Page 61 of A River of Crows

“Are you here for the same reason we are?” Sloan asked. Walt was retired, so he wasn’t here patrolling the area for kids drinking.

“Yeah. Noah called about Caroline. He was tied up at the office and wanted me to check.”

“And?”

Walt shook his head. “No luck so far. Nobody around here saw her or called it in.”

Sloan looked down the long, winding river. “I tried to call her twice on the way over, and she didn’t answer. Not that there’s great reception here.” She looked up at the moon, barely visible behind the clouds. “The dark’s going to make it hard to search.” A memory surfaced—hundreds of people walking down this river looking for Ridge. Hundreds of voices, hundreds of flashlights. Goosebumps covered Sloan’s arms despite the humidity clinging to the air.

“I’m going to grab a flashlight and head downriver.” Dylan opened the door of his jeep. There’s a place off the beaten path where kids hang out. They might’ve seen her.”

“Good idea,” Sloan said. “You lead the way.”

Dylan shot her a glance from over the jeep’s hood. “Come here a sec.”

Sloan stomped over to Dylan as Walt turned away, pretending to look at his phone. “What?” she asked.

“The type who hang out there, they wouldn’t appreciate me bringing a cop.”

“Walt’s not a cop anymore.”

“Come on, Sloan. Remember how I said once an addict, always an addict? It’s sort of the same for cops. If he comes out, everyone will leave. I taught a lot of these kids, so they trust me.”

Sloan tipped her head back and exhaled. “Okay. I’ll ask Walt to come with me to check the old campsite. Mom might’ve gone there. That’s where she claims Ridge the crow lives.”

Dylan put his hands on her shoulders. “Thank you.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. And for the second time tonight since arriving at the creek, Sloan got goosebumps.

“Almost there.” Sloan used her cell phone for light while Walt followed behind with his flashlight.

“If Caroline made it this far, she’s in better shape than me,” he huffed.

“Mom comes a lot, but usually not after dark,” Sloan said.

“Reliving better memories?”

“No.” Sloan laughed uncomfortably. “She thinks Ridge talks to her up here.”

“Sorry. The lucidity seems to come and go.”

“Yeah,” Sloan said. “I’m sorry I left you alone to deal with her.”

“You didn’t leave me alone to deal with her. You left for college, as is a normal course of life. Caroline was hospitalized. They took care of her.”

“Come on, Walt. You guys visited her and brought food. Your family cleaned out the house, rented it out, and managed the money from it. You did a million jobs that should’ve been mine.” Sloan stopped. “Here we are.”

Walt shone the flashlight around the campsite. “Somebody’s been here. Still embers in that fire pit.”

Sloan wasn’t looking at the firepit. Her eyes moved straight to the swamp chestnut oak tree and the list of names still etched deep into the trunk. Jay, Caroline, Sloan, Ridge. Like most monuments, it honored something long dead and gone.

“I’ve gotta take a break before we go back down.” Walt lowered himself onto a log. Sloan sat beside him and tried to dial her mother’s number again, but there was no signal. “She’s probably gone home,” Walt said. “If not, I can call it in as an endangered person and get some officers here.”

Sloan closed her eyes. “I’m not sure if I can do this, Walt—live with her forever.”

“We need to get her back into that home or hire a caretaker,” Walt said. “You go back to work in August, right?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Then we’ve got a little time.”

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