Nella
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I was so excited to have another lead to follow, I didn’t stop to think it through.
I recognized the name immediately—it’s one of the places Chuck Yates at Timberlane mentioned—but I may have made a big mistake coming here. Big mistake.
At least I had the foresight to do a drive-by first, but after that it was bad decision after bad decision.
The tarp alerted me; it was clearly covering a large Class A RV which was parked flush against the rear of the main building. If I hadn’t been doing a drive-by, I would not have seen it and my mind immediately went to the latest theft. The one where the couple lost their lives. From what I understand they had a Class-A that was stolen.
What seems clear enough to me I’m pretty sure the sheriff will think is far-fetched. He’ll want to see concrete evidence before he’ll even consider looking into it, which is why I thought it was a good idea to take a few pictures.
I ended up turning onto a dirt road past Mobilife and followed it a few hundred feet before I found a place to park the van in the shadow of a large boulder. Then I started backtracking on foot.
The rear of the building was only about fifty or so feet from the tree line, but from that angle I couldn’t see much of the RV. From the edge of the trees to the tarped vehicle, two tent trailers and a pop-up partially blocked my view. Looking from my vantage point, I was able to see along the side of the shop to part of the parking lot in front where I saw the same two parked vehicles as when I drove by. There was no movement at all and I wondered if the place was even open.
Keeping the closest tent trailer between me and the building, I left the cover of the trees. All I wanted was a few photos of anything recognizable on the motorhome. Anything to get Sheriff Ewing out here, although I suspect he’d have a thing or two to say to me first.
It’s when I round the second trailer, I hear the sound of an engine and freeze. The only thing between me and the tarp is the small pop-up trailer, but that doesn’t provide a lot of cover. I contemplate turning back when I hear the crunch of wheels on gravel coming around the side of the building.
I panic and try to duck between the trailers when I trip and take a nosedive, just as a pickup truck rounds the corner. My phone goes flying, the crack of the screen on the gravel sounds loud as a gunshot to me even as I land awkwardly on my hands. I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out as sharp stones dig into my palms and knees.
I startle at the sound of a door slamming followed by a second one, and I drop my head to the ground. Fear has my heart beating out of my chest and breathing is difficult. I press my cheek into the dirt, facing away, and squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe if I can’t see them, they won’t be able to see me.
Two sets of footsteps crunch on the gravel surface before I hear the rustle of the tarp on the other side of the pop-up trailer. Muffled noises follow. It sounds like maybe they are inside the RV. I cautiously lift and turn my head.
I’m just a few feet from the small trailer, peeking underneath, and I can see my busted phone out in the open on the other side. Glancing beyond, I notice the tarp is partially pulled away from the motorhome, exposing the back half. The RV door is wide open and I hear the sounds of cabinet doors opening and closing.
Next thing I know something is tossed out the door. A pile of clothes, or maybe it’s bedding. More follows, and it looks like they’re cleaning out any personal belongings. I’d really like to get pictures of that, but I’m not sure my phone survived. Besides, I’d be an even bigger idiot than I already am if I exposed myself just to grab it, even if they appear to be distracted.
Instead, I push up on hands and knees, using the opportunity to back up toward the tent trailer behind me. I need to get away and try to find a phone so I can contact Sheriff Ewing before they completely strip the motorhome of anything recognizable. I’ve lost sight of the door, but I can still hear things being tossed on the growing pile. I hope it’s enough to cover any noise I make. If I can make it back to my van, I can get to the roadhouse and alert the sheriff’s office from there.
Once I reach the back of the trailer, I pull myself up to my feet and poke my head around the side to make sure whoever is in the RV is still out of sight. I wasn’t able to see the pickup truck parked behind it before, but I see it now and it looks exactly like one I’ve seen before.
I just have trouble believing it.
Then movement catches my eye as a guy—I’m guessing late teens early twenties—comes down the steps of the RV, carrying what looks to be an air fryer or something in his arms to the back of the truck. I’m so relieved I don’t recognize him; I close my eyes and drop my forehead against the trailer.
So I miss the second person stepping into view, but snap my head up when I recognize the voice.
“Hey, Willy! Grab the pliers from the center console, would ya? Can’t get the damn glove compartment open.”
Oh, my God.
I twist away from the edge and swing around, pressing my back against the camper as I try to suck in air. How is this even possible?
I freeze when I hear footsteps heading in this direction. Every hair on my body stands on end as I flatten myself against the metal, waiting to be discovered, but then they stop. I hear the soft scrape of flint hitting steel, before the scent of a freshly lit cigarette wafts my way.
“Yo! Willy! Did you lose your phone?”
My feet are moving before my brain has a chance to engage, and sheer panic has me bolting for the trees.
“Hey! What the hell?”
I’ve never been a particularly athletic person, but my legs are pumping like an Olympic sprinter as I tear into the woods like the devil is on my tail. Branches slap my face as I dart between the trees, but I’m afraid to slow down. This is like waking up in a nightmare, where people you thought you knew suddenly turn on you. Not even facing down the bear up on Scenery Mountain was I this terrified.
Up ahead I see the outline of the boulder behind which I parked the van.
Then the bark splinters on the tree trunk beside me only a fraction of a second before I hear the reverberation.
I’m being shot at.
The next moment I feel something hit the back of my leg, hard enough to take me down.
