I ate lunch on the drive back to my office, where I checked the jet-setting Clay Gardner’s accounts for the first time in weeks.
Howdy partner.
Hope you’re doing well and enjoying your travels. How’s Hong Kong?
Last we left it you were getting ready to send over the docs. I need to update you that we have interest from another buyer. This person is overseas and they’d like to get a deal done as quickly as possible. My dad’s all for moving ahead with him. Personally, I don’t think it’s right to do that without talking to you first.
I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, and I don’t want you to think I’m breathing down your neck. But you understand we can’t have him walk and then have you back out, too, and we end up with nothing. As you know, the property’s with the original owner, it’s never changed hands, and so it’s rotten luck that we’re in this situation. Between you and me, I would like you to come out the winner here.
Let me know what I can do to make that happen.
Take care.
Beau
I didn’t answer him, went over to Instagram.
A notification flashed: Shasta Swann had accepted Clay Gardner’s friend request.
She followed many more accounts than followed her. Peers were noticeably scarce. No one I could connect to Nick. The feed consisted of nature photos and training logs. Flowers, seabirds, Bowie the sheepdog; mileage in the captions, eliciting a few likes or heart emojis.
I scrolled back in time.
September 1, 2024.
Shortly after Nicholas Moore had set out on his journey of self-discovery.
His path revealed by two photos.
One: sunlight breaking through warped tree trunks. The Cathedral.
Two: fingers, intertwined. Left hand, smaller, feminine. Right hand, knobby, tan, tattooed across the knuckles in curlicued font.
The caption read:
Chapter 31
I texted a screenshot to Maddie Zwick, who confirmed that the male hand was Nick’s. The tattoo combined with the one on his left knuckles to yield the phrase Hold Fast — another sailor’s mark, encouragement in times of trouble.
The storm will come. Grab a rope and cling for dear life.
I called Tara Moore.
She’d never heard of Octavio Prado, Lake of the Moon, or Swann’s Flat. When I sent her the picture of Nick’s hand, though, she yelped.
“Who is this bitch?” she said.
“She’s a minor.”
“Yeah? And? You trying to say something about my son?”
“No, just that—”
“Like it’s his fault?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“That don’t mean nothing, they learn young... What’s he doing with her?”
“I don’t know how they met, but there’s a reference to the town in the manuscript. I’m thinking Nicholas went there following in Prado’s footsteps.”
“Goddamn pussy-whipped idiot. What’s her name? I’ll get acquainted with her.”
“No need for that. And to be clear, there’s nothing that adds up to evidence of a crime.”
“Oh bullshit, bullshit.” She began to weep. “Goddamn fucking idiot.”
“I know this is stressful, Tara—”
“He’s dead.”
“We don’t know that.”
“He is.”
“Until we know for sure, it doesn’t help him — or you — to assume that.”
“It’s me.” She sobbed. “I did this to him. I lied to him about Warren, that’s why he left.”
“Not necessarily. He easily could’ve found something else to chase.”
“A stupid book! Oh Jesus... You think I’m a bad mother.”
“I don’t.”
“Then you’re stupid, I am a bad mother. I’m a bad person.”
“Tara, I’m going to get to work on this now, okay?”
Silence.
“Tara?”
“...Yeah.”
“Promise me you won’t interfere.”
“I promise. I don’t know nothing, anyway.” She huffed. “Story of my life.”
Amy said, “Again?”
“I didn’t commit to going there. I said I’d work on it. Which I can do from here.”
“But you want to go back.”
“Do I think I’ll get more in person? Yes. But not at the expense of making you miserable.”
She blew out air. “Okay. Let’s discuss the risks.”
“On the plus side,” I said, “Al Bock’s my pal now. So I don’t have to worry about getting shot.”
“Not by him,” she said. “That doesn’t eliminate anyone else.”
“You’re right. The situation is more delicate. My plan is to meet with the local sheriff before I head to town. I need to speak to him anyway, to see what he knows. I’ll ask him to check in if I’m not out within a certain amount of time.”
“That only helps after the fact. He can’t do anything in the moment if he’s not with you.”
“I’m also considering bringing backup.”
“Who?”
“Regina Klein,” I said. “I don’t know if she’ll agree. My gut is yes. She cares about the case.”
“Hand it off to her, then.”
“I could do that.”
“But it’s your case. And you care about it, too.”
I nodded.
“One to ten,” Amy said. “How worried do I need to be?”
“Seven-point-five. Six-point-five if she’s with me.”
“That’s an awful lot of confidence to put in a person you met once.”
“Once was enough.”
“Then I want to meet her, too.”
The doorbell rang.
“I got it,” Charlotte yelled.
I said, “Wait for me, please.”
“Let me look through the peep, Daddy.”
I held her up.
She said, “There’s a lady with glasses holding bags.”
“Good job. You may open the door.”
Regina stood on the porch, tiny, impish, wearing purple Keds, nails refinished the same color. One bag was a rainbow gift bag and the other was from Trader Joe’s.
I ushered her in. “How was the drive?”
“Heinous.”
Amy emerged from the kitchen with Myles on her hip. “I’m Amy. Thanks for coming.”
“Regina. Thanks for having me.”
“I’m Charlotte,” Charlotte said.
“Hi, Charlotte. That’s a pretty name.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m thirty-seven. How old are you?”
“Four and three-quarters. My birthday is in nine days.”
“That’s exciting. Are you having a party?”
“It’s a pirate party. We’ve having a pirate ship piñata.”
“Fun. Can I come?”
“No. My brother is one and a half. He had his birthday. His name is Myles. He’s a baby.”
“I can see that.”
“Why are you so short?”
“Charlotte,” I said.
Regina knelt so they were eye level. “Do you know what oxygen is?”
“Air.”
“That’s right. You must be really smart to know that.”
“Yeah.”
“An interesting fact about oxygen is, the higher up you go, the less of it there is. Think about what happens if you go all the way up to space. Is there oxygen in space?”
Charlotte shook her head.
“Right. So I like it better down here.” Regina inhaled through her nose. “Easier to breathe.”
“That’s not true. You’re being silly.”