Page 19 of Her Last Farewell

Rachel felt her pulse quicken slightly. A lead—maybe not much of one, but something tangible they could pursue. "Do you have his contact information?"

Leery nodded to the case files. “Should be in there somewhere. If not, let one of these nosy officers all around us know. I’m sure someone would be happy to get it for you.” As Rachel looked all around the office, she caught another officer watching intently, this one not even bothering to hide his interest. The whole room seemed to be holding its breath, waiting to see what the FBI agents would do next.

"Look," Leery said, his voice dropping even lower, "I know everyone around here is acting like we're being invaded by the feds or something. Don't take it personally. We just don't get cases like this very often, and now we've got the FBI looking into multiple disappearances..." He trailed off, shrugging.

Rachel offered a small smile. "We're not here to step on any toes, Deputy. We just want to find these women—or at least find out what happened to them."

“You think there might be something connecting them?”

“Could be.”

“Well,” he said, a look of worry on his face. “Just let me know if and when you need an assist of any kind.”

“We absolutely will,” Novak said. “Thanks.”

As Leery stood to leave, Rachel flipped back through the files and located Mark Dupree's information. When she jotted it down on a nearby sticky note, she realized she’d been holding her breath. This could be nothing—just another dead end in a case full of them. But something about Sarah Dupree's disappearance, about the note she'd left behind, tugged at Rachel's instincts. Her gut told her this was important, and in her years of investigation, she'd learned to trust that feeling.

"Should we give him a call?" Novak asked, already reaching for his phone.

Rachel nodded, trying to temper her growing excitement with professional caution. They'd been given a thread to pull—now they just had to see what unraveled. “Yeah, he’s definitely our next stop.”

The precinct seemed to come to a standstill as Novak dialed the number—even though Leery’s comment about the officers being nosy had pretty much dispersed them (though a few in the bullpen still stole glances their way). She couldn't shake the feeling that they were on the verge of something—that beneath the surface of these disappearances, a pattern was emerging. She just hoped they could figure it out before another woman went missing.

Or worse, turned up dead like Carla Rhodes.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

While Rachel could easily find the simplicity and charm in winding, two-lane back roads, they started to become a bit of a pain in the ass during what was starting to feel like a very urgent case. She wound the sedan down yet another rural road, finally coming to the featureless brick-and-wood building that was Bowery Farm and Tractor Supply. Two weathered storage barns stood behind the main building, giving the place the aura of a long-ago castle. The store itself was a modest single-story structure with faded red paint and a rusted metal roof that had clearly weathered decades of Virginia seasons. A hand-painted sign above the entrance was beginning to peel, and empty wooden pallets were stacked neatly against one wall.

The gravel lot was about half-full, with a mix of mud-splattered pickup trucks and practical vehicles parked haphazardly across the unmarked spaces. As Rachel pulled into a spot near the entrance, she noticed the collection of seasonal items displayed outside: stacks of hay bales, rows of ceramic planters, and metal watering cans catching the autumn light.

"The notes in the case files said Mark seemed eager to talk," Rachel remarked as they stepped out of the car. "Almost too eager. Hopefully that hasn’t changed in the time that’s gone by."

The bell above the door jingled as they entered, releasing a rush of warm air that carried the mingled scents of leather, fertilizer, and machine oil. A long wooden counter stretched along the left wall, its surface scarred and stained from years of use. Behind it, an impressive array of hunting rifles hung on brackets, while boxes of ammunition were neatly arranged on shelves below. Glass display cases held smaller firearms and hunting knives, their surfaces polished to a gleam.

The rest of the store extended in neat rows, packed with everything a small-town farmer or homeowner might need. Seeds were displayed in rotating racks, packages showing bright images of vegetables and flowers. Shelves held coils of rope, stacks of work gloves, and rows of fishing tackle that sparkled under the fluorescent lights. The back wall was lined with pest control products and cleaning supplies, while garden tools hung from hooks overhead.

A man and woman stood behind the counter, both wearing green aprons with the store's logo. The man looked up as soon as they entered, and Rachel knew immediately this was Mark Dupree. He was in his mid-thirties, with the solid build of someone who did physical work for a living. But what struck Rachel most was the haunted look in his eyes – the slightly hollow gaze of someone who hadn't been sleeping well. Dark circles beneath his eyes stood out against his pale skin, and his brown hair looked like it hadn't been cut in months.

"Agents?" he asked, already moving toward them. His voice carried a note of barely contained desperation.

Rachel nodded, showing her credentials. "I'm Agent Gift, and this is Agent Novak...you spoke with him on the phone. Thank you for agreeing to speak with us."

Mark ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Of course. I just... I keep hoping someone will find something." He glanced around the store, where a few customers were browsing the aisles. "I'm sorry…I don't have an office where we can talk privately. Maybe over here?"

He led them to a quiet corner of the store where wind chimes hung in clusters from the ceiling, creating a soft symphony of metallic tinkling. Beneath them, shelves displayed an assortment of garden decorations: concrete gnomes, plastic flamingos, and weather-worn welcome signs. There was a thin layer of dust on most of it, giving the feeling that not manycustomers came to this part of the store. The sound of the chimes provided a strange, almost ethereal backdrop to their conversation.

"Mr. Dupree," Rachel began gently, noting how he seemed to flinch at the formal address. "We're looking into Sarah's disappearance because we believe it may be connected to several other missing persons’ cases in the area."

Mark's eyes widened, a mix of hope and fear crossing his features. "Other missing women? You think... you think someonetookher?"

"We're exploring all possibilities," Novak said carefully. "But for now, we just need more information. Do you think you could you walk us through the day Sarah disappeared? Every detail, no matter how small, might be important."

Mark leaned against a shelf, causing a wind chime to sway slightly. "It was just a normal day,” he said, beginning as if he had gone through this in his head a hundred times. And maybe he had, just trying to make sense of it. I came home from work around six, like always. Sarah usually had dinner started by then – she loved to cook, you know? But the house was quiet. No sounds, no smells of dinner." His voice cracked slightly. "I found the letter she left behind on the kitchen table. Just sitting there, next to the fruit bowl she'd painted herself in a pottery class she took last spring."

Rachel watched his face carefully as he spoke about Sarah, noting the way his eyes softened at the memory of the fruit bowl. "What was Sarah like in the days before she disappeared? Did you notice any changes in her behavior?"

Mark was quiet for a moment, absently touching one of the wind chimes. "She was... I don't know. Maybe a little distant? But we all have our moments, right? She'd started taking these long walks in the evening. Said it helped clear her head. I thought maybe she was just going through something, trying tofigure things out." He swallowed hard. "I should have pushed harder, should have asked more questions."

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