Page 29 of Harrison Hyde and the Runaway Bride

“No, but it might have flown into the front seat. Or it might be under the duffel.”

“Hold on,” she said from closer, and then the stack he was standing on wobbled, and he realized she was spider-climbing up the side after him.

“Holy— here, here.” He reached down, they clasped forearms, and he hauled her the rest of the way up. She turned to look into the back of the car, just as he had. It would be so easy, he thought, to climb inside and take a careful look around.

Maria heaved a sigh and said, “How can we not look?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

She nodded. “Go on, just try not to touch more than you have to.”

Harrison pulled his sleeves over his hands to grip either side of the open hatch, then eased himself in, feet-first, his back sliding along the carpeted cargo hold, or what he and his sister as kids would have called “the back back.”

He stayed right in the center and slid lower, toward the front seats, bracing his feet on the back of them to stop his progress. He almost groaned out loud when he saw his demolished laptop, bent in the middle, ruined. Then he grabbed the duffel and picked it up to see underneath and behind it.

“You see it?”

“Not yet. But I’ll be glad to have my own clothes again.” He hefted the duffel up toward her, felt when she clasped it, and then the car took a sudden leftward jog that threw him sideways, and pulled Maria right inside, head-first. She landed with her head between his knees, and his face between hers.

“What the hell are you two doin’ in there?” Willow’s shout was muffled because she was standing outside the car. Maria lifted her head, looked at her cousin through the side window, and gave a little wave. Harrison had to bite his lip not to burst out laughing and maybe tip the car over.

“Come on out of there,” Willow said. “You’re contaminatin’ evidence.” She pointed to the car’s front passenger side door. Harrison rolled his eyes. They’d approached from the driver’s side and hadn’t seen it standing wide open.

Maria, being on top, so to speak, went first, crawling lower, head first over the back seat into the front, rubbing every inch of her body over his on the way. He thought his eyes would pop.

Something had shifted between them. And it was dumb, because they wanted very different things in very different places.

“The tackle box!” Maria’s exclamation came from the front seat. “On the floor, driver’s side all tangled in my ruined weddin’ dress.” She whispered that part, probably so Willow wouldn’t forbid him touching it.

He dropped the duffel bag into the front seat, then turned himself around so he could go headfirst like Maria had. When he made it into the front, he tossed the duffel out the open door, then he used a fast-food napkin from the console to untangle the tackle box from the dress. “You want the gown?” he asked.

Maria shook her head. “Not in the least.”

He was unreasonably glad to hear that, and just as glad to see the tackle box. His dad would’ve been heartbroken if it had been lost. He climbed out of the car with his treasure.

“What part of ‘don’t touch anythin’ did you two not understand?”

“Webarelytouched anythin’,” Maria said. “Besides, he has to see whether the solar tile’s been stolen.”

Willow sent her a dubious look, and Maria shrugged, picked up Harrison’s duffel and moved it beside her feet. “This is going to the ranch, not the evidence closet. And so’s my bag, which is right over there.” She nodded at her bag, lying up against a rusty muffler nearby.

“You’re fixin’ to get me fired before my first two months are up,” Willow said.

Harrison appreciated Maria looking out for him, but he was more interested in opening the tackle box. He set it on the ground and looked up at Willow. “Can I open it?”

The newest deputy nodded. “Carefully. Yes, like that.”

Using his shirt sleeves, Harrison flipped the latches, touching only the very edges, and opened the lid. He expanded it fully, again touching only an edge with his sleeves, exposing all the interior trays and compartments filled with hooks, sinkers, rubber worms, and an array of lures. But there was no black box. He looked in the little compartments amid the tackle, in case the tile was loose among the tackle. He searched in between the trays in the bottom, where he moved items by tipping the box one way, and another.

“It’s gone,” he said. The words were heavy. It hurt to say them.

“Could it have fallen free?” Willow asked.

He glanced back into the car. “The tackle box was latched.”

“We’ll get it back.” Maria squeezed his upper arm. “We will, Harry. You don’t know my family. We can fix this. We can help.”

He looked into her eyes and knew she meant it.

---