Fletch
I don’t even fucking know where to start.
I ended up taking the truck and trailer with Ginger back to the ranch, and left King with Sully so he could help the others herd the horses to a pasture a little closer to home.
Jonas has already alerted Doc Evans by the time I get there. I give him a hand unloading Ginger and tell him about Lucy’s phone call.
“What the fuck are you still doing here, then? Get going and let us know if you need help.”
I jog to my truck and start the engine, but I’m not sure where I’m going. I dial Lucy.
“Fletch, I’ve been—”
“I know. I was out of range,” I cut her off. “Talk to me.”
“Nella dropped her sister off at the clinic for her one thirty appointment and was supposed to pick her up at four thirty, but never showed up. She’s not answering her phone. I just got back to the rescue with Pippa, we drove around town a little, looking for her van. We’d hoped maybe she came home in the meantime, but no luck.”
“Can I talk to Pippa?”
“Sure.”
There’s a light rustle of the phone exchanging hands and then Nella’s sister comes on, sounding just like her.
“Fletch?”
“Right here. Listen, any idea where she may have gone? Anything you talked about before she dropped you off? Errands, groceries, anything like that?”
“Nothing like that, but I know she was frustrated with the sheriff. I thought maybe she came to see you.”
“Why frustrated with the sheriff?” That’s the part I’m most interested in now.
“Didn’t sound like he took her seriously when she told him we found my rig.”
They found her…what?
“You’d better start explaining. I’m heading your way.”
By the time I pull into the rescue, I’m fuming. Not sure who I’m more pissed with, Nella, her sister, or fucking Wayne Ewing. Or maybe I’m pissed at myself for giving her space instead of planting my ass on her doorstep. I should’ve known she wouldn’t stop pursuing her own investigation, but going across state lines and pulling her sister into it is taking things a little too far, even for Nella.
Scout and Chief—the rescue’s dogs—come running up when I get out of the truck. I give them each a little attention before I turn to the porch, where Lucy and Pippa are already waiting for me.
“What do you remember?” I ask Pippa, not bothering with hellos. “You said the hand cream you found was a trigger.”
“Uhh, I remembered my rig. It felt like mine, but I’ve been trying to remember staying in it, or traveling in it, and I just get flashes. Like a slideshow of snapshots I can’t really place in any kind of context.”
“So nothing relating to the theft?”
I climb up the steps and lean against the pillar, and I’m struck once again by the similarities between Nella and her sister. Pippa is still way too skinny, but her face is no longer as gaunt and her hair has a healthy sheen. Right now worry lines make her look years older than she is.
“No.”
“Okay, let’s figure what we do know.”
It’s only been three hours since she was supposed to pick her sister up at the clinic and I doubt the sheriff would consider this a matter of concern but, like Pippa, I’m worried. Nella would never have left her sister waiting. Not voluntarily, anyway.
“Last night after she talked to the sheriff, she mentioned wanting to check out the gas station.”
“Gas station?” I’m not sure what she’s talking about.
“Yeah, she found a gas receipt in the front of the rig dated September sixth.”
I can see how that would’ve sparked her interest; Nella was already here looking for her sister by then. Someone else must’ve driven the motorhome.
“Which gas station?”
“I’m not sure. She said it was south of here.”
Closest gas stations I know are in and around Libby which is north. I can’t think of many south of us unless you drive a ways.
“In Happys Inn,” Lucy supplies. “The roadhouse has a few pumps outside.”
That’s right, they do. Bo dragged all of us out there last year for some beers and live music. Good grub too, as I recall.
Nella would’ve had plenty of time to get from the clinic to the roadhouse and be back in time to pick up her sister. It’s a possibility.
Heck, it’s the only thing I have to go on.
“Where are you going?” Pippa wants to know when I turn and head down the steps.
“Gonna look for her,” I throw over my shoulder without slowing my pace.
“I’m coming.”
That stops me in my tracks and I swing around as she comes toward me.
“Like hell you are. You just got out of the hospital and look like a stiff wind could blow you over. Besides, someone has to stay here in case she shows up.”
“Lucy will be here.”
I recognize the stubborn tilt of her chin, I’ve seen it before on her sister, but there’s no way in hell she’s coming.
“No.” I put a hand on her shoulder and drop my head down to eye level. “I need my full focus on finding Nella and you’d be a distraction.”
Harsh, perhaps, but the truth. Who knows what I’ll bump into, and the last thing I need is having to worry about Pippa.
I can see it costs her as she presses her lips together, but she nods her understanding.
“I’ll stay in touch. Call me if you hear anything.”
Another nod, and this time I release her to continue to my truck.
As I pull away from the rescue, I pull up Ewing’s number. There may not be enough cause for him to take this seriously, but I want him to know I do.
“What do you want now, Boone?” I can hear sirens in the background. “I’m up to my last remaining hair follicles here. Don’t need you adding to my fucking stress.”
“Courtesy call only. I’m heading out to look for Nella, who’s missing. She was supposed to pick up her sister at four thirty but never showed. I just wanted to give you a heads-up I’m driving down to Happys Inn to look for her.”
“You have gotta be fuckin’ kidding me!”
His outburst gives me an uneasy feeling.
“Not kidding, why?”
“Because that’s where I’m heading. Got a disturbance call, possible shots fired.”
My foot instantly presses the accelerator down to the floorboard.