Page 63 of Midnight Ride

“We’ll wait,” said Travis and Harlan nodded.

Mark sat down behind his desk at his computer and typed a few keystrokes. “Approximate time?”

“What time did y’all leave the roadhouse?” Travis asked Harlan.

“Around midnight.” Virge nodded.

“So, from midnight at the roadhouse in Coyote Creek to here would take about half an hour,” said Travis. “Try twelve-thirty to one-thirty. In that range.”

“Let’s try that,” said Mark.

I watched Dad’s face as we sat in that office, and it was easy to see he was close to losing it and ripping that office apart. I hoped the customs guy didn’t take too fuckin long to come up with a name.

“Okay, we might have something here,” said Mark. He wrote on a pad and ripped the page off and handed it across the desk to Dad. “The owner of that truck is Franko Garrison. He has an address in Warner, Alberta.”

Color drained from Dad’s face, and I figured it was because he was gonna puke with relief or something.

“Thanks, Mark. Can’t tell you how much I appreciate this information.”

“Hope you grab him and find the girl, Sheriff. Good luck to you.”

“Thanks.”

We went back to the truck and Travis sat behind the wheel not saying a word for a couple of minutes before he started the Bronco.

“We going to Alberta, Dad?” asked Virge.

“Sure are, son. We’re on our way there now.”

“Never been to Canada before,” said Virge.

Warner. Alberta. Canada.

Warner wasn’t too far from the border. Following the address in the GPS, it took us about forty-five minutes to find the trailer park outside of town. The directions took us to a single-wide trailer, and it was empty. Locked up with aFOR RENTsign on the front lawn. Nobody living there.

“We’ll ask the park manager,” said Travis. “He might know where they went. If they ran out on their rent, the park owner might be looking for them. That often happens.”

Dad was so icy calm; I could tell there was something going on. He’d been different ever since the customs officer told him the name of the guy who owned the truck. Franko Garrison.

“Who’s Franko Garrison, Dad?” I asked. “You heard of him?”

“Might have.”

“Somebody who wanted Tammy and she wasn’t random from the side of the road? Like that, Dad?”

“Exactly like that.”

That made my heart pound. This Garrison guy had kidnapped Tammyon purposeand Travis knew why.

We stood at the counter in the park office and waited while the old guy running the place searched through a pile of papers looking for something he might have gotten from Garrison.

“I should’ve forwarded his mail by now, but I’ve been busy and didn’t get around to it,” said the old guy. “Here’s his forwarding address, and if you’re going there, you could take these two letters that came for him. They look like bills, but you could pass them on for me.”

“Sure.” Dad took the letters and handed them to me while he read the new address. “Taber. How far is that?”

“About an hour from here. You can go straight north on thirty-six and it will take you right there. Two-lane highway, but it won’t be bad driving this time of year.”

“Thanks for your help. Appreciate it.”

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