Page 42 of Trapper Road

“I’m here for work, actually.” I hesitate only a moment before adding. “I’m a private investigator looking into the disappearance of Juliette Larson.” One thing I’ve learned since taking this job is that you never know where you might discover relevant information. Sometimes people don’t realize they have information about a case, and other times they know something but just aren’t sure who to tell.

She nods slowly. “Sad story, that one.”

There’s something about her choice of words that feels very deliberate. I take another sip of coffee, trying to sound casual when I ask, “Did you know her at all?”

She shrugs. “She and her friends would sometimes come by in the afternoons. They were the typical sort, nice when they wanted to be and obnoxious when they didn’t get their way. Terrible tippers, and always left a mess. Pretty standard for that age, though.”

I find this interesting given that everything else I’ve learned about the girls has been how polite they always are. But, as the woman said, typical teenage behavior. “You ever see them with any boys?”

She thinks about that for a moment. “Not really. Most kids tend to hang out at the diner over on Rockmount. They have the best fries in town.”

I tuck that piece of information away for dinner tonight. “Anything else stand out about them?”

“Not that I can think of. They seemed pretty wrapped up in themselves.” She nods her chin toward the back. “Used to come in about once a week and sit in that corner over there, always talking real serious, but about what I have no idea. They clearly wanted their space, and I was happy to give it to them.”

I give her a smile. “Thanks. If you think of anything else, feel free to reach out.” I take a card and place it on the counter. “I’m Gwen.”

She takes the card and peers at the name. I wait a beat to see if she recognizes it. Doing so has become so second nature, I hardly realize I do it. When she doesn’t react, I let myself relax a little, but a part of me remains on edge. It always does.

“Pleasure,” she says, reaching out a hand. “I’m Valeria. You need anything else, let me know.”

I take my scone and head outside to find a table nestled near a well-tended garden. Most of it has been turned over, ready for winter planting, but a few fall flowers remain in bloom. The sky’s a crisp blue, the air fresh and soft with a soft breeze playing through the leaves.

I give a glance at my surroundings, clocking any vulnerabilities. There are at least two exits — one through a gate in the fence surrounding the patio, and one out the back toward what looks like a tiny parking lot. The table I choose has a good view of the street running in both directions, which means I’d see any threat coming. Not that I’m anticipating any imminent threats, but that doesn’t mean I let down my guard.

I settle in the chair, savoring the coffee for a few moments before taking out my phone and checking in with everyone. I pull up Connor’s location on the tracking app. He’s still at the motel. Knowing him, he went back to bed after I left and is still asleep. I decide it’s better not to disturb him and instead text Lanny to ask how everything’s going. I get back a thumbs up emoji in return. It’s the barest minimum necessary to let me know she’s okay, without any actual engagement whatsoever, and I find it infinitely frustrating.

I decide to call Sam. At least he’ll want to talk. The minute I hear his warm voice I smile. “Good morning. How was your night?”

“Long,” he says through a yawn.

“Something happen?” I ask, suddenly concerned. “Is Lanny okay?”

“She’s fine.”

“You talk to her this morning?”

“No, but I saw her last night. I may have gotten a little paranoid and followed her. I was discreet, though.”

I laugh, the sound echoing around the empty patio. “You’re lucky no one saw you or you could have been arrested!”

“No joke.”

“Was there a reason for your paranoia?”

There’s a pause. “I’m not sure.”

“That sounds like a yes.”

He sighs. “I talked to Leo Varrus.”

My skin goes cold. “And?”

“He’s not backing down.”

That isn’t surprising given our history with the Lost Angels. “Do you think he’s a real threat?”

“I don’t know. I asked Mike to look into him.”

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