CHAPTER EIGHT
The climate controls had chosen the worst possible time to stop working.
Connor pressed the fan button again. Nothing came through the vents. The display insisted the system was running, which only made the silence more irritating.
Midday sun filled the windshield as he drove away from the sheriff’s department. Heat gathered inside the SUV despite the cool morning they had started with. Selena sat beside him, reading Phil Mercer’s missing-person report while the county road curved between houses and wooded lots.
Being alone with her should not have made him nervous.
They had shared patrol cars, motel rooms during cases, a house, and a marriage.
Yet the quiet between them felt less predictable now than it had when they were strangers again.
Connor could manage murder scenes and armed suspects.
A ten-minute drive with Selena had him searching for something to do with his fingers.
He turned the temperature down two degrees.
The display changed. The vents did not.
Connor pushed the button harder.
Still nothing.
“For the love of God.”
He struck the side of the dashboard with the heel of his palm.
The fan coughed awake and sent a rush of cold air across both of them.
Selena laughed. “Temper, temper.”
“You’re one to talk.”
She lowered the report. “What do you mean?”
“I saw the way you were staring at Kelly Voss in there.”
“Can you blame me?”
“No, but how the hell did she get sent here?”
Selena returned the paper to her lap. “Meg sent her. She thought she was doing me a favor by finding someone who already knew Harlan County.”
“So, Meg doesn’t know your history?”
“No. Kelly told her we knew each other in passing.”
Connor gave a humorless breath. “That’s one way to describe it.”
The road narrowed near an old tobacco barn. He eased around a truck carrying timber and waited until the opposite lane cleared before passing.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
Selena stared through the windshield. “I don’t know. I need the help. The office has barely started functioning, and Karen’s murder is already taking most of my time. Kelly’s a capable agent or Meg wouldn’t have sent her.”
“But.”
“But there’s baggage.”
Connor nodded. “Yeah. There’s a lot of that going around.”
Silence followed.
The words had come out before he considered them. Selena did not respond, but he felt the space between them change. Fifteen years of failed conversations could fit inside a pause that small.
Connor kept his attention on the road.
“I remember how cruel she was in high school,” he said.
“Yeah.” Selena folded the report along its existing crease. “And I remember what you did to Rick Hanson.”
Memory struck without warning.
Rick at eighteen, taller than Connor and broad across the shoulders from football. The parking lot behind the old grocery store. Kelly waiting near Rick’s car with two friends while Selena stood across the road, pretending she had not noticed them following her.
Connor had been sixteen.
He remembered Rick laughing when Connor told him to keep Kelly away from Selena.
The shove that followed. Rick’s surprise when Connor did not step back.
Then the first punch, hard across the mouth, and the quick violence after it.
Connor’s knuckles splitting against teeth.
Rick falling against the hood of his car. Blood across his lips and chin.
Connor tightened his grip on the wheel.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Selena turned toward him. “I always knew what happened.”
“You weren’t there.”
“I saw Rick the next day.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“You picked a fight with him because he was Kelly’s boyfriend. You ruined his face and embarrassed him because he got his ass handed to him by a guy two years younger.”
Connor glanced at her. “Ruined is a strong word.”
“He needed stitches.”
“He still had all his teeth.”
Selena shook her head, though the corner of her mouth moved. “You’re impossible.”
“It did feel good.”
“We couldn’t all handle our problems that way, Connor.”
“I think part of you liked it when I did.”
Selena sighed. “Teenage girls are easily captivated by boys who can handle themselves. Then they grow up and realize it normally spells trouble.”
“It wasn’t always trouble.”
Selena’s expression changed. “Wasn’t it?”
The question cut deeper than Connor expected.
He returned his full attention to the road. A row of mailboxes appeared ahead, followed by the turn onto Mercer Lane. He took it without speaking.
Selena remained quiet, too.
Their marriage had contained good years.
He knew that. Mornings before work when she sat barefoot at the kitchen table reading case files.
Late drives with no destination because neither wanted to go home yet.
Her laughter in the hallway when he tried to hang shelves and put three holes in the wrong wall.
It had also contained arguments, absences, and the accusation that finally broke them. Connor did not look forward to them going over that old ground one day. He knew that day was coming. And it was coming fast. But it was not this day.
Connor pulled up outside a pale blue house with a narrow front porch. A silver sedan occupied one side of the driveway. The missing vehicle, according to Phil’s report, was a white Toyota Corolla.
He shifted into park and reached for the door.
Selena placed her fingers lightly against his forearm.
