Page 7 of JoyRide

“Where was the foster home you were living in when your brother was removed?” asked Molly.

“I think we were with a family in Butte at the time,” said Harlan. “Hard to remember, me and Virge bounced around so much.”

“Gloria Grafton, over at the county office is in child services and she’s our best bet to help us with this,” said Molly. “Let me talk to her first and she may want you to come to her office and give her a lot more details. Do you have a picture of your brother, dear?”

“No.”

“Okay,” said Molly. “We’ll start with a phone call.”

“At least we’re started,” whispered Tammy. “Step one over with. We’ll talk to the county lady next and go from there.”

I nodded and I felt a tiny bit of hope stirring inside of me.

Molly’s phone rang and it was incoming for the sheriff’s office. Molly listened to the caller and made some notes, then she hollered for Travis.

“Lake Frances campground, Sheriff. They’ve got trouble.”

Travis hurried down the hall from the break room. “What kind of trouble, Molly?”

“The story is a little garbled, but from the person calling in, it seems a child wandered into a neighboring campsite and said his parents were dead.”

“Huh. Okay, we best get down there and see what the hell is going on.”

“The call came from the Lake of the Woods Campground.”

“Okay, thanks. I think I’ve passed the sign on patrol.” Travis whistled for the dogs, then hollered out orders. “Ted, you take Tammy. Harlan, drive my squad. We’ll take the dogs.”

“Copy, boss. Let’s go.”

Lake of the Woods Campground. Harrison County.

Took us half an hour to drive down to the lake southwest of town. There were camping and fishing places all around Lake Frances that were only open from May to September. Closed up for the winter and the owners went to Florida or Mexico.

Big painted sign at the end of the road leading into the Lake of the Woods camping area. Picture of a huge fish with a big grin on his face. Scary.

This time of year—mid July—every campsite would be filled with city folks on vacay.

“Did Molly say what campsite the caller was at?” asked Travis.

“Don’t think so, boss. Didn’t hear her tell us.”

“Okay, stop at the office and I’ll ask.”

I stopped next to the office and shoved the Bronco intopark. Real log cabin with nice white chinking, and a no-vacancy sign in the window. The campground was full up. We hopped out andwent inside.

Nobody at the front desk. Travis rang the bell.

A lady came running out of the office. “Oh, Sheriff, I’m so glad you’re here. We never have upsetting things like this happen at our campground.”

“Which campsite, ma’am?” Travis was in a hurry.

“Forty-three.”

“Got a map?”

She handed him a brochure and opened it to the colored map inside. “Thank you, ma’am. Might need to talk to you in a while.”

“I’ll be here, Sheriff.” She brushed a tear away and I figured it was bad—whatever it was.

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