Page 70 of Fire Harbor

“Thanks, Gloria. I appreciate the information.”

Lake walked into the living room about the time Linus finished his conversation with Eastlyn.

“I hope you got better news than I did.”

“About Callum Riggs? Nope. Gloria told me that, as of right now, they can only get Riggs for kidnapping and the arson at the pier. Apparently, there’s no law against blowing up your own boat unless you plan to file an insurance claim.”

“That’s pretty much what Eastlyn said. So far, they have nothing to connect him to the murders. How did you know?”

“I didn’t know.”

“It just doesn’t feel right for some reason. Eastlyn did tell me the unidentified remains outside the wall of vines came back to a missing eighteen-year-old waitress—Trudy Winehouse, from Scotts Valley. She went missing last June, three months before Gabby Moreland. And get this, after clocking out at her fast-food job, Trudy had plans to meet up with friends in Santa Cruz that night. Something went wrong, though, and the get-together was canceled. The only thing Eastlyn says she knows for sure is that Trudy never made it back to Scotts Valley. They’re starting an investigation into her phone records.”

“Trudy fits the pattern, Linus,” Lake surmised, biting her lip.

“I know. Eastlyn said the entire team doesn’t think Callum Riggs is their guy.”

“What about Jimmy? Did he give you Sofia’s phone number?”

“No, but I got her email address. Jimmy thinks she’d rather answer questions about that night by email versus talk about it to a stranger over the phone.”

“That makes sense, I guess.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if she’ll remember much.”

Lake looked at him in disbelief. “When something like that happens to a woman, they don’t forget. She might try to put the fear out of her head, but never the details.”

“You’re right. Trauma has a way of imprinting memories that are hard to shake off. I hope she’s willing to share what she remembers. It could be crucial in piecing together what happened to her and the other missing women. Do you suppose she could give us a description of the man?”

“We can always ask. Want some help drafting the email? Maybe there’s a detail she overlooked or didn’t think was important at the time. We need to make sure we ask the right questions.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Linus muttered. “I left my laptop in the kitchen.”

They moved to the kitchen table, where they huddled over the laptop, hoping to compose the perfect email that would get a response. It took almost an hour for them to come up with the right set of questions.

After hitting the send button, Lake sent him a wide grin. “You know it will be absolute agony until we hear from Sofia, right?”

“Yep. Sitting around here all day will drive us nuts waiting for an answer. Let’s do something. Go somewhere. Take an afternoon to ourselves and not think about serial killers.”

“There’s always the flea market, walk the dogs around and check out all the booths.”

He was about to agree to the trip to Santa Cruz when the doorbell rang.

Lake checked the door cam he’d installed a few weeks earlier. “It’s Greta. What’s she doing here? She seems upset and agitated.”

Greta was in a panic. “I can’t find Abby. I went to pick her up this morning and she wasn’t at her house. I’ve tried calling at least a dozen times. All my calls go to voicemail. I checked with everyone I know that she knows. I’ve driven around town looking for her. She has to be on foot. Her Fiat is still parked in her driveway. But I can’t find her anywhere. Because it’s Sunday and her day off, Keegan hasn’t seen her either. What should I do?”

“What time did you drop by to pick her up?” Lake asked.

“When I texted you around eight-twenty this morning. We planned to get there early because she wanted to look for homemade soap and candles from this one vendor.”

Linus checked his watch. “When was the last time you talked to her?”

“Last night. I thought it strange that she didn’t call me this morning to verify what time I planned to pick her up.”

“Was she going out last night?”

Greta rolled her eyes at Lake. “It was Saturday night. We always go for a drink at The Shipwreck, you know that. We left about ten o’clock. All anyone wanted to talk about was the fire. It was terrible what happened, but we wanted to spend a couple of hours without having to talk about it. Was that so wrong?”

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