“I’m sorry, folks,” the barkeep says, toweling up the spill. “I hope she didn’t ruin your meal. Let me get you another drink.”
“It’s not necessary,” Darcy says, tilting the photograph until the light from the bar pulls out the details. She squints at the text. “I saw one of these yesterday.”
“Not surprised. Cherise wallpapered half the county with them.”
“Is this right? It says Nina disappeared ten years ago. She’d be twenty-two now.”
His face sags, somber and pitying. Lowering his voice, he leans down so his eyes are even with Darcy and Hensel.
“Ten years ago, we had a rash of child abductions between Millport and Scarlet River. Cherise Steyer’s daughter was one of the girls who went missing.”
Hensel sets his napkin aside and swivels the paper toward him.
“I’m familiar with the cases, though it’s been a long time since I read the notes. Four girls abducted over a twelve-month period. Didn’t they find the bodies?”
“Three of them, yes. All but Cherise’s girl, and that’s why she believes Nina is still alive. Tragic. It’s like Cherise lost her girl ten years ago and again on every day since. She was getting better until a month ago. Then some trucker in Scarlet River swore an older girl who looked like Nina asked him for a ride out of town.”
Darcy shifts her chair toward the barkeep.
“We’re staying in Scarlet River. Where did the trucker see the girl?”
“There’s a diner on route 32 called Maury’s. This guy claims the girl walked into the diner and stared at Cherise’s poster. Then she sat down, ordered breakfast, and asked if he’d let her hitch.”
“That’s all? Did she say where she wanted to go?”
“Funny thing. The trucker claims she just wanted to get out of town. Didn’t matter where he took her. But when he returned from the restroom, she was gone.”
Darcy meets Hensel’s eyes as the barkeep continues.
“What Cherise needs is closure, but after all these years…” He presses his lips together and shakes his head. “They’ll never find Nina. It’s been too long, and they can’t excavate the entire county.”
After the man returns to the bar, Hensel slides the photograph back to Darcy, who folds the paper and slips it into her bag. Hensel cocks an eyebrow.
“Taking up the case?”
“I feel bad for Cherise,” Darcy says.
“You heard what the barkeep said. It’s been ten years. Kidnapped girls don’t walk into diners after a decade and ask for a ride. Who’s to say what Nina Steyer looks like as an adult?”
The ride into Scarlet River takes them through a patchwork quilt of forest and farmland before it empties into the downtrodden neighborhoods at the town’s outskirts. This community never thrived, but it clung to a lifeline a decade ago when the pharmaceutical manufacturing plant set up shop on the edge of town and brought good paying jobs to Scarlet River. Then came the flood of 2010 when the river reclaimed the south wall of the plant and dragged it downstream, taking the Scarlet River’s fleeting prosperity and dreams with it. Thirty people lost their homes in the great flood, and what the water didn’t take in property and commerce, it stole in morale. The village seems cursed.
Preoccupied, Hensel stares at the scenery whipping past the window.
“Something is on your mind,” Darcy says, passing a tractor.
“Just thinking. The BAU wants me back at Quantico in six days, and they could call me to a case at any moment. You’ll be on your own, and I’m not comfortable with that. It’s not good here, Darcy. I don’t trust the town.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then leave. Put Laurie and the kids in your car and go back to North Carolina. At least you’ll have a police presence in the village.”
“Laurie won’t go, Eric. I begged her to leave, but she’s dead set on staying. Besides, I can’t put Hunter through that again. Half the neighborhood thinks he’s Michael Rivers’ progeny.”
“I don’t want to upset you, but eventually you must choose between Laurie’s safety and your family’s, and you can’t defend the house with Laurie and two teenagers.”
Darcy knows he’s right, but after failing Amy Yang, she can’t turn her back on Laurie. Her bag lies open on the floor beside Hensel’s feet. The folded white photocopy pokes through the opening. Hensel catches her eyeing the paper and folds his arms.
“Let it go, Darcy. Those cases couldn’t be any colder.”
“What if the same person who abducted those girls sought Michael Rivers?”
“And went from hunting preteen girls to stalking adult women? That profile change is a tough sell.”
“Some killers hunt outside their target age ranges,” Darcy says. “Maybe his preferences changed over the years, or Rivers made it worth his while. Hell, this is just guesswork.”
“Millport and Scarlet River are small towns, not enough room for multiple serial predators. I’ll grant you that. But how do you explain the ten-year hiatus?”
Darcy drums her fingers on the steering wheel.
“Could be the killer did jail time, or he moved from the area and came back.”
Hensel nods in thought.
“Just promise me you won’t pigeon-hole Laurie’s stalker into a child predator from a decade ago.”
The windows are dark when Hensel pulls into Laurie’s driveway. Darcy’s heart flutters when she unlocks the door and finds the downstairs empty. Then the laundry room door swings open, and Laurie carries a stack of folded towels toward the staircase.
“You better check on the kids,” Laurie says, nodding up the stairs. “They yelled at each other while you were gone.”
Odd. Hunter and Jennifer rarely argue. In the bedroom, Jennifer curls on her side, facing away from Hunter, whose earbuds crank heavy metal. Darcy motions for Hunter to kill the music.
“What’s the issue? It’s not like the two of you to fight.”
Before Hunter can speak, Jennifer turns over and yells.
“Why does Hunter get to talk to his friends on social media? If I try, you’ll ground me from my phone.”
“I wasn’t on social media,” Hunter says.
“Bullshit. You talked to Bethany for twenty minutes.”
“That was FaceTime. It’s not like I posted our location on Instagram.”
Darcy crosses her arms.
“We talked about this, Hunter. No social media, no Internet chat.”
“FaceTime is a private conversation, Mom. If it makes you happy, I didn’t tell Bethany where we are.”
“Like she can’t figure it out,” Jennifer says. “Two-thirds of the country has snow on the ground, and you’re outside in a sweatshirt and jeans. That narrows it down to the south.”
“I’d talk inside, but the signal in here sucks. Check this out,” Hunter says, holding up his phone. “One bar. Oh, wait. Zero bars, wonderful.”
“Jennifer, leave us alone for a minute,” says Darcy, glaring at her son.
Jennifer huffs and tosses her legs over the edge of the bed. Darcy waits until her daughter stomps down the stairs before she closes and locks the door.
“That wasn’t smart, Hunter.”
“All I did is say hello. Isn’t it bad enough we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere?”
Darcy sits on the edge of the bed. It’s not fair to imprison her children and take away their communication with the outside world, but every message, every phone call, every Internet post leaves a breadcrumb for the deranged to follow.
“It sucks it has to be this way, Hunter, but this isn’t my fault.”
“You sure? You shot Michael Rivers, but he’s still alive. If you’d killed him, we wouldn’t have to deal with this for the rest of our lives.”
Hunter’s words knock Darcy off balance. There’s an air of truth to them. If Darcy’s shot had killed Rivers instead of wounding him, the murdered teens of Genoa Cove would still be alive, and Darcy wouldn’t have to glance over her shoulder and fear for her family every time darkness fell.