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The only thing out of place was the young man sprawled on the couch watching TV. He frowned when he saw Hank but didn’t move.
“Bo, this is Hank Monroe,” she said, biting off each word as she gave a jerk of her head that indicated her son should stand.
Bo ignored the gesture. “So you’re dating my mom?” he asked, his tone incredulous as he gave Hank the once-over.
“Bo,” Arlene snapped as she stepped into the living room to shut off the television.
Hank said nothing, his gaze locking with Bo’s. Bo looked away first, and Hank followed Arlene into the kitchen. He heard the television come back on, but Bo turned it down, obviously not wanting to miss what was going on in the adjacent room.
“I did teach him manners. He just refuses to use them. I’m sorry,” Arlene said as she poured Hank a glass of lemonade from a sweating glass pitcher.
“Don’t be.” He took a sip. The lemonade was wonderful and he said as much.
She beamed and offered him some ginger-snaps she’d made. “They take first place at the fair every year.” She glanced toward the living room, clearly anxious.
Hank motioned to the chair across from him. “Why don’t you tell me when you last saw Charlotte.”
Arlene pulled out the chair, brushing at nonexistent crumbs on the seat, and sat down. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I saw her just before she left for her doctor’s appointment. Her appointment was for three, but as usual she was running late. I was worried about her driving too fast on the road into Whitehorse. I offered to take her, but…” Her voice broke.
“You said you talked to the doctor and she didn’t make her appointment?”
Arlene nodded.
“Had she missed an appointment before?” he asked, pretty sure he already knew the answer.
“Yes, but she was getting so close to her due date I can’t imagine her just blowing this one off.”
“Okay. There is only one road into Whitehorse, right?”
Arlene’s eyes widened as she shifted her gaze to the living room. Bo was caught watching them and instantly got a don’t-look-at-me expression.
“Charlotte wouldn’t have taken the shortcut would she?” Arlene asked her son.
“Why do you keep asking me what Charlotte would do?” Bo demanded, raising his voice. “I have no idea. It’s not like we ever talk. You should know that.”
“I should know a lot of things,” Arlene snapped.
Bo shot to his feet, angrily snapped off the television and stalked down the hallway. A door slammed, and a few moments later Hank heard a stereo come on.
“Can you show me this shortcut?” Hank said, getting to his feet.
She glanced down the hallway for a moment, and he could see how badly she wanted to go down there and yell at her son. Slowly her gaze came back to him and she rose from her chair as if she was an old woman. Her children were killing her, he thought as they went outside to his vehicle.
“What was Charlotte driving?” he asked.
“A small, dark blue Chevy. I can’t remember what year. It’s an older-model sedan.”
He nodded. “And what was she wearing?”
Arlene shook her head. “I don’t remember exactly. She’s so big and she refuses to wear maternity clothes, so whatever she had on was stretched over her stomach.”
“I think that’s the style now.”
Arlene looked mystified by that.
“What about the baby’s father?” he asked. “Is it possible she’s with him?”
“I doubt it. She wouldn’t tell me who the man is, but from what I could gather he’s involved with someone else. I’m not even sure he knows about the baby.”
Hank took that in, wondering how the man couldn’t know in a town the size of Whitehorse. From what little time he’d lived in the county he’d discovered there were no secrets. Everyone seemed to know his name even though he spent little time in town and had met only a few people.
“I tried her cell phone,” Arlene was saying. “It goes straight to voice mail. I left a message…”
“Maybe you should call the sheriff,” he suggested as they drove out of town.
“No.” She softened her expression and her words as she continued. “I already spoke to the sheriff. He can’t file a missing-persons report yet. The thing is, Charlotte has had some problems with the law. The sheriff thinks this is just one of her stunts—and, you know, he’s probably right.”
THE SHORTCUT WAS narrow, with deep barrow pits on each side—much like the main road to Old Town Whitehorse.
But the road was closer to the Evans’ farmhouse, and since Hank hadn’t seen Charlotte’s car on his way to Arlene’s, this would be the next place to check.
He found himself taking in the land that ran toward the Missouri Breaks, fascinated this untamed country was right out Arlene’s back door. Who couldn’t get lost in this?
“I’m sure Charlotte probably just stayed in town,” Arlene said, drumming her fingers on the armrest. “It’s just that I can’t imagine who she might have stayed with.” When she looked at him, he saw the pain.
He realized he had never known the names of his daughter’s friends. There’d been a stream of them in and out of the house over the years, but he’d never been home enough to keep track of them.
His daughter had grown up without him being around. He’d told himself that she was fine, Bitsy was doing a great job raising her. That he wasn’t needed. His job was to provide for his family. Only now could he admit what bull that had been.
“What was your husband like?” he asked.
“Absent,” she said and craned her neck to look out as the road dipped down to a creek crowded with thick stands of chokecherries and dogwood. “Wait. Back up. I think I saw something.”
