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My stomach was uncomfortably full by the time we drove out of Latney. I’d inhaled my meal in less than five minutes, scarfing down my entire burger and draining my soda. Mack had done an impressive job on his, as well, and had even managed to eat most of his fries, too.
The sheriff had stood there and watched us the entire time, tamping his foot on the low-pile carpet and glancing at the thick silver watch attached to his wrist.
“That kid makes a good burger,” Mack said, patting his stomach.
I nodded. “You don’t even know.”
“He should head up to the city,” Mack said. “Put his talent to work up there.”
It wasn’t a bad idea, and I knew it was something Mikey had once considered. His goal had been to become a chef—well, after he’d realized priesthood wasn’t for him—but his ties to Latney ran deep. His grandmother suffered from dementia and he was her only caregiver, and his sister, the only other family he had left, lived just a few doors down from him. I couldn’t imagine what the circumstances would need to be for him to consider a move away from the only family he had left and the tiny town he’d grown up in.
I was following Sheriff Lewis, who was cruising down the highway as if he were the grand marshal in a local parade, well below the posted speed limit. At this rate, it might be nightfall by the time we reached Mack’s car.
Eventually, though, the sedan in front of me slowed even more, the brake lights illuminating, and the sheriff turned off the road, onto a flattened stretch of packed snow that was just barely visible.
Mack’s knee was bouncing up and down, his fingers drumming his thigh.
“What?” I asked.
He glanced around, craning his neck to take in our surroundings. “Lots of trees,” he commented. “Wonder how bad she got scratched up.”
I shook my head and said nothing, hoping I’d never be as invested in a car as he seemed to be in his.
After a couple of minutes rumbling down the bumpy, snow-covered road, we emptied into a clearing of sorts, an open patch of land. An old battered Chevy pickup was parked next to a dilapidated camper that looked to be at least thirty years old. Parked next to that and looking remarkably out of place was Mack’s car.
“There she is,” Mack breathed.
I pulled to a stop behind the sheriff and Mack was out of the passenger door before I had a chance to turn off the engine. He bolted to his car, running his hands along the sides of it, and I couldn’t tell if it was a loving caress or if he was checking for scratches and dings.
The door to the camper opened and a young bearded guy maneuvered down the stairs. He was wearing snow pants and a thick camo jacket, along with a knit hat that covered most of his hair. He glanced at Mack, then me, and then approached the sheriff.
Sheriff Lewis slammed his car door shut. “This here’s Tim,” he announced, motioning to the guy walking toward him. “He’s the one who found your car.”
Tim. His name sounded familiar. I stared at him, trying to do so covertly, and I finally made the connection. Mikey had mentioned a Tim a couple of months ago, some guy he knew who was a doomsday prepper—whatever that was. I scanned my surroundings, taking in the camper and the woodshed and the pile of what looked to be junk sitting next to it.
Maybe this was the same guy.
Mack finished inspecting his car, apparently satisfied that it was in the same condition he’d last seen it in. “Hey, thanks for finding it,” he said as he walked toward Tim and the sheriff.
Tim just nodded. “No problem, man.”
Mack hunched his shoulders and stuck his hands in his pockets. He had to be cold, standing there in his button-down shirt, because I was wearing a jacket and scarf and was still freezing.
“Where was it?” Mack asked.
“The car?” Tim asked.
Mack nodded.
“Oh, well...” Tim toed the snow-packed ground with a weathered work boot. “I, uh, found it on the side of the road. Right outside Latney.”
Mack’s eyebrow arched. “You found it?”
Another slight nod.
“On the side of the road?”
More nodding.
“And so you towed it...here?”
Tim jerked his head in the direction of the pickup. “Got a hitch on the back of that. Makes it pretty easy to tow stuff.”
Mack had gone perfectly still. “Let me get this straight,” he said, his tone icy as he stared at the kid standing in front of him. “You saw a car in a ditch and just decided to tow it to your—” He looked around, trying to figure out if this was where Tim actually lived. “—to your property?”
“Uh...yeah.”