Page 75 of The Harborer
Shane rolled slowly along Bowen Street, head on a swivel as he checked the side streets for any sign of her SUV. He passed Miners Tavern and didn’t see it parked out front, so he turned into the back parking lot. Not there either.
He tapped the number for Dispatch. “This is 431.”
“Isn’t it your night off, Deputy?” He could hear the smile in Donna’s voice.
“You’re working a little late yourself.”
“You know how it is. Election time and suddenly the sheriff wants us all neat and polished and pretending we’re a big-time department. Good thing it’s a slow night,” she chuckled mildly. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to know if you’ve gotten any calls regarding a blue-gray late-model Ford Explorer.” He rattled off the plate number.
“Not a thing. Do you need me to issue a BOLO?”
“Not yet. Thanks, Donna.” He hung up and cruised past the three parking lots again—the general store’s, Mountain Coffee’s, and the Vogue Vault’s—coming up empty. “Where are you?” he mumbled. An idea struck, and he drove to Luanne’s house, where he knocked on the front door. Luanne was working at Miners tonight, but she wasn’t the one he was looking for.
Cade whipped open the door, barefoot, in sweats and a T-shirt with tomato-sauce stains on it. He smelled like skunkweed, and his eyes reminded Shane of one of those old Dracula movies. Over Cade’s shoulder, Shane noticed a TV with a video game paused on the screen, cans of beer, and one of Cade’s buddies sprawled against the couch, holding a controller in his hand.
The guy obviously recognized Shane, and he gaped at him. “Oh, fuck!”
“I’m not here for you, buddy,” Shane assured him.
Cade stepped outside and pulled the door closed. “What can I do for you?”
“Have you seen Amy?”
Pleats mirroring Cade’s confusion formed between his brows. “No. Why would she behere?”
She wouldn’t. “I meant since you left Miners. Like, did you go somewhere and happen to see her?”
Cade shook his head. It was obvious he’d come home, gotten stoned, and eaten pizza before settling in to play games with his pal, so Shane had no reason to disbelieve him. “She comes over to see Mom once in a while, but Mom’s at Miners.”
The kid seemed to be grinding his gears over why Amy would be at his house, so before he could sprain his brain any further, Shane thanked him and climbed back into his truck. He headed back to the tavern, where he parked out front, killed the engine, and dialed Micky’s number. The call went straight to voicemail.
He balled up his frustration and stuffed it into a back corner of his mind before strolling inside the bar, where Dixie greeted him.
“Have you seen Amy?” He kept his tone low so no one else would hear.
Dixie blinked. “I thought she left with you.”
So much for Amy and him being stealthy when they’d left.
From behind the bar, Noah lifted his chin. “Aw, you missed me.”
“He’s looking for Amy,” Dixie announced.
Shane might have cringed at Dixie’s lack of a filter, but he was getting desperate. If anyone in the tavern piped up to tell him they’d seen Amy in the last ten minutes, he could relax. No one did.
Icy fingers of dread crept up his spine. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
He approached the bar, where Holt Gunderson sat in the same seat. Shane leaned past him and asked Noah ifhe’dseen her.
Noah glanced at Hailey, who cocked her head. “Didn’t she leave around the same time you did?”
“She did. We were supposed to meet, but we must’ve gotten our wires crossed. I thought she might have come back here.”
Hailey raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Meet, huh? No, but I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”
“Better yet, will you text her for me?” If Amy was pissed and wanted to punish him by ignoring him, it wouldn’t stop her from replying to Hailey. Then he’d know she was all right, and he could stop stressing.