He stopped the SUV and reversed back up the hill.
“There!” she cried.
He pulled over to the edge of the road as best he could although it wasn’t wide enough for another car to pass and put on the emergency flashers even though he doubted any other cars would be coming along. Arlene was already out of the car and running to the edge of the road.
He joined her as she pointed down the slope and saw the patch of blue through the dense, tall brush along the creek.
Closer, he could see the tracks in the soft earth where a car had gone off, some of the sagebrush limbs broken or uprooted.
“Oh, God,” Arlene said beside him. She took a step toward the ravine, but he stopped her.
“Stay here. I’ll go check.”
Arlene looked stricken. “If she went off the road…The baby—”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions before we know if that’s even her car down there, okay?”
She nodded, although they both knew it had to be.
He walked down the road to a spot where the slope wasn’t so steep and worked his way down to where he’d seen the patch of blue from above.
The chokecherries and dogwood were thick and hard to navigate, but he hadn’t gone far when he caught the glint of a chrome bumper.
Forcing his way closer, he glanced into the rear window. The car was covered in dust but he could see that there was no one in the backseat.
Working his way along the passenger side of the car, he covered his hand with the tail of his shirt to open the door. If this was a crime scene, he didn’t want to destroy any more evidence than necessary.
The door opened and he peered in. No eight-months-pregnant woman inside. The keys were in the ignition, he noted. The car appeared to be in Neutral.
He glanced around. No sign of a struggle. No blood. No indication anything had been taken, since there were a couple dollars in change in the drink holder and the glove box was still closed.
He glanced at the driver-side door. It was closed, a dense wall of brush against it—just as there had been against the passenger-side door. Just to be sure the car was Charlotte’s, he checked the registration in the glove box.
Then, reaching across, he pulled on the trunk lever. The lid groaned open.
Closing the door, he straightened and moved to the rear of the car. He was relieved to find the trunk empty except for the usual junk most people carried there.
He closed the lid, careful not to leave his prints.
“Hank?” Arlene called down, sounding scared.
“She’s not here,” he called back. “I’ll be right up.” He climbed out of the ravine to find her standing on the road where he’d left her. She’d worn a path in the dirt, though, where she had paced.
“It’s her car, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “But she wasn’t in it when the car went off the road.”
She didn’t seem to hear him. “Oh, my God, she could be out there anywhere, wandering around, maybe having her baby.”
“Arlene.” He touched her arm. “She wasn’t in the car when it went off the road.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“Come here.” He walked her over to the spot where the car tracks left the road. “See. Someone walked around here, then walked to the edge of the road. See how deep the footprints are?”
“What are you saying?”
“The car was pushed off the road. The keys were in it and the car was in Neutral.”
“Why would Charlotte do that?”
“The prints would indicate the size and shape of a woman’s shoe.”
Arlene met his gaze. “How do you know so much about this kind of stuff?”
“I like murder mysteries,” he said truthfully.
She looked sickened as she glanced back down into the ravine. “She’s run off, hasn’t she?”
“It would appear that way. Her purse isn’t in the car. There was no sign of a struggle. Did she take a suitcase or an overnight bag when she left for her doctor’s appointment?”
Arlene shook her head. “I don’t know. She could have put one in the car the night before.”
“We’ll know more once we get the car out of the ravine. Who should I call?” He pulled out his cell phone but quickly realized he couldn’t get any coverage out here. “I’ll call from town.”
She nodded and gave him a name of a tow truck operator. “Thank you.”
He wished there was something he could say to relieve her worry. “She isn’t alone. Someone met her here.” He pointed to another set of tire tracks on the opposite side of the road.
“I can’t imagine who it could have been.” She frowned as if she remembered something.
“What?”
“Just that I’ve seen a car I didn’t recognize drive by the house numerous times over the past few months,” she said. “A silver SUV.”
“Did you happen to notice the license plate?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t pay much attention to it. I wouldn’t have noticed it at all except that we get so little traffic out our way.”
“You didn’t see the driver?”
“No. I can’t be sure if it was a man or a woman.”
“You don’t know of anyone who drives a car like it?” he asked.
She shook her head again. “I wish I was of more help.”
“Don’t worry. She’ll turn up.”
“Only if she wants to be found. You don’t know Charlotte.”
Hank smiled and put his arm around Arlene as he walked her back to his car. “Charlotte doesn’t know me.”
HANK WAITED UNTIL the tow truck operator unhooked Charlotte’s car in the front yard of the farmhouse before opening the car.
Arlene came out of the house and stood on the porch, watching.
Hank slid behind the wheel, careful not to touch anything. He heard Arlene come up to the side of the car.
“You still aren’t convinced she ran away,” Arlene said.
“Better to be safe than sorry,” he said as he tilted his head to study the steering wheel. “How tall did you say your daughter was?”
“Five-four.”
