Chapter 15
Reed Langley
Reed's gaze drifted from one photograph to the next, eight young women pinned to the whiteboard like butterflies in a collection. Pearl Shepley's image didn’t seem so muted beneath the harsh fluorescent light.
Was she really the first of eight connected disappearances?
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, unable to accept Hadley’s theory. They were simply isolated incidents that spanned over the decades. And the Threshing Man was just folklore designed to keep teenagers in line.
Nothing sinister, and certainly nothing criminal.
Reed leaned back in his chair, the springs protesting beneath his weight. He'd spent the morning searching for Lucas Solomon. The young man had been crashing at a bandmate’s apartment in Emberwood after spending some of the evening with Ty Hobbs and Kalen Telfort.
Reed had laid into Lucas, lecturing him on the weighty responsibilities one held toward others. Impressing upon him that every detail, no matter how minute, was of utmost importance in cases like Missy’s. The absence of such particulars could severely impede any chance of bringing her home safely.
Not that Lucas appeared to take Reed’s words to heart. The young man had been hungover, and he would have agreed to march to the Devil’s tune in his effort to hug a toilet in private.
Reed glanced down at the journal in his hand. He’d given Hadley his word that he would read as many of Sarah Cox’s entries as he could this afternoon.
Hadley had started backward, reading the journal notes in the days leading up to and following Missy’s disappearance.
Nothing had stood out to Hadley, and his read-through substantiated her claim.
He’d done the same with the other dates in question, coming to the same conclusion—there was nothing to find.
Reed pulled one of the floral boxes closer. Instead of focusing on specific dates, perhaps a broader view would reveal something they'd missed in the entries. Instead of working backwards, he intentionally selected the leather-bound volume from 1978, the year Pearl Shepley vanished.
The cover was smooth at the corners from wear, and the pages were slightly yellowed with age.
Sarah's handwriting flowed across the pages in elegant cursive. She meticulously documented each day, recording weather patterns, farm activities, and personal observations. At times, she used journaling to channel her resentment over her inability to have children. Other times, she wrote about her loneliness and her fear of losing her husband’s affection.
Reed set the journal on his desk without opening the cover.
If he was going to maintain his concentration, he would need some caffeine first. He pushed away from his desk before making his way into the small kitchen.
The coffeemaker that he’d splurged on three years ago was still in perfect condition.
He didn’t like the single-serve machines, and he wasn’t the type of man who needed anything fancy.
Plain old black coffee was his pleasure.
He took his time filling the reservoir with water and measuring the grounds into the basket, his movements automatic after years of performing the same ritual. Before too long, the machine gurgled to life, steam rising as boiling water began to trickle through the grounds.
He reached for his favorite mug on the cloth drying mat as the sound of footsteps on the stairs pulled his attention. It wasn’t the weight of Nora’s gait, but rather the continual brushing sound of her hand against the railing that gave her away.
“It’s Sunday, Reed,” Nora said as she appeared in the doorway, her auburn hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. She wore jeans and one of his old flannel shirts, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. “Your day off, remember?”
“I know,” Reed replied, offering an apologetic smile as he set down the mug and reached for her. “I promised Hadley that I would read through those journals. It took me longer than I thought to track down Lucas Solomon. It shouldn’t take me but another hour or two.”
Nora frowned her displeasure as she rested her hands on his chest. She gazed up at him with exasperation and understanding.
“Those journals will be waiting on your desk for you tomorrow, you know.”
“The Harvest Festival is in two weeks. If there's any connection between these disappearances, like Hadley believes, I need to know before hundreds of people converge on the grounds.”
“But you said yourself this morning that you don’t think they’re connected,” Nora pointed out.
“The mayor made a request for someone to take another look at the case, and the State Police granted it.” Reed rubbed his hands up and down Nora’s arms in an attempt to seek understanding. “I can’t ignore Hadley’s theory just because I don’t share her opinion. It deserves consideration.”
Nora's posture softened. She rested her cheek against his chest, and he held her in silence until the coffee maker sputtered out its last drop.
“Two more hours,” Nora murmured before gazing back up at him. “Then the rest of the evening is ours, because I’m heading back to my apartment around eight tonight. I have to be at work earlier than usual, so time with your fiancée is a necessity.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Reed replied before stealing a kiss. He then covered her hands with his. “I'll be done by five. Promise.”
“Five o'clock,” Nora repeated firmly. “I'm making that roast you like with the potatoes, and if you're not at the table, I'm feeding it to the neighbor's dog.”
“My closest neighbor is Mrs. Hollister in the residential area behind the station, and she doesn't have a dog."
“Then I'll get her one.” Nora smiled at their banter.
“Five o'clock, then,” Reed promised as he released her. “No excuses.”
Nora gave his arm a gentle squeeze before exiting the kitchen. He filled his mug and returned to his desk, determined to expand his scope. He decided to start in September.