Connor stopped.
“It wasn’t all bad,” she said.
He nodded without turning toward her.
“Okay.”
The pressure lifted from his arm.
Connor got out.
A short garden path led between two patches of grass that had gone brown at the edges.
Plastic toys were stacked beside the porch steps, though the report listed no children living at the address.
Probably a niece or nephew visited from time to time.
A ceramic shark sat among the flowerpots, its painted mouth open.
Connor knocked.
A man in his early thirties opened the door almost at once. He was thin, with sandy hair standing unevenly above his forehead and several days of beard growth along his jaw. A faded Jaws T-shirt hung over his jeans. Worry had hollowed the skin beneath his eyes.
“Mr. Mercer?” Selena asked.
“Yes.”
She displayed her credentials. “Special Agent Selena Raven, FBI. This is Sheriff Connor Chase.”
Connor said, “We received a report that your wife is missing.”
Phil nodded quickly and opened the door wider. “Come in. Please.”
The living room had been arranged around a love of old movies. Framed posters covered the walls. Jaws hung above the sofa. Close Encounters of the Third Kind occupied the space beside a bookcase. Across from them, Indiana Jones swung from a whip beneath the title of Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Connor slowed.
An original E.T. one-sheet hung near the hallway. Beside it, the truck from Duel bore down on the small red car beneath a sun-bleached sky.
Connor pointed before he could stop himself. “You’ve got Duel, too.”
Phil noticed. “That one’s a reprint.”
“Still hard to find with that artwork.”
“You know your early Spielberg.” For a moment, some of the strain left Phil’s expression.
Connor continued longer than he should have. “My dad took me to see a re-release of Raiders when I was eight. I spent the next month trying to turn every rope I found into a whip.”
Selena cleared her throat. “We have work to do.”
Connor turned. “Right. Sorry.”
Phil managed a tired smile. “Normally I’m the same. Right now, I’m just sick with worry.”
Connor indicated the poster above the bookcase. “The Raiders one is original?”
“Original domestic release,” he said mournfully.
Connor stepped closer. “Really?”
“Yeah. Took me three years to find one in decent condition.”
Selena cleared her throat again.
Connor turned. “Right. Sorry, Mr. Mercer. I get carried away.”
They sat. Phil took the armchair nearest the front window while Selena and Connor used the sofa. Both investigators opened notebooks.
Selena checked the paper from Cheryl. “Your wife is listed here as Linda Mercer.”
Phil rubbed both palms over his jeans. “Yeah.”
“What’s Linda’s age?” Selena asked.
“Thirty-nine.”
“Can you give us a recent photograph?”
Phil unlocked his phone and passed it across.
The image showed a woman standing on a trail beneath autumn trees. She had shoulder-length brown hair, a narrow chin, and a wide smile that creased both cheeks. A green jacket covered a blue sweater. She appeared around five feet six, with an average build.
Connor copied the description while Selena sent the photograph to the department’s secure address.
“What was she wearing when you last saw her?” Selena asked.
“Dark jeans. A red sweater. Brown ankle boots. She had her tan coat with her.”
“Any jewelry?”
“Wedding ring, silver watch, little gold studs in her ears.”
Connor said, “When did you last see her, exactly?”
“Yesterday. Around four in the afternoon.”
“Was anything out of the ordinary?”
Phil’s attention shifted toward the front window. “No.”
Connor watched him for a moment.
The answer had come too quickly.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
Phil pressed his lips together.
Selena waited without filling the silence.
“We argued,” Phil said at last.
“What was the argument about?” Selena asked.
“I’d rather not say.”
“It’s important that we understand the circumstances when she left.”
Phil glanced at her credentials, now resting beside the notebook. “Why is the FBI here? A missing adult doesn’t normally bring a federal agent to the door.”
“I’m assisting the sheriff’s department with several matters in the county. Sheriff Chase asked me to accompany him.”
Connor leaned forward. “What was the fight about?”
Phil clasped his hands between his knees. “We’ve been having problems. We started couples therapy a few months ago.”
“What kind of problems?” Selena asked.
“The usual. Money. Work. Not spending time together. She said I cared more about collecting old posters than I did about our marriage.”
Connor kept his attention away from the Raiders print.
“Was there infidelity?” Selena asked.
“No.”
“Violence?” Selena continued.
“No. Never.”
“Did either of you threaten to leave?”
“Linda did. More than once. Yesterday she said she was done being ignored.”
“What did you say?”
Phil swallowed. “I told her maybe she should go if she was that miserable.”
