Chapter 63
Chapter
Sixty-Three
The sheriff’s office looked like a war zone.
Every chair in the lobby had been shoved against the walls. Folding tables filled the open space, covered with laptops, maps, half-empty coffee cups, and cords running in every direction.
People moved everywhere. Deputies. FBI agents. Men and women she didn’t recognize, who wore windbreakers with letters across the backs.
Phones constantly rang.
Wren took two steps inside and stopped.
Someone had taped an enlarged picture of Mason to the wall.
Her chest tightened.
It was his second-grade school picture. Blue background. Hair combed neatly in a way it never stayed for more than ten minutes.
Underneath it, somebody had typed MASON LOVELESS, AGE 7.
Nash stopped beside her. “You okay?”
She kept staring at the picture. “No.”
“Wren.” Luke strode toward them from the other side of the room, Prine joining him.
Both were dressed in the same clothes they’d worn last night.
Wren met them halfway. “Anything?”
Luke’s expression answered before he did. “Nothing solid.”
Her stomach sank anyway. “What does that mean?”
Prine tucked her phone into the pocket of her windbreaker. “We’ve had eleven tips since midnight. Each one has been checked. We’ve got people going through traffic cameras between here and Sevierville. CARD is working both directions off the state route.”
“And the store footage?” Wren wrapped her arms tighter over her chest.
“We got a better image.” Luke frowned. “But still not good enough to identify him.”
“What about the car?” she asked.
“We’re still working it,” Luke told her.
Wren looked away. She was beginning to hate those words.
Working it. Checking. Following up.
All of them meant they didn’t have a clue about where Mason was.
Prine glanced toward one of the folding tables. “We’re also going through the list you gave us.”
Wren followed her gaze. “Everybody?”
“Everybody,” Prine said. “Teachers. Coaches. Friends. Family connections. Anyone who knows Mason or could know his routine.”
Wren swallowed. “Even people I don’t suspect.”
Prine held her gaze. “Especially people you don’t suspect.”
The words sat heavily in Wren’s chest.
Just then, the door opened, and a woman stepped inside. She looked to be somewhere around thirty, with blonde hair pulled into a loose knot and a pink sweater draped over her shoulders.
A deputy met her. “Have a seat right there, Mrs. Morgan. Someone will be with you in just a minute.”
Wren’s attention snapped toward them.
Mrs. Morgan?
Wren glanced at Nash and whispered, “I think that’s Jacob’s ex-wife.”
His gaze shifted toward the woman. “You know her?”
“No. But Jacob told me he was divorced and that they have a little girl. What’s she doing here?”
“The police are just checking everyone’s alibi. I’m sure it’s routine.”
Nash didn’t say anything else, but his attention stayed on the woman.
All the offices here must be full because they seated her in the lobby.
Another deputy crossed the room and pulled a chair in front of the woman. “Thanks for coming in. This shouldn’t take long.”
The woman gave a tired nod. “Okay.”
Wren couldn’t help but listen to their conversation—especially when she heard Jacob’s name.
“Mrs. Morgan—” the deputy started.
“Call me Rachel.”
“Rachel,” the deputy said. “Thanks for coming by. This is just routine procedure. I have to ask you: When was the last time you saw Jacob?”
Rachel adjusted the sweater on her shoulders. “Sunday.”
“What time?”
“Maybe five. He picked Ellie up for dinner and brought her home around eight.”
“And yesterday?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t see him yesterday.”
“Did you talk to him?”
She rubbed her thumb over the sleeve on her sweater. “He texted me about Ellie. That was it.”
“What time?”
“I don’t know. Mid-morning maybe.” She pulled something from her purse. “I can check my call log on my phone.”
As she did that, the deputy wrote something down.
“Do you know where he was around three yesterday afternoon?” he asked.
Her mouth tightened. “No. We’re divorced. I don’t keep track of him.”
Wren turned away. This was nothing.
They were questioning everyone. Jacob was dating Nora. Of course, his name had come up. She’d even put him on her list.
Every potential lead seemed to reach a dead end.
A few minutes later, the deputy stood and thanked the woman.
Wren watched Rachel stand and start toward the exit.
Before Wren could think better of it, she stepped forward. “Excuse me.”
The woman stopped and narrowed her eyes cautiously. “Yes?”
“You’re Rachel Morgan?”
A flicker of surprise crossed her face. “I am.”
“I’m Wren Loveless.”
Recognition immediately replaced the surprise, and then her features softened. “Oh. Mason’s mom.”
Wren nodded, her gut tightening at the sympathy in her tone.
Rachel rubbed the sleeve of the sweater over her shoulders again. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”
“Thank you.”
Wren was tired of people saying that. Not because she didn’t appreciate the words, but because she never knew how to respond.
Rachel shifted her weight. “I guess you know I’m Jacob’s ex-wife.”
“I figured.” Wren paused. “Jacob’s dating my sister.”
“Jacob told me he’d met someone. He seems really happy.”
“He and Nora do seem happy. I just love the story about how they met at the hospital while he was visiting his aunt. It reminds me of a romantic movie or something.”
Rachel’s expression shifted—but only slightly. “His aunt?”
Wren paused. “That’s right.”
Rachel tilted her head and stared at her.
A cold sensation slipped down Wren’s spine. “What?”
Rachel shifted and frowned before saying, “Jacob doesn’t have an aunt.”