Page 78 of High Frequency

That was a frustrating forty-five minutes on the phone.

There’s a US Forestry Services office here in Libby, but the lady I spoke to was a stickler for following proper procedure, which apparently is a written request signed by the proper authorities, which has to include an official fax number for the information to be sent to. That resulted in a phone call to Betty back at the office, who suggested contacting the sheriff, who apparently was up at the dumpsite waiting for the feds to arrive.

Long story short, I finally got hold of Junior, and with a lot of back and forth, I just got word from Betty the official written request has been sent. Now all we have to do is wait. Hopefully, it won’t be too long. I’d love to be able to get some leads going on this case before the FBI takes over.

At least I’m without interruptions here. As much as I adore my baby girl, she’s a bit of a distraction, as is my mother. Yeah, that was pretty thoughtful of Dan. He popped in earlier for a quick visit and suggested I use his cabin to work, which I happily accepted. I have a sneaking suspicion Mom may have been a little relieved not to have me underfoot.

I pull up the Exxon video file I downloaded from the folder the sheriff sent me a link to. Wi-Fi can be sketchy here, and I’d rather have it on my hard drive so I can access it when I want. I know Ewing was going to get one of the guys to look at it, but I doubt anyone has had time in the last twenty-four hours.

It’s going to take a while since we have about three hours’ worth of video. Chelsea hadn’t been too clear on exactly what time she passed through the Exxon gas station, but we were able to get an approximate timeframe.

Who knew there were so many white delivery trucks on the road? I’ve seen about five and I’m only half an hour into this video. Only one of them pulled into the gas station though, but it had the logo of a produce supplier on the side. The one I’m looking for had no markings or decals visible.

Leaning back, I stretch my arms over my head. I’m getting stiff from sitting. I’m almost tempted to make another pot of coffee, but I’m afraid I’ll be up all night. I already need another pee break. Bracing myself on the table, I push myself up. Walking hurts, even with the boot, but the doctor said it’s important to keep moving without overdoing it.

Dan’s bathroom is pretty clean, I noticed as much the first time I was in here. I resisted nosing around, but this time the temptation is getting to me. After I do my business and wash my hands, I poke around the narrow glass shelf that serves as a medicine cabinet.

A container of Tylenol, some cold medication, a tube of cortisone cream, a bottle of aloe vera, and his Old Spice deodorant. No hair products, not even aftershave, just his Irish Spring soap and Old Spice deodorant, like my dad used to wear.

Jeff, Aspen’s father, was all about the fancy fragrances—Tom Ford, Yves Saint Laurent, Armani—and he always wore a tad too much. I’d rather smell Old Spice with a hint of good, healthy man sweat any day.

There is nothing artificial about Dan. He is who he is,whathe is, and I love that about him. He has this quiet confidence that seems to come naturally. Maybe it’s the mountain air that breeds men like that up here.

The bottle of shampoo I’ve been sniffing slips from my hand, and clatters in the tub, when I hear my phone ringing from the living room. Wincing when I put weight on my bad ankle a little too enthusiastically, as I try to rush inside.

“Hello,” I answer it, a little out of breath.

“Did I catch you in the middle of something?”

Of course, it would be Dan calling.

I try to ignore the embarrassed blush burning on my face.

“I was in the bathroom,” I return casually. “What’s up?”

“Where’s your Jeep?”

“My Jeep? It’s still parked at the sheriff’s office. Why?”

“Uh, well, I was just thinking if we wanted to go somewhere, Aspen would need her car seat.”

He may sound a little sheepish, but wow, there’s a lot to unpack from what he says.

Not the least of which is the use of the word,we, casually identifying us as a unit, but more than that, a unit that includes my daughter. There doesn’t even seem to be a question for him that she comes as part of me.

Also, what guy worries about a car seat?

My insides turn warm and gooey.

“Yeah. I can see if—” I was going to suggest maybe Sully would take Mom into town and she could drive my Jeep back, but I don’t get a chance.

“I’ve got it,” Dan interrupts. “I’ll take care of it.”

I must be getting soft, because my stubborn independent streak stays silent. Let him handle it if he wants to.

“Oh, and something else I was thinking about,” he continues. “The ranch has a couple of ATVs but we rarely have more than one being used at a time. I could have one of the guys park one in front of your cabin. You don’t need your foot to drive one of those, and you could take the trail that runs back to the river to get to your uncle’s place. Or mine,” he adds, making me smile.

“That would be awesome, if you think I could borrow one.”

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