Waffle House
Avalon Boulevard, Milton, Florida
Lightning pulsed through the clouds, but the rain had stopped by the time Creed pulled his Jeep into the parking lot. He was tired and wet to the bone, though he’d tried to towel off himself and Grace. The heater blasted warm air, but it didn’t help dislodge the chill.
He parked in the far corner where he’d left his Jeep the other night, halfway between The Red Roof Inn and the Waffle House. The headlights streaked across the woods before he switched them off. The hotel’s section of the lot was half empty.
Jason’s Jeep and Dr. Avelyn’s SUV were parked with a half dozen other vehicles clustered close to the restaurant’s entrance. In a few hours, the morning breakfast rush would pack the place.
In the dark, Creed dug out a clean T-shirt and another button-down oxford from his duffel bag. He should have changed into the dry clothes when Deputy Trevor dropped him off back at his Jeep, but he wasn’t thinking. Still, wasn’t. Adrenaline long spent; he was operating on instinct.
He stripped off the wet shirts and pulled on the dry. Now, as he shoved the duffel onto the floor of the backseat, he noticed another bag already there. A plastic bag tied loosely at the top and lodged between the driver’s seat and back bench. He didn’t need to look. He already knew what was inside.
Creed glanced up at Grace. She stretched out on the Jeep’s folded down bench right outside her open kennel. Without raising her head, her eyes watched him, moving from the bag, then back to him. When she noticed his attention, her tail wagged a soft tap-tap. He had fixed her a meal before they left Linden Estates. Exhausted and with a full belly, she still didn’t move from her place.
He held up the plastic bag to her and said, “You were searching for both of them.”
Another wag.
Of course she was.
Urgent to find Will, Creed had forgotten about Caleb’s sweatshirt. It was still here after his search with Bolo.
He scratched behind her ears. Told her what a good dog she was. Promised he wouldn’t be gone long. She could rest and get some sleep now.
He tilted the moon roof open for fresh air, closed the door gently, then locked the Jeep and started across the parking lot.
When he was still with Norwich, Creed had texted Jason, knowing Taylor was still with him and Brodie. All he said was,
Found a body. It’s not Will.
His cell phone vibrated against his chest. He pulled it from his shirt’s pocket.
“Maggie, are you okay?” They had missed each other several times.
“I’m good. What about you?”
“Tired. A little bit dryer.” He managed a laugh. Dryer didn’t mean warmer.
“I heard Grace found that teenager.”
“Yeah. But we still don’t know where Will is.”
She was quiet too long.
“Do you know something?” he asked, stopping in the middle of the parking lot, waiting for her response. It was almost as if he was too tired to talk, to listen, and to walk at the same time.
“My serial killer was at the Ramsey’s. Mrs. Ramsey was his mother.”
“Was?”
“Evidently, he threatened her and her husband. While I milled around outside their house trying to figure what to do, she shot him.”
“She shot her son?”
“Yes.”
He heard so much emotion in that one-word answer.
“He wasn’t a good guy,” Maggie said. “We have evidence that connects him to at least three murders. Maybe more. Mrs. Ramsey thinks Peter Gregory did something with Will.”
“There were drawings left in a bulldozer cab. Taylor said they were Will’s.” He couldn’t see into the Waffle House. There were no windows on this side. Still, he thought about Taylor, what she had asked of him. He hadn’t been able to deliver. “It looked like someone in a blue pickup was chasing Will.”
“Sheriff Norwich told me you found the pickup. We’ll be able to tell if Peter Gregory had driven it out here.”
“But how do we find out what he did with Will?”
More silence.
Creed rubbed a hand over his bristled jaw, trying to unclench it. He stood still. Looked up to see a sliver of moon peeking through the clouds. That damn statistic drummed at his temple. A child taken by a stranger was usually murdered within the first three to twenty-four hours.
“I don’t know right now,” she finally said. “I’m still at the Ramseys’. Are you able to go get some rest?”
“I’m meeting Jason and Brodie...and Taylor. Dr. Avelyn’s here, too. She’s checking on Hank.”
“Is he okay?”
“Yeah, sounds like it. He ran into some glass.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“Me?”
“How are you holding up?”
He couldn’t deny that he was exhausted, that maybe he’d made some mistakes because of it. But Grace had made up for them.
“I’m holding up.” That’s all he would concede when others were in worse shape. “How about you? You’ve got to be running on empty about now.”
“Definitely close.”
“We’ll be here for a little while longer. Check to see if we’re still here when you’re finished.”
“I will do that.”
He slipped the phone back into his pocket. He hadn’t gotten farther than thirty feet away from his Jeep. Before he headed for the restaurant, he saw Grace standing and looking out the window on the opposite side. There was movement in the woods. But Grace wasn’t barking.
He walked slowly back toward his Jeep. That’s when someone came out from behind the trees. Creed recognized the man’s silhouette. He met him at the back bumper.
“You keep crazy hours,” Sully told him.
“I could say the same about you.”
“I saw another Jeep with dogs. Thought it might be you.”
The old man’s forehead was sweaty and creased with worry.
“Is everything okay?” Creed looked around and realized Sully didn’t have his dog with him. “Is Gunner okay?”
“She’s fine. Can you come with me?”
“You mean out into the woods?”
“To my camp.”
Creed glanced at Grace. He put his palm up against the window, meeting her paws. “It’s okay, Grace. Lie down. Get some rest.”
He started following Sully before he realized the man didn’t have a flashlight. Maybe he knew the way so well he didn’t need one. But Creed almost tripped a couple of times. The old man was quicker and more agile than Creed expected.
“You okay back there, Jarhead?” Sully glanced over his shoulder, but he didn’t slow down.
He wanted to tell him about Caleb, but he knew he couldn’t. Right now, all Creed’s brain concentrated on was the chill in the air. How the dampness seemed to cling to him. How the branches appeared out of nowhere at the last minute.
They started downhill, and he skidded on wet leaves. He grabbed onto a sapling before he fell. More frustrating was the chuffing sounds Sully made in front of him. The old man almost seemed pleased that Creed wasn’t able to keep up.
Finally, he could see the outline of a tent. A rope was tied between two trees with pots and pans hanging from it along with a couple of battery-operated lanterns. Two metal folding chairs sat in front of a firepit surrounded by rocks. Wet ashes in the middle.
The lantern light didn’t reach all the way around, and Creed couldn’t make out some of the other items. There was movement in the trees beyond. Another tent. Maybe a flashlight.
Sully stopped and turned, staying in front of him. His face was serious and glistened in the streak of moonlight that finally made its way down.
“You know how I let that boy stay with us out here?”
He knew. How did he already know about Caleb? Creed met his eyes as best he could.
“Whether it was for the best or not, I don’t know,” Sully shrugged.
Creed wanted to tell him he had done a good thing, but Gunner came wandering out of the tent. The dog looked fine. There was a big yawn, then she shook herself. She wagged, coming to greet Creed.
“You probably saved him.” For a little while longer. Creed stopped himself from saying anything more.
Sully nodded. His mouth twitched like he still wasn’t sure how to tell Creed what he’d brought him here for. “I’m real glad to hear you say that.” He shuffled his feet. Hesitated. “Because I did it again.”
Before Creed could ask what he meant, Sully went over to the tent and bent down to look inside. He told someone, “It’s okay. It’s safe to come out. This is the friend I told you about.”
In the dim light, a small thin figure crawled out from between the canvas flaps. His hair was tousled and sticking up straight up in places. His face smeared with dirt, and his new sneakers caked with mud. But otherwise, Will looked unharmed.
Unharmed. And alive.