Page 8 of Mile High Mystery

He made a sound of disgust, low in his throat, but said nothing. Silence made a wall between them. She shifted in her seat, the fabric of her suit making a rustling sound. “Camille didn’t talk about your parents much,” she said after a moment. “I think it was too painful for her to do so. But she talked about you quite a bit.”

A long silence. But he couldn’t shut her out completely. Not when she was his only connection to Camille. “What did she say?” he asked, finally.

“She mostly talked about good times the two of you had together. She mentioned a trip to Cancun—just the two of you. You took a taxi out to Tulum, and when you had finished sightseeing, you discovered all the taxis were gone and you had to talk your way onto a tour bus headed back to the city center.”

“She did the talking,” he said. “I pretty much just followed her lead.”

“She had a powerful personality,” Shelby said. “When someone like that dies, it leaves a big hole.”

He cleared his throat. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” he asked.

“No, I’m an only child. My father is a symphony conductor, and my mother is first chair violin in the same symphony. Our lives revolved around rehearsals and performances.”

Her answer surprised him. It didn’t seem like the kind of background a law enforcement officer, especially an FBI agent, would have. “Do you play an instrument?” he asked.

“Not a note. To their everlasting dismay, I have a tin ear and can’t carry a tune. I’m so unlike either of them that I think sometimes they wondered if I had been switched at birth. They still don’t know quite what to make of me.”

“My parents don’t know what to make of me, either.” He ran his hands along the steering wheel, surprised by this urge to confide in her. But he felt compelled to continue. “I kind of fell apart for a while, after Camille’s funeral. I moved around, never held a job for long. I know it worried my folks.”

“But you’re here with them now.”

“I’m trying,” he said. “But I’m not Camille. I’m not Laney.” Those two had been the perfect kids, the shining stars. The sunny, outgoing, smart kids, loved by everyone. He was just himself. Too big and too quiet and awkward.

She made a small noise he interpreted as an expression of sympathy, but when he glanced over at her, he saw she was sitting up straight, staring into the side mirror. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“That white Toyota behind us. I’m sure I saw the same vehicle in Eagle Mountain.” She leaned toward the mirror, squinting. “I think it’s following us.”

Her words were so startling and unexpected Zach couldn’t make sense of them at first. He glanced in the rearview mirror. There were headlights in the distance, but there was nothing unusual about that. “How can you tell anything in the dark?” This wasn’t like the city. Once they were away from town, the darkness engulfed them, only a sliver of moon and stars like broken glass scattered overhead.

“I’ve been watching it for a while now. It slows down when we slow down and speeds up when we speed up. And it’s staying just far enough back that I can’t see it too clearly. But I got a better look at it when we passed through that lighted crossroads a few miles back. I’m sure it’s the same car I saw near your townhouse in Eagle Mountain.”

“Just because you saw the car in Eagle Mountain doesn’t mean it’s following us,” he protested. “It’s probably just someone headed to Junction to shop or go to the movies,” he said. “It’s the closest larger town, so people from Eagle Mountain go there all the time.”

“It doesn’t have a front license plate,” she said. “That’s very convenient for a vehicle tailing another.”

“Maybe it’s from out of state,” he said. “And there are a lot of white Toyotas around. Are you sure it’s the same one?”

“I’m pretty sure. I can’t make out the driver very well. Like I said, it’s keeping too far back.”

“I don’t think we’re being followed,” he said. “It’s just someone else going to Junction.”

She settled back in the passenger seat, but tension radiated from her. “You’re probably right,” she said, without the least conviction in her voice.

She was beginning to freak him out, though he didn’t want to show it. “I guess you’re trained to notice things like that,” he said.

“Yes.” She glanced over her shoulder, crouching down a little, as if she didn’t want the driver of the vehicle behind them to see her.

“What should I do?” he asked.

“Just drive normally.”

He tried to relax and do as she asked, though his gaze returned repeatedly to the lights visible in his rearview mirror. She was right—the vehicle wasn’t getting any closer, or any farther away.

They reached Junction, and Zach signaled a right turn. The vehicle that had been following them sped past, continuing straight on the highway. “Guess they weren’t following us after all,” Zach said.

“I guess not,” she said. “Though a skilled driver might go up a block and circle back, if they wanted to throw off suspicion.”

By the time he reached his parents’ house, his neck ached with tension, but he hadn’t seen the Toyota—or any other vehicle—since. He parked at the curb in front of his parents’ house and checked the time. It was after nine. “I should have called ahead,” he said. “But I didn’t want to tell them about Camille over the phone.”

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