He set the steaming coffee beside the floral box. Settling in his chair, he opened the cover of the journal he’d set aside, located the date in question, and began to read the first passage. He methodically worked through a month of detailed accounts of mundane rural life.
Sarah had documented her daily routine, including her love of teaching, but her irritation with the school system.
The same could be said for her marriage.
There were tender descriptions of Martin bringing her wildflowers, but her frustration over his bad habit of leaving his damp towel on the bathroom floor had been highlighted with several exclamation points.
Notations describing the frost on the pumpkin patches, corn husks drying in the crisp air, and even her plans for winter storage were also included.
Her love of journaling shone through with each swoop of her pen.
The fourth entry in October caught his interest.
Noticed someone at the edge of our property this evening, standing near the treeline from the access road running east. At first, I thought it might be one of the Huber boys hunting on our land again.
I called for Martin, and it turned out that he had found a couple of traps in the woods the other day. They belonged to…
Reed turned the page, finding Sarah's subsequent entry to be about a pumpkin pie recipe she had received from a friend.
Throughout the rest of October, she shared her reflections and emotions on various topics.
While one entry detailed her acquisition of a talisman meant to protect her and her husband from the Threshing Man, there was no mention of traps being found on the Cox property again.
Reed shifted uneasily in his chair.
During Mason’s trial, he had claimed that the blood all over his hands had been from an injury Emily had sustained from some type of wildlife trap.
After the former police chief, the sheriff’s office, and the state police had searched the entirety of the wooded area, nothing like that had ever been found.
Reed had been so caught up in Sarah’s life that he didn’t notice Nora standing in front of his desk. Her purse was slung over her shoulder, car keys jingling in her hand. She'd changed into a light sweater.
“I need to run to the store,” Nora said, her curious gaze drifting to the journal. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I forgot the celery. How’s it going?”
Reed lifted his left wrist and glanced at his watch. It shouldn’t have taken over forty minutes to read two months’ worth of entries.
“I might need to see an optometrist after this,” Reed complained before rubbing his eyes. It did nothing to ease the irritation. “Nothing stands out to me yet.”
“Well, I prepped everything for dinner,” Nora replied as she adjusted her purse strap. “The meat's marinating, and the potatoes are peeled. I’m just missing the celery. Need anything while I'm out?”
“No, thanks.” Reed closed the journal and set it aside. His coffee had gone cold, but he took a sip anyway. “On second thought, would you pick up some microwave popcorn? I ran out last week, and the game is on tonight.”
Nora couldn’t watch any movie, show, or sporting event without snacking, and he’d come to be the same way. It was why, during last week’s football game, he’d used the last bag in the pantry. Fortunately, his team didn’t play until later tonight.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Nora replied, laughing when he arched his brow. “I’m going to need something in return.”
“I’m all yours, beautiful.”
The front door closed behind her with a gentle click, leaving Reed alone once more with a load of journals and not enough time. He’d already accepted that it would take days to comb through all of them, but he could get through two more months before calling it an evening.
Reed lifted his gaze, studying the second picture in Hadley’s timeline.
It was of a young blonde girl named Melissa Harding.
She’d gone missing three years after Pearl Shepley.
No sign of abduction or foul play. She’d simply vanished from Whistlerun, though folks claimed to have spotted her at the festival.
It didn’t take him long to locate the year that most interested him, and once again, he began from the first of September in 1981.
Sarah’s entries were a bit shorter than they had been three years prior, so he was able to work through the days at a faster pace.
In the third week of that month, a name stood out—the same one belonging to the man who’d been on the Cox property the month Pearl Shepley had gone missing.
Coincidence?
Reed read the entry again.
Martin came in from tending the herb garden. He was irritable, complaining about finding a trap just inside the treeline. This happened a few years ago. We thought we’d gotten our message across, but Martin said he was going to confront…
Reed murmured the name aloud, his mouth suddenly dry.
He reminded himself that this was the Ozarks.
Traps and such were normal occurrences. Given that the timing was troubling, Hadley would insist they needed to speak in person with a local who had been born and raised in Whistlerun.
This was something that could be twisted to fit the narrative.
Reed still had a duty to protect his residents, though.
It didn’t take him long to locate the six other journals in question.
Reed checked his watch. Nora had been gone about twenty minutes, which meant she was due back any second.
Still, he had time before dinner to take a drive.
One simple conversation could explain away any reservations Hadley had about the man’s name being mentioned twice.
Otherwise, the implications were just too staggering.
Once he had all eight journals in front of him, he spent ten minutes combing through them as fast as possible.
Little by little, he began to relax.
He couldn’t find the name or the mention of traps in any of the others.
There was still only one way to be sure.
Reed gathered the journals and his keys.
One friendly visit to put his mind at ease.
No accusations. If he discovered nothing concerning, the matter could be laid to rest. He’d call Hadley on the way back to town.
Once she heard the name, she would understand why he’d chosen to take this informal interview on his own.