Page 34 of All the Missing Pieces

Bryan nodded, scrubbing a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “I don’t know how. Colt’s been circling back on this case every year since he joined the force.”

My fingers tightened around my pen at the mention of Colt’s name. I didn’t need a reminder of the sheriff and his razor-sharp tongue. “Sometimes an outside perspective helps.”

“Fair enough. How can I help?”

I appreciated the openness and willingness to aid however he could. “Think back to that time. Was there anyone who paid Emerson extra attention? Anyone who seemed to get too close?”

Bryan frowned, drumming his fingers on the picnic table. “Not that I can think of. Everyone liked to watch Emerson shine. She was one of those that even though she was shy, she radiated light. Kind and hardworking, and the best damn tennis player I coached in all my years.”

“And that skill meant people paid attention to her?” I pressed.

The coach nodded. “Couldn’t be helped. I had to pair her with the boys in practice because no one else on the girls’ team was even good enough to practice with her.”

I scrawled that little bit of information down. “Were the boys welcoming of her?”

Bryan’s lips twitched. “Some laughed when she kicked their butts. A few were salty about it.”

“Can you give me those names?”

“Oh, they wouldn’t?—”

“I just want to talk to them.”

Bryan’s mouth pressed into a firm line before he spoke. “Matt Anderson and Oren Mills come to mind. They both still live in town. Matt’s got a wife and three kids now. Oren works at the local mechanic shop.”

I quickly jotted the names down. “Do you?—”

The sound of an engine had me glancing up to see an older-model truck pull into the parking lot by the tennis courts. Even though it had some years on it, it was still in good condition.

Bryan’s eyes flashed with heat. “Are you interviewing Grady Smith?”

“Yes, but not for another thirty minutes,” I said, glancing down at my watch.

A muscle fluttered in Bryan’s cheek. “I’d rethink that if I were you. That man is a menace.”

“I can handle myself,” I assured him.

“I need to go,” Bryan said, swinging his legs around the bench.

“We barely talked?—”

The coach cut me off with a shake of his head. “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have said I’d meet you. Good luck, Miss Sawyer, but don’t contact me again.”

My jaw dropped. I’d had interviews end abruptly before, but it was usually because I’d touched on a sore spot. I watched as Bryan crossed to his sleek sedan just as Grady Smith climbed out of his truck. And the glare Grady leveled at Bryan was one that would’ve had me swallowing my tongue.

14

RIDLEY

Grady Smith was olderthan the last photo I could find online. His hair was more silver than light brown now, and he had more lines around his eyes and mouth. But they didn’t seem to be the lines that came from smiling and laughing, at least as far as I could tell.

He’d worked for Shady Cove Parks and Rec as a groundskeeper when Emerson was taken. He was one of the few that law enforcement had circled around before finally giving up due to lack of evidence. But that attention had led to Grady leaving his job. As far as my online research could tell, he’d taken another on a road construction crew a couple of towns over.

“Hello, Mr. Smith,” I greeted him, crossing toward him and extending a hand as Bryan peeled out of the parking lot. “Thank you for meeting me.”

His gaze swept over me before coming to rest on my outstretched palm. “Grady,” he said before taking it.

“Thank you, Grady.”

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