Page 58 of All the Missing Pieces

I glanced over at him. “You have a case you want to cover for your first podcast episode?”

“There’s a few I’ve been circling. Not sure which one would be best,” he admitted.

I nodded. “Choosing is hard. And it can paralyze you. At some point you just have to jump.”

Dean toyed with his lip ring as he mulled that over. “That makes sense.” But he didn’t sound completely convinced.

“I’ll tell you what: you record that first episode this summer, and I’ll take a listen whenever you’re done. Give you notes.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Yup. But you gotta jump.”

He grinned, looking more like an excited little boy than an emo teen. “That’s sick. Thanks, Ridley.” And then he took off at a jog in the opposite direction.

I couldn’t help but laugh. Sometimes a little purpose was all we needed.

When I reached my bike, I loaded the yearbooks and my bag into the basket and headed back toward my campsite. The ride felt longer than it actually was because I was so anxious to get to work. But I made a plan as I navigated the dirt road. I’d make myself lunch and work outside at the picnic table. The weather was perfect, warm but not too hot.

Finally, my van came into view. I was getting used to this spot, with the incredible views and other sites not too close. It really was perfect.

Slowing my bike, I hopped off and turned the electric component off. But as I went to pull the items out of my basket, a silver container on my picnic table caught my attention. My skin prickled as I scanned my surroundings. No sign of a single soul. Crossing to the table, I saw a piece of paper taped to it. Scrawled in half-legible letters, it read,Open me.

I took a step back warily, eyeing the massive container and wondering if someone could fit a dead body inside. Taking a deep breath, I unlatched the container and flipped up the top. But there wasn’t anything quite so morbid as my imagination suggested inside the bear-proof container. Instead, I saw a large wicker basket.

Reaching in, I tried to lift it. It took some doing because the sucker was heavy, but I managed to hoist it out and set it on the picnic table. When I set it down, I surveyed it as if the basket could be a bomb.

It was huge and fancy, not likely the sort of thing a bomber would waste money on. I caught sight of a tag tied to one of the handles with a piece of ribbon.

Chaos,

I’m so sorry for being an even bigger ass. It seems I can’t help myself. But I’ll work on it.

—Law Man

The use of the nicknames had me simultaneously scowling and warming.Damn him.I didn’t need to be softening toward the douche.

I flipped up one side of the picnic basket. Another note lay inside.

Mira at The Hitching Post said you were into the healthy, organic stuff. Sounds awful but here you go.

I couldn’t help but laugh at that and began pulling items out. There were some ice packs around the outside, keeping things cool, but even with those, I knew he’d gone overboard. There was an array of prepared foods, everything from grain salads to veggie medleys to stir-frys. There were four different kinds of cheese, high-end whole-grain crackers, and a variety of dried meats. There was even some local honey and jam and a loaf of fresh bread.

And when I’d gotten every food item out of the basket, I felt something else at the bottom. At first I thought it was another ice pack, but as I tugged it free, I realized that wasn’t the case.

The file was protected by a Ziploc bag, and there was a note inside.

Don’t make me regret giving this to you.

My heart beat faster, and I opened the bag and pulled out the file. Flipping it open, I saw Emerson’s name at the top. I recognized the pages I’d been given previously, only this time there were no blacked-out sections. It was a completely unredacted copy of the case file.

That hum of excitement and possibility was back, but stronger than anything I’d felt before. I laid the file on the tableand quickly began gathering up the food. I’d get everything stored and then get to work because I had new ground to cover.

It didn’t take me long to get settled at the picnic table with one of the grain salads and a small cheese plate. Tater lounged in the sun on the top of the table as I ate and read. The interview transcripts were the most interesting. I didn’t disagree with Grady that Coach Kerr had a bit of a creep vibe. Even though his alibi had checked out, I was going to look harder at him. Nothing so far had suggested partners committing these crimes, but I couldn’t know for sure.

But when I reached the end of the pages, I sighed. I felt the weight of frustration Colt must have. There wasn’t a clear-cut answer. And no one pinged my radar in the way a true suspect usually did.

Tater let out a meow, bringing me back to the present. I looked up and shivered. I’d been so caught up in the file that I hadn’t realized how much time had passed. At some point the solar lantern decorating my picnic table had turned on because the sun had completely disappeared.

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