Page 18 of All the Missing Pieces

It made sense why Baker was confused about my need to cover this case. While it was still unsolved, the victim was safe, home, whole. But my gut was screaming that this was where a reign of terror had begun. And I had a string of cases to prove it. I just wasn’t ready to let Baker or anyone else in on that yet, not until I had more. I just hoped Emerson would be the one to give it to me.

I leaned my bike against the lamppost next to Cowboy Coffee and locked my chain around it. Pulling off my helmet, I deposited it in my basket and shook out my hair. It was stilldamp from my post-paddleboarding shower. But I was damn glad I’d installed the shower last year.

It wasn’t exactly a five-star hotel, but the fact that it hooked off the side of my van meant I got a view of the sky while I got clean. But whenever I did spring for a hotel or a short-term rental for a time, I took every bathtub soak I could get.

Grabbing my small bag, I slid it over my shoulder and headed inside. The scent of freshly roasted beans was almost as good as sunrise mountain air. The café was only about one-third full, which meant I’d missed the breakfast rush. There were a couple of teenagers, which told me school was out for the year, a group of women with babies and toddlers, and two men who looked to be in their eighties playing chess at a corner table.

“Back already?” a voice called from behind the register.

I grinned at Ezra as I walked toward him. “I need another hazelnut latte. That thing was downright dangerous.”

“Coffee addiction is my goal.”

“Well, you’ve succeeded. But I’m going to get some breakfast too.”

Ezra nodded. “Want a rec?”

“Always.”

“Breakfast burrito or the cowboy hash. I rotate between the two daily.”

I chuckled. “I’ll do the burrito today and hash tomorrow.”

“You got it. For here or to go?”

“I’ll do here today. Need to get a little work done.”

“I’ll get that in right now. Total is sixteen-fifty.”

I tapped my card to the reader and waited for the beep. “Thanks so much.”

“Anytime,” Ezra said and moved to hand my order to the cook.

Sliding my card back into my wallet, I surveyed my table options. It didn’t take me long to decide. There was one againstthe window that would allow me to overhear both the group of moms and the two men playing chess. Both had interview potential.

I studied the women as I approached my chosen table. They looked to be anywhere from midtwenties to early thirties, so in the range where they would know Emerson if they were lifelong Shady Cove residents.

The town intro I’d posted to TikTok and Instagram was getting enough attention that my days going under the radar were limited anyway. People had already begun digging into cold cases in the area wondering which one I might pick up. There weren’t many, but my followers had found all the options.

A woman in her midfifties who’d been murdered during a home invasion eight years ago. A hit-and-run that left a man dead five years ago. A string of robberies eleven years ago that resulted in a deputy’s death. A few even thought I might be taking on the opiates ring that was rumored to be running in the area. And, of course, Emerson’s case.

She’d been kidnapped from a local park after tennis practice. A star athlete, she’d always stayed after for an hour or two to hit balls on her own. While waiting for her ride, someone had hit her from behind, knocking her unconscious.

She’d woken up in the back of a covered pickup truck, wrapped in a burlap sack, limbs bound. It wasn’t clear if her abductor thought he’d killed her or if he simply thought she’d be unconscious for longer. Regardless, she managed to get free of her bindings and jump from the moving vehicle.

Emerson had fractured her hip and dislocated her shoulder in the fall but still managed to walk until she found someone from the search party out looking for her. But she never played tennis again. In fact, as far as I could tell from the records I’d found, she’d dropped out of high school altogether.

I didn’t blame her. I couldn’t imagine the kind of fear you lived with having to walk around never knowing when you might come face-to-face with your abductor.

Lowering myself into the chair that gave me the best vantage point of both groups of patrons and the street outside, I dropped my bag onto the seat next to me. It only took a matter of seconds for me to get my notebook and laptop set up.

I’d read any article I could get my hands on. The case had been covered by every news outlet in the area, everyone wondering how this could’ve happened in such a small, safe community. As I’d dug deeper into the troves of Facebook, I’d been able to find out about a handful of people the police had brought in for questioning.

Emerson’s tennis coach, a teacher, a member of the parks and rec maintenance staff. I didn’t have every person’s name, but I was working on putting together the pieces. And I knew with time I could find them all.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, putting the finishing touches on my Open Records request. It likely wouldn’t get me much since the case was still open. But they’d have to give me the basics. Sending it in would mean blowing any sort of cover I had. But I wouldn’t get anywhere without asking the questions I needed to. I couldn’t picture the broody sheriff being thrilled with my nosiness, but he’d just have to get used to it. My fingers hovered over the trackpad mouse for a moment, and then I hit send.

Here we go.

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