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Mack was back in the kitchen within minutes, holding a flannel and a pair of jeans.
“The entire bag is filled with stuff like this,” he said, his voiced laced with disdain. “Who wears this stuff?”
I shot a look at Gunnar, who was clad in jeans and a flannel.
Mack at least had the decency to look a little sheepish. “They’re fine clothes,”
he said quickly. “If you like this sort of thing.” It was clear he did not.
“At least they’re clean,” I pointed out. I hesitated, then asked, “Did Declan leave?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Said he had...I don't know. Some other stuff to do.”
I felt a pang of guilt. In some ways, I was glad Laura had called. It was a convenient excuse to avoid having any meaningful conversation with Declan. I knew he really wanted to talk more about Brazil and the mission trip, but I just didn't have my thoughts straight for that conversation.
Yet.
Mack started unbuttoning his pants.
“What are you doing?” I asked, alarmed.
His wrinkled dress pants slid to the floor and pooled at his feet. He stepped out of them. “Changing.”
I rolled my eyes. “You know there’s a bathroom right down the hall, right?”
He shrugged and said nothing, just yanked on the jeans. They were a size too long but a bit snug in the waist, and I bit back a smile as he sucked his stomach in to get them buttoned.
By the time he was finished changing, he looked like a disgruntled scarecrow.
“Alright,” he said, clapping his hands together. “I’m ready.”
Gunnar glanced up at him. “Ready for what?”
“To go kick some butt.”
I frowned and looked down at what I was wearing. My pajamas. “Wait a minute. I’m coming with you.”
“We already went over this,” Mack said.
I folded my arms and leveled him with a look. I was done playing nice. “Who has a car?”
He blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.” I glanced at Gunnar, who was watching with unabashed amusement. “If you want to go and investigate, you need someone to take you where you want to go. And I don’t know if you know this, but we don’t have Uber out here.”
Gunnar hid his smile by picking up his coffee mug and bringing it to his lips.
Mack opened his mouth to say something but no words came out. And I knew I’d won...that round, anyway.
I smiled. “That’s right. Give me ten minutes.”
It took me fifteen before we were settled in my car and backing out of the driveway. Gunnar had excused himself soon after my ultimatum to Mack, and I’d hurried upstairs to change right after.
I turned the key in the ignition and started up the car. “Where to?”
Mack muttered something under his breath as I turned the car around in the driveway.
“Excuse me?” I said. I pressed my foot on the brake and brought us to a stop. “I can’t go anywhere if you don’t tell me where you want to go.”
“I’d like to go back to D.C.,” he grumbled.
“I would like for you to go back there, too,” I countered with a smile. “So let’s figure out what happened to Miranda so we can get you out of here.”
He sighed. “We should probably start with Tim,” he finally said. “Go back to where the car was found and do a little digging, ask a few questions. And talk to the sheriff, too.”
It would have been a good time to tell him that Sheriff Lewis had stopped by, and that he was interested in talking to Mack, too, but I held my tongue. The sheriff had been upset earlier, which was pretty much par for the course in terms of my interactions with him, and Mack was still peeved that he wasn’t in control of the investigation with me at the wheel.
Starting with Tim seemed like our best bet.
It took us less than ten minutes to drive through Latney and find our way to the almost hidden road that led to the cleared-out property where Tim had his camper parked. Some of the snow from the day before had melted, and gravel crunched under the tires as we trundled down the narrow stretch of road situated between the trees.
The first thing I noticed when we reached the clearing was that Mack’s shiny expensive car was gone, no doubt either towed to the sheriff’s office or somewhere else where they would be able to go through it and collect evidence.
But his car wasn’t the only vehicle missing. The pickup truck was gone, too.
Mack stepped out of my car and surveyed the scene, his hand held at a salute on his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun.
“The truck is gone,” I said.
He turned to look at me. “I’m not blind.”
Clearly, he had not needed an announcement from me to notice this fact.
He made his way toward the camper and rapped on the door. “Tim?” he called. “You in there?”
A bird chirped in response, and the wind rustled through the pines.
He knocked again. “Tim? James?”
“I don’t think James lives here,” I half-whispered as I approached him.
“Doesn’t mean he isn’t inside,” Mack muttered. He knocked again, more insistently this time.
“I guess they aren’t here,” I said.
I was disappointed. I honestly didn’t think we’d get much from Tim, but I thought that having the conversation would at least point Mack in a different direction, one that might actually yield results.
Mack sighed in frustration and leaned forward, his forehead against the door and his hand slipping to the doorknob. He jerked upright all of the sudden, his hand still on the knob.
“What?” I asked, alarmed. “What is it?”
He looked at me, and a slow easy smile spread across his face. He twisted the doorknob and to my surprise, it turned.
“It’s not locked?”
He shook his head.
“Mack,” I warned. “We can’t go in there. That’s...that’s trespassing.”
He didn’t respond.
“You can’t go in there,” I repeated.
His smile widened. “Watch me.”