Selena wrote it down. “What was the last thing she said to you?”
“Probably several curse words. Then she stormed out.”
“Did she take a bag of clothes or anything?” Selena asked.
“Her purse. Nothing else that I noticed.”
“Medication?”
“She takes thyroid tablets every morning. The bottle’s still in the bathroom.”
That was a red flag if ever there was one, and Connor knew it.
Connor asked, “Did she have access to money?”
“Yes. Joint account, plus her own credit card.”
“Has either been used?”
“I checked the bank account. Nothing. I don’t have access to her card, though.”
Selena said, “Did Linda seem capable of doing anything rash?”
“Rash is practically her middle name.” Phil’s voice broke slightly. “But she wouldn’t hurt herself, if that’s what you mean.”
“Has she ever threatened self-harm?”
“No,” the husband answered.
“Any history of depression or psychiatric treatment?”
"No. The couple's counselor is the only therapist she's seen."
Connor wrote down the counselor’s name and office.
“Is there anyone she’d go to?” he asked. “Family, friends, someone from work?”
“Not really. Her parents are dead. She has a cousin in Tennessee, but they barely speak. Linda keeps people at a distance.”
Selena nodded. “What does she do?”
“She handles accounts for a construction supplier in Harlan.”
“Did you call her employer?”
“Yes. She didn’t go in this morning.”
“Her phone?”
“Switched off. It rang a few times yesterday, then started going straight to voicemail.”
“Has she been active on social media?”
“She doesn’t really use it. She has an account, but she hasn’t posted in years,” the husband said.
Selena looked thoughtful for a moment. “What about her car? Does she have one?”
“Yes. White Toyota Corolla. Twenty nineteen.”
Connor asked for the license plate and entered it into his notebook.
“Any distinguishing damage?”
“Actually, yes. Scrape along the rear passenger door. One hubcap missing. She kept telling me we needed to get that fixed, but I said it was just cosmetic...”
Selena rose and crossed toward the wall beside the hallway. She had seen something.
A brass trophy sat on a narrow shelf beneath the film posters. The figure on top held a volleyball over one shoulder. A small plate on the base read ELMSVIEW HIGH, DISTRICT RUNNERS-UP.
Selena picked it up carefully by the base.
“Did Linda attend Elmsview High?”
Phil nodded. “Yeah. Why?”
Selena smiled faintly. “Oh, nothing. Do you remember roughly when she graduated?”
“Late nineties.”
“She must’ve been there after me,” Selena said, thoughtfully.
“You knew her?”
Selena shook her head. “I don’t remember her, but the school connection may help us identify old friends.”
Connor stood. “Did Linda ever mention someone named Karen Sloane?”
Phil frowned. “No. Who’s that?”
“A local woman,” Connor said. “We’re checking several possible connections.”
Phil searched their expressions. “Do you think Linda’s in danger?”
“We don’t know,” Selena said. “Hopefully not.”
“Can you find her?”
Connor closed his notebook. “Considering the argument, the most likely explanation is that she went somewhere to cool off and hasn’t decided to contact you yet.”
Phil’s shoulders dropped. “So, you’re not going to do anything?”
“Of course we are,” Connor said gently. “My deputies will watch for her and the Corolla. I’ll send a statewide request to law enforcement and enter the vehicle into the system. We’ll check hospitals, contact her employer again, and speak with anyone who might know where she went.”
Selena returned the trophy to the shelf. “We’ll also request available phone and financial records through the proper channels. Call us immediately if she contacts you, even if she asks you not to involve law enforcement.”
“I will.”
Connor handed him a card. “Don’t delete messages or alter anything on her devices or accounts.”
Phil accepted it. “All right.”
Selena closed her notebook. “Thank you for your time.”
Outside, the midday heat had strengthened. Connor and Selena followed the path back toward the SUV.
At the passenger door, Selena stopped.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Connor unlocked the vehicle. “Yes. A milkshake at Hank’s Red Hot Diner would be lovely about now.”
Selena shook her head. “The high school connection.”
“Karen Sloane went there, too.”
“Exactly.”
“So did half the area, Selena.”
“You love being a fly in the ointment, don’t you, Connor?”
“I’m here to keep your feet on the ground.”
Connor’s radio sounded at his shoulder. He could feel the weight of it as he answered, as though he instinctively knew what was about to be said.
He pressed the transmit button. “Go ahead.”
A moment passed. And it felt longer than it should have. Arnold finally answered through a wash of static. Five words delivered in a somber tone.
“Sheriff, we’ve found another body.”