Page 96 of Husband Missing

The second type of bow was the compound bow which was so elaborate that Josie had never been able to make sense of its complex network of cables, rods, cams, sights, and wheels. She only knew that it was more powerful, more accurate and easier to shoot. In the profile that WYEP had run about Gina, she’d been pictured using both a traditional and a compound bow.

“Quinn?” Chief Chitwood drew up beside her. “Something wrong?”

Josie shook her head. The ambulance was going to leave soon. She kept cataloging the fallen archery items. Shiny silver broadheads. Edged, penetrating. They were ideal for hunting large game like deer and elk, sometimes even bear.

“I can see you working on something,” the Chief said.

Two kinds of bows. Broadheads. Large game. Rabbits.

Question and answer.

It was right there. A hair’s breadth away. Mettner would know this.

“Rabbits are small game,” she muttered, crouching and scanning the ground. “Two different kinds of bows. Two…”

“We’ll get you checked out at the hospital, too,” said the Chief.

“There!” she said, more loudly than she expected. As she pointed to the handful of small, black, metal cylinders no more than an inch long, their circumference no wider than a pencil, flared and concave at one end, the pieces clicked into place.

Just as there were two types of bows, there were two types of arrowheads. The broadhead was pointy and sharp. The blunt-tipped arrowhead was non-pointed, sometimes rounded, sometimes flat or even concave. It was made from rubber, plastic, and even steel and used to hunt small game. Rabbits, squirrels, grouse, pheasants.

“Are you going to tell me what’s happening right now?” asked the Chief.

The items in the baggie in Lila’s box and the charm on Erica’s necklace were blunt-tipped arrowheads.

“We’re just about ready here,” called one of the paramedics.

Josie took out her phone and snapped a few pictures of the ones in the grass before hurrying toward the ambulance. She settled in on the bench next to Noah and covered his hand with one of her own. He was asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly.

Chief Chitwood stood just outside the back, one bushy eyebrow kinked. “Glad we had this talk, Quinn. I’ll see you two at the hospital.”

The paramedic tending to Noah shut the doors and they were off. Josie kept her focus on her husband’s mangled face, ready to reassure him if he woke while her mind kept spinning.

Why would Lila keep blunt-tipped arrows in her morbid box of mementos? To Josie’s knowledge, she’d never picked up a bow, which meant they hadn’t belonged to her. She’d taken them from someone. The Phelans? Why had she given one to Erica, though, without ever explaining its significance?

Blunt-tipped arrows weren’t unique. There were probably tens of thousands of the very same kind circulating all over the country. But it would be foolish to discount the Phelans. Lila had led her to them.

Everything was about Lila.

She’d wanted Josie to see something.

A memory flashed across Josie’s mind. Visiting Lila in prison the day she’d traced Roe Hoyt’s inmate number into the condensation left by her breath.

“Oh, you want to play that game? Who had the worse childhood? You don’t want to know what happened to me.”

Josie leaned forward. “You’re wrong. I do want to know. Your foster care file was destroyed. There is nothing left. I don’t even know where you came from.”

Lila considered this for a moment. Then her hand tightened around the receiver. “I’ll tell you what, JoJo. You’re a detective, right? Big-time chief of police and all that. I’ll give you a clue. You figure it out before I die, and I’ll give you those names.”

Lila had wanted Josie to see Roe Hoyt, her mother.

The items in her box had led Josie to Erica Slater, her daughter.

That only left one other player. Her father.

Clint Phelan was the right age, a lifelong hunter, and an accomplished archer. He’d mentored Gina and she’d gone on to win state championships. Josie didn’t know if he’d ever had a hunting cabin or been part of a camp in Bradford County but that wouldn’t be difficult to check.

How had Lila known? Had she done a mail-in DNA test? Or did she remember him from her time with Roe? She wouldn’t have known his name—she didn’t even have language skills when she was found. But the Phelans often appeared on local television. Would she have recognized his face? Maybe not, but she might have remembered the brass belt buckle he always wore.

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