“I bet he complimented you on your appearance.”
“The subject came up,” Adam replied.
I laughed again, because I could imagine how that conversation had gone. “Well, don’t let Agent Reed see you looking like this. He won’t be impressed either. He’ll send you off to investigate more toilets.”
Adam’s face had the mournful look of a bloodhound. “Too late.”
“Why? Reed’s already been in here?”
“No, I did something stupid last night.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “Oh, Adam, what did you do?”
“I was pissed off about getting shut out of the investigation. And I was hammered. So I called him.”
“You didn’t.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“I left a message. It was an epic rant. I’m pretty sure my career is over. What the hell, it’s probably better that way. I suck. Everything I touch, I screw up.”
I put a hand on his back, because Adam looked as if he might cry. I’d never seen him so upset. “Hey, come on. It happens. Cut yourself some slack, okay? It’s been a tough couple of days for all of us, and none of us have gotten much sleep. Besides, you don’t report to the FBI. You report to my father.”
Adam shrugged off my reassurance. He was feeling sorry for himself, and I couldn’t really blame him. “If the FBI wants me gone, I’m gone. Reed talks to Violet, Violet talks to Tom, Tom kicks me to the curb. You know that’s how it goes.”
“I’ll talk to Agent Reed,” I promised him.
“It won’t do any good.”
“You don’t know that. And no matter what the FBI or Violet says, Dad’s not going to fire you for one mistake. He may read you the riot act, but that’s all. He knows you’re good at the job.”
Breezy showed up in front of me, bringing coffee and a short stack of blueberry pancakes. She looked as bright as the morning sunshine, her long hair was washed, her makeup was neatly done, and she had a spring in her step. I wasn’t sure if it was the prospect of another day of big tips or whether she’d gotten lucky last night. Or both.
“Adam telling you his tale of woe?” she asked.
“Yup.”
“He kept saying he was going to call that FBI guy, and I said, don’t do it! I tried to cheer him up, but he wanted to mope instead.” Breezy leaned over the counter until she was practically in Adam’s face. “And you know, Adam Twilley, most men like the way I cheer them up.”
“Knock it off, Breezy,” Adam fumed. “I’m not in the mood.”
I changed the subject before Adam blew up again. “So how’s Dudley? Back in the land of the living?”
“Yeah, for the moment. Kenny at the Witch Tree garage went over to my place yesterday and tinkered with the engine. I was able to get it started this morning. Of course, then I practically ran out of gas on my way in. I thought I had a spare tank in the shed, but no such luck. I was afraid Dudley was going to sputter out before I made it here.”
Breezy tended to ramble when she talked, so I tuned her out as I ate my pancakes. I had this strange habit of eating pancakes like the phases of the moon, and my breakfast was waxing gibbous when I heard Adam mutter a curse under his breath. His face looked gray as death. I followed his eyes and saw Agent Reed in the doorway of the diner. The FBI man wore a dark suit and had reflective sunglasses over his eyes. He beckoned me with his finger.
“Stay put,” I murmured to Adam. “Don’t say anything.”
I figured we didn’t need a confrontation between Adam and Agent Reed in front of a dozen reporters. As it was, questions about the investigation flew as soon as they spotted Reed, but he stood near the door without responding, as if he were stone deaf. I left my pancakes behind, threw some money on the counter, and hurried over to join him. He held the door open for me, and we stood on the sidewalk together outside.
“Good morning, Deputy Lake.”
“Hi. Listen, I hear that Adam left an unfortunate message for you last night, and I just want you to know—”
He cut me off. “If Deputy Twilley has anything to say, he can say it to me himself. Don’t fight his battles for him.”
“Sure. Of course.”
“We don’t have any time for distractions. There’s been a break in the case.”
I felt my heart rise into my mouth, giving me a bitter taste. I was afraid of what he would say next. “Did you find Jeremiah?”
Agent Reed shook his head. “No, but we found the missing F-150.”
The white truck was in a parking lot near the beach at Shelby Lake.
Obviously, this was an area I knew well. I’d spent many hours here throughout my life, looking out at the cove where my father had moored his boat between the trees and thinking about the strange circumstances that had brought him home to rescue me. This was my sacred place, the small lake that had been touched by God.
To everyone else in Mittel County, of course, it was just a quiet destination for avid fishermen like Dad or Adam and teenagers looking for a make-out spot where the cops wouldn’t find you. Its location wasn’t really all that far from Martin’s Point, where the truck had been stolen, but it felt remote compared to that busy tourist town. If you’d swiped a truck and wanted to party in a place where no one would find you, this was a good spot.
The same was true if you’d kidnapped a child.
In the early morning hours, the F-150 was the only vehicle in the parking lot. It was wet with leaves and pine needles that had been swept from the trees. The area was paved, so there were no tire tracks. An FBI forensics team surrounded the truck, examining it inside and out. Another team patrolled the beach, hunting for evidence of anyone who had been here, and still another team hunted through the park’s garbage cans.
At least twenty cops and volunteers were spread out through the surrounding forest, on a search for Jeremiah.
“Who found the truck?” I asked Agent Reed.
“A fisherman got here at dawn. He remembered the media reports about the F-150 and called it in.”
“Is there any way to tell how long it’s been here?”
Reed surveyed the parking lot with a frown. “No, our search grid hadn’t covered this area yet, so we don’t know when the truck was abandoned. Hopefully, someone will come forward and let us know whether they saw it in the parking lot in the last couple of days.”
One of the FBI forensic analysts, who was robed completely in white, called Agent Reed over for a conversation.
I stared at the F-150 and tried to connect the dots in my head.
On Friday morning, this truck had been parked half a block from Bonnie Butterfield’s ice cream parlor in Martin’s Point. It had been stolen sometime after eleven o’clock, and barely two hours later, the Gruders had spotted someone in a white F-150 near the spot where Jeremiah disappeared. Maybe it was this truck. Maybe not. Now it was Sunday morning, and the truck from Martin’s Point had been found abandoned in an area that was nowhere near the national forest.
Reed returned and peeled off his sunglasses. “There’s nothing in the truck.”
“No evidence that Jeremiah was inside?”
“No evidence that anyone was inside. The truck has been wiped down. No fingerprints anywhere, not even inside the flat bed. In your experience, are teenage joyriders that good at covering their tracks?”
“No.”
“Yeah, that’s what’s I think, too. Kids didn’t do this. It was a thorough job. Someone didn’t want us finding anything.”
“You think this is the truck, don’t you?”
“Without more evidence, we can’t be one hundred percent sure. But if you want to know what my gut tells me, then yes, this is the truck, and yes, it’s connected to Jeremiah’s disappearance.”