Chapter 2 Natalya #2
I pick up my keys and purse and leave the Hanging Tree after asking at the reception desk where to find the police station. It’s not a huge surprise to learn there’s a sheriff’s office and not much else. With a population this small, there’s no need for more law enforcement.
This situation with my brother isn’t making any sense as I drive to the center of town. It’s not far, and I reach my destination quickly. My mind is a jumbled mess of thoughts as I park.
Where the hell did Thad go? Did he need to hook up with a stranger that badly? Why wasn’t he answering his phone?
The door to the sheriff’s office is open wide, and I enter, lifting off my sunglasses as I scan the interior.
It’s a small space but tidy with several desks, a reception area, and a big office in the back that I’m guessing belongs to the sheriff.
There’s a flag on a pole in the corner and a big bulletin board with fliers about missing people or animals, maps of the area, and a community safety alert about brush fires.
There are two doors open on the left side of the room.
A glance reveals a small area with a table and two chairs while the other appears to be a break room with a coffee station, table, several chairs, and a fridge.
A receptionist greets me as I approach. “Hey, there. What can I do for ya?”
“Hi. I just arrived in Raven’s Crest yesterday.”
“Welcome to town!” She’s an older woman with graying hair at her temples and purple-rimmed glasses. Her smile is genuine and friendly.
“Thanks.” I pause and clear my throat. “I need to file a missing person report.”
“Missing person? Who might that be?”
It’s not the receptionist who answers me.
The voice belongs to a ruggedly handsome man with full sleeves of dark ink on his exposed arms and caramel-colored eyes.
He’s clean-shaven with dark hair that’s kept short on the sides and longer on the top.
His brows pull together in what I assume is concern as I answer him.
“My brother. We were part of the group that toured Mayfield Inn last night.”
The sheriff nods. I see a nameplate on his uniform that reads “Landry Madden.” He gestures for me to follow him into a private room, and I take a seat as he pokes his head out. “Mary, hold down the fort for me. Let anyone who calls know I’ll get back with them soon.”
“Of course, Boomer.”
He closes the door and sits across from me.
“Boomer?” I ask, wondering if it’s a nickname.
The sheriff’s lips spread wide in a grin. “Yep. Most folks call me Boomer. Gone by that name since middle school.”
Ah. The familiarity of small towns where everyone knows each other, and there’s no need for formality. I like the ease of it.
“Thanks for seeing me.”
“No problem. Why don’t you fill me in on why you believe your brother is missing.”
I launch into a condensed version of the tour, describing how I lost contact with my brother. In case it was important, I also let him know about the tour guide and the information she shared about my brother leaving before the tour ended with a girl.
“So, he’s with a local?”
“I don’t know.” I frown. “My brother is young. He’s a bit wild, but he doesn’t blow me off. He’d never worry me like that.”
Boomer scratches his jaw. “I see. About what time did he leave the Mayfield?”
That was an easy answer. “About two-thirty or so. I lost contact with him during the tour while I was checking out one of the rooms. He didn’t follow me.”
Boomer sits back and folds his arms across his chest. The veins pop as his muscles bulge. He’s stacked. I’ve never seen a guy this ripped up close. What do they feed these country boys? The guy in the hotel on the thirteenth floor was almost as big as him—a body like granite, strong and powerful.
“You think he went with this girl and lost track of time?”
“No,” I reply firmly. “He would have checked in with me at some point.”
“Does he have a history of drug or alcohol abuse?”
I hate questions like this. There’s never a way to answer that doesn’t make someone look bad. “In the past. He’s sober now. Ten months.” I’m proud of Thad. He’s come a long way since his partying days in the frat house.
“That’s good. I’ll be right back.” He exits the room and returns within a minute with a laptop. “Give me his name, age, date of birth, and address.”
“Thad Scott. Age twenty-four.” I give Boomer the rest of the information he asked for and wait as he types it into whatever database he’s using. “To be honest, I’m worried.”
Boomer lifts his head. “Tell me.”