Page 52 of Long Time Gone

They cleaned up the table and stacked the boxes full of the notes they had spent all night reading. Eric walked her up the stairs and showed her the guest room. He grabbed two extra pillows from the top shelf in the closet and stuffed them into pillowcases. He fluffed them on the bed.

He pointed at the bathroom. “Bathroom’s there, obviously. There’s water in the fridge downstairs. And I’m across the hall if you need anything.”

Sloan smiled. “Thanks. And thanks for letting me crash.”

“Sure thing.”

“I’m sorry again,” Sloan said, walking over to him. “About your dad. I know it was a long time ago, and you were a kid, but I’m sure it’s not easy to hear those things.”

Eric nodded. “Not easy, but that’s why I’m looking for answers. My grandfather would be proud I got this far.”

“I’m looking with you.”

“I know. And I appreciate it.” Eric leaned in and kissed her cheek. “And I’m going to keep looking until we both have answers about what happened that summer.”

Sloan put her hand on his chest. In a different moment in time, one where they had not spent the night looking through case files that dealt with the death of Eric’s father and the disappearance of Sloan’s birth parents, something more might have happened between them. But on this night, they were partners with a common goal. Nothing more.

“Good night,” she finally said.

“See you in the morning.”

THE PAST

Lake Tahoe, Nevada

Saturday, July 1, 1995 3 Days Prior . . .

SANDY STEERED HIS OLD-MODEL SUBURBAN DOWN THE LONG DRIVE OF the Stamos family’s cabin, turned left, and crossed the bridge that curved over the gorge behind the property. He wound his way through the circuitous mountain roads until he found Highway 67, where he headed south and bypassed the exit for Cedar Creek. He was headed to Lake Tahoe.

The Fourth of July holiday made traffic nightmarish, and it took over two hours for him to reach Incline Village on the north side of Tahoe. He found an offshoot road named Beverdale Trail and slowed at each house he passed. The address he was looking for was scrawled on a scrap of paper and taped to the dashboard. When he spotted the numbers on the mailbox, he pulled into the driveway.

“Sandy Stamos!”

Sandy heard the voice of his old friend just as he was opening the driver’s side door.

“Tom Quinn,” Sandy said with a smile. “It’s good to see you.”

Sandy had grown up with Tom Quinn. Unlike Sandy, Tom had hightailed it out of Cedar Creek and Harrison County as soon as he could. He attended college in Los Angeles and now made his home in the small, East Bay town of Danville. He had a vacation home in Lake Tahoe and had agreed to meet Sandy there for an urgent matter.

The two men embraced in a hug before Tom pushed Sandy away by the shoulders.

“Damn, Cedar Creek must be treating you well. You look good, old friend.” Tom wrapped an arm around Sandy’s bicep. “You’re built like a brick shithouse.”

“Working hard,” Sandy said. “You look good, too. And this house! It’s gorgeous.”

“Thanks. Elaine and I love it out here.”

“Thanks for having me out, and for doing this on a holiday weekend. I’m in a pinch or I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Not a problem. Come on inside. We’ll sit on the back deck. It’s got a great view of the lake.”

A few minutes later Sandy was sitting with his childhood friend and staring down at Lake Tahoe over towering pines that lined the mountainside. They each drank cold Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.

“You weren’t kidding,” Sandy said, taking in the view. “I’m impressed.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

Tom Quinn had studied finance and accounting at USC, and spent ten years on the government’s dole running audits for the IRS before entering the private sector to open his own financial planning firm. Tom Quinn had the sharpest financial mind Sandy knew, and Sandy needed his help.

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