “She was wearing her usual. Jeans and a hoody.”
“Did you talk to her? ”
He shakes his head.
I trace a set of deer tracks into the grass where they disappear over the edge. “Where was she headed?”
“She’s taking classes at Bitterroot.”
“Has anyone seen her since then?” We continue walking, both of us keeping our eyes on the roadside.
“Nobody’s come forward,” he says.
“Did she show up at her classes?”
“No.”
Shit. Not good. “Any reason she would take off?”
“Not that I can think of.”
We continue in silence to where the road curves sharply to the right. A light drizzle starts falling, adding a layer of earthy scent to the air. I pull on my rain jacket but leave the hood down so I can hear better. We’ve covered maybe a mile, enough that I no longer hear Captain Greely or the sparse traffic on the main road. That I don’t hear birds or the tsk from a squirrel starts to tug on my subconscious.
At the first bend in the road is a giant rock outcropping and pullout. Broken glass from beer bottles litters the ground. There’s enough space for two cars to pull off the road but it’s empty. Still no footprints, but it’s rocky, and I’m no tracker.
I skirt the tire tracks and scramble up the wet rock outcropping to the flat area on top edged by two sturdy pine trees on its left side. Troy follows, slipping a little, huffing. Up here, thanks to decades of use, the flat slab is bare of lichen and the cracks where grass could sprout are also bare. Below us, the outcropping falls away to a jumbled, rocky slope broken by clusters of thick pine. The rain has darkened the tops of the granite boulders, adding more texture to the jumbled landscape. I’m about to start a slow scan when a flash of color below us, just outside of one of the shadows, catches my eye.
“Oh shit,” Troy says in a rush. “Marin!”
I can’t be sure at this distance, but it looks like a sweep of dark brown hair across the rocks and a bare arm. Her being exposed to the elements like this sends alarm bells clanging in the back of my mind .
“Marin!” Troy yells again. “We have to get down there,” he says to me, his eyes pained.
I slip off my pack and hand him the radio. “Call it in.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to get down there.”
“How?”
I flake out my static line into two equal piles then wrap half of it around the base of both trees. With a quick toss, both ends of the rope are draped over the rock outcropping. After the initial drop, the slope lessens but I’ll need to stay on the rope as I navigate the boulder field.
Troy’s eyes widen. “Is that safe?”
I sling my backpack on and clip the waist belt. After snugging everything tight, I wrap the rope between my legs and over my shoulder. “Call it in,” I repeat.
“Right,” he says as I lean back over the lip and start my rappel.
Bits of rock and grit stirred up by my boots drops away, bouncing over the granite blocks below me. Moving swiftly, I descend to the boulders, then use the tension in the rope like a handrail to make big steps over the jagged rocks.
“Marin!” I call out from twenty feet away. She’s partially blocked by a big slab of rock, but I don’t see movement or hear anything over my racing heartbeat and the soft drizzle.
I have to lower to the side of the slab, then give myself extra slack to maneuver closer. Inside my mind, I’m closing off all my doors so I can steel myself against what I’m about to see. I need to be able to focus on helping her if it’s not too late.
By balancing and keeping enough tension in the rope, I work my way closer. She’s on her side, her dark hair matted from the rain and what I’m pretty sure is blood, with pockets of gray snow still in the cracks between the rocks around her.
Carefully, I slide two fingers to her carotid pulse point. Her skin is cold and stiff, and her chest wall is not moving. I wait, grasping the idea that I could be wrong. That she’s still alive somehow after this cold night and the snow and the blood.
But there’s nothing.
Reluctantly, I withdraw my fingers. Shit.
With a shaky sigh, I add another wrap of the rope around my thigh to lock me in place, then slide off my pack and tug out my insulated jacket and rain pants. I do my best to cover Marin’s broken body, even though I know she’s long past being able to feel it. I have to do something to protect her, even though I know it’s too late to make a difference.
It’s not like I haven’t seen death before. But this is different. This girl isn’t a soldier who got caught in the line of fire. Or a pilot shot down behind enemy lines. She’s a nineteen-year-old college student. A girl with dreams and plans. With her whole life ahead of her.
The despair flashes to anger. Someone did this to her.
My phone chirps in my pocket, startling me back to the brutal reality. It’s Zach.
“I found her.” I resist the urge to reach out for Marin’s hand. To let her know she’s not alone anymore.
“Alive?”
“Negative.”
“Shit.” Zach sighs.
“She didn’t get here on her own,” I add.
“How bad is it?” Zach asks.
A girl found in just her underclothes with blood in her hair can only mean one thing. “Bad.”
He huffs another sigh. “I need to notify the sheriff. Can you stay with her?”
The drizzle has turned to a steady rain that’s dripping down the back of my neck. I gaze at the sea of rain-darkened granite boulders. How could someone leave her here like this?
“Of course.”
Two hours later, after the chopper has departed with Marin’s body, I climb back up to the road. Moving feels good after the long wait, as does leaving this granite graveyard. At the top, Captain Greely is barking into the radio, but side-eyes me as I pass. Yeah it was rash of me to rappel down there without his authorization, but I wasn’t about to wait around for it, especially when I have the exact skillset required to get the job done. If he has a problem with it, he can find me later to chew me out.
I keep walking, the road turned to soft mud from the rain.
Zach meets me at the bottom of the road, like he was waiting for me.
“I’ll give you a ride,” he says.
Marin’s truck is gone, likely towed to the sheriff’s impound lot for further processing. Probably where Everett is now.
I climb into the SUV’s passenger side. The warmth pricks my cold face and makes the bridge of my nose sting.
“You doing all right?” he asks as we pull away.
I gaze out the rain-streaked side window at the blurry forest. “Any leads?”
“Phone records came through. She’s been texting an unknown number. It started a couple of months ago, but the last two weeks it’s been more frequent.”
“Have you traced it?”
“It’s a burner. Which means without Marin’s actual phone, the content of those texts isn’t available to us.”
Though I’m a skilled operative, I have zero skills when it comes to this stuff. “Any chance that kid, Troy, is involved?”
Zach turns into the old weigh station and parks next to Mom’s truck. “We really don’t know anything, except that they’re close friends.” He huffs a sigh. “Or were.”
I remember the desperation in Troy’s voice. Almost panic. “Maybe he found out about the unknown guy texting her. Or vice versa.”
“We’re not ruling anything out yet, but Troy has an airtight alibi for most of the day and also last night. ”
In other words, Zach and his team are way ahead of me. “Keep me posted?”
He nods, then sends me a curious glance. “Notice you talking to Jeremy Fisher. Are you two still close?”
“Not really. When he left the Air Force and moved home, we sort of lost touch. Why?”
Zach taps on the steering wheel, like he’s thinking. “He tried to get a job with Finn River Sheriff’s Department, but it didn’t work out. I thought you might know why.”
“He worked in security at Travis, but I haven’t really talked to him since he left.”
“Huh.”
I gather my soaking-wet pack from the floor.
“Any updates on your mom?” Zach asks as I reach for the door.
I huff a heavy sigh. “She’s coming home today.”
“That’s good news.”
“Yeah, though she’s supposed to rest.”
Zach grunts. “Sounds like you’re going to have your hands full.”
“Don’t I know it.”
We lock eyes for an instant before I open the door. Zach gives me a wave as he pulls through and exits, speeding off for the station and what will likely be a long night.