Page 102 of Grumpy on the Mountain
It looks like half of Stone River Mountain has descended on my sister's modest neighborhood.
Trucks and SUVs line both sides of the street, their headlights creating cones of illumination in the swirling snow. People move between vehicles with the kind of organized urgency that speaks of a community that takes care of its own.
"Holy shit," I breathe, staring at the controlled chaos. "Is that the Sheriff's car?"
"And Charlie's truck from the tavern," Beau confirms, pulling up behind an impromptu command center. "Frank Barrett's here too by the looks of it. That's his car. And see Betty's little sedan with the mismatched bumper?"
I nod and as we get closer to Sienna's house, I can see more familiar figures moving through the falling snow.
Linda from the general store is carrying a thermos of something warm. Doc Greene has appeared with a medical bag, because apparently even search parties require professional preparedness in this town.
And threading through it all like golden ribbons are the lights of official Mountain Rescue vehicles, their emergency beacons painting the snow in alternating shades of red and blue.
"It's beautiful," I whisper, and I mean it.
Not the snow, though that's gorgeous too. But this—this immediate, unquestioning rally of an entire community around one little girl. This is what family looks like when it's chosen instead of assigned.
We park and hurry through the snow toward Sienna's front door, which is standing wide open in the freezing weather, spilling urgent voices into the winter night.
The moment we step inside, I'm hit by a wall of warmth, coffee fumes, and competing conversations.
Sheriff Cooper is standing in the living room with an official notepad, accepting a steaming mug from Betty with the grateful expression of a man who's been out in the cold for too long.
"—checked the playground twice," someone is saying.
"—went through every store on Main Street," adds another voice.
"—even looked in the old church basement," contributes a third.
Sienna appears from the kitchen, her face pale with worry. She's holding her phone like a lifeline, and when she sees us, relief floods her features.
"Oh, thank God you're here," she says, pulling me into a hug that smells like anxiety. "Jamie's got every available rescue team out searching. They're being so thorough, but—"
"Where exactly has she been searched for?" Beau interrupts, instantly cutting to the chase.
I can see him shifting into tactical mode, processing information that might have been missed.
"Everywhere," Sheriff Cooper answers, looking up from his notepad. "The treehouse was the first place we checked, obviously. Then the playground, the school, the bookshop, the café. Every place a kid might wander to."
"What about the outskirts?" Beau asks. "The trails, the lookout points?"
"Jamie's teams are covering those now," Cooper confirms. "But with this weather moving in..."
He doesn't finish the sentence, but we all understand. A six-year-old lost in a mountain snowstorm is everyone's worst nightmare.
"This is all my fault," Sienna says suddenly, her voice cracking. "David's in Denver again, and I was distracted, trying to get dinner ready and return work calls, and she was just playing in the backyard like always, and then she was just... gone."
Betty appears beside her with a fresh mug of something that smells like hot chocolate and her usual maternal comfort. "Now, you stop that talk right now, Sienna Wright. You're a good mother, and children wander. It's what they do."
"But with that man in town—" Sienna starts.
"Sheriff