Chapter 18
A moment later, two Forest Service trucks pulled into the lot in tandem. Brett Adkins stepped out of the first, and a younger ranger Wyatt didn’t know climbed out of the second.
Brett crossed to him, his gaze sweeping Wyatt’s truck. “Someone wanted to send a message.”
“Yes, they did,” Wyatt muttered.
Brett held out his keys. “Tow truck’s on its way. Davis and I will wait with it.”
Micah was already moving back toward his SUV, radio to his mouth, his focus shifted entirely to Pete Williamston. He caught Wyatt’s eye and gave him a short nod that meant they’d talk later.
Wyatt looked at Kori.
She already knew what he was about to say. He saw it in her face.
He said it anyway. “I need to help with Pete.”
“I know.” A mix of resignation and understanding filled her voice.
“I’ll drop you off at the bed and breakfast.”
“That’ll work.”
Wyatt headed back to Hollow House, his mind turning over everything he needed to do. He needed to contact Graham. To loop in Forest Service law enforcement. To get the drone teams coordinated for tomorrow.
He needed to find Mackenzie.
And he needed to find Pete. The man was in his sixties, but he had heart problems. It wasn’t like him to disappear like this.
Kori sat with her hands in her lap and looked out the windshield as they drove.
She waited until they turned onto Main Street before asking, “Do you think Pete’s disappearance is connected to Mackenzie?”
He kept his eyes on the road. “I think two missing persons in the same small town in the same week is a pattern worth taking seriously.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
“No, I suppose it’s not.” He pressed his lips together in thought.
Wyatt felt Kori’s gaze on him. She wanted more—and she was patiently waiting for him to continue.
He squared his shoulders before speaking again. “I don’t know yet, and I’m not going to tell you something is true without proof.”
She turned back to the window. “Fair enough.”
He pulled up in front of Hollow House and left the engine running.
Kori sat beside him without moving while Thunder watched everything from the back seat.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet and genuine. “I hope you find Pete.”
“Thanks. I’ll call you once I know more. Then we can meet at the station and talk about the next steps for finding your sister.”
Something moved across her face. “What about Mackenzie’s backpack?”
“I’d like to take it back to the station and examine it. Is that okay?”
“If that’s what you need to do to find her.”
She climbed out, shouldered her own backpack, and walked up the porch steps without looking back.
Wyatt waited until the door closed behind her before pulling away.
Too much was happening at one time . . . and he didn’t like the bad feeling in his gut.
The general store sat on the corner of Main and Fourth, a wide-fronted building with a hand-painted sign and a window display that hadn’t changed much since Pete Williamston took over from his father thirty years ago.
The Closed sign still showed in the window. Two sheriff’s vehicles sat out front.
Martha paced near the door, wringing her hands when Wyatt stepped inside.
She looked smaller than usual. Worry did that to people.
Wyatt crossed the room and pulled Martha into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Martha. We’re going to find him.”
She pressed her lips together and nodded as if she didn’t trust her own voice. “Thanks for coming.”
Micah paced closer, his notepad out. “Martha, when I got here, you said Pete had a large purchase order coming in today.”
“He mentioned it last night before bed.” She crossed her arms and raised her chin as if deciding she wouldn’t fall apart yet.
“Said it was a good one. Enough to make up for the money we usually lose during the slower winter season. He seemed pleased about it, and Pete isn’t easily pleased. He’s a very practical man.”
“Did he say who the order was for?” Wyatt asked.
“No, just that whoever it was wanted to come in early before the store opened. Pete agreed because the order was big enough to be worth it.”
“Understandable.”
“I left this morning to visit a friend who just had surgery in Charlottesville, so I haven’t been around,” she continued. “And since we keep some odd hours at the General Store, no one really questioned it when the store didn’t open on time.”
“That’s small-town living, right?”
“Except it didn’t work in our favor this time. I got a couple calls about it, and I tried to call Pete myself. When he didn’t answer, I got worried.” She looked at the counter.
Wyatt followed her gaze.
Two coffee cups sat on the counter. One was a thick ceramic mug with the store’s logo. The other was a plain paper cup that had been knocked on its side. Brown liquid spread across the counter where the coffee had run and dried.
Wyatt studied the cups then glanced at the back of the store. The stockroom door stood slightly open.
“Did you check the back door?” he asked.
“It was unlocked, with no signs of forced entry or struggle.” Micah looked back at Martha again. “Is there any way to find out who placed the order? A phone number, an email, anything Pete might have written down?”
Martha hurried behind the counter and produced a worn spiral notebook. Pete’s order log.
Even from where Wyatt stood, he could see that everything was handwritten—evidence of a practical man who didn’t trust computers.
She flipped to the most recent entry and turned it toward Micah.
Wyatt leaned in.
Pete had jotted down today’s date and a dollar amount—$1,253. The items he’d sold were rice, beans, water, oatmeal, and flour. There were also some medical supplies and batteries.
But the area where the name and contact information should be written was blank.
Martha looked at both of them, moisture welling in her eyes. “Whatever you need. I’ll do whatever you need.”
Wyatt looked at the coffee cups and imagined Pete Williamston standing across from someone he didn’t know well enough to be afraid of, drinking coffee before the town woke up.
The knocked-over cup said everything the blank order log didn’t.
Something had interrupted that meeting.
Something sudden.
Most likely, something bad.
And eight hours had passed since anyone had seen him. That was a long time for someone like Pete to be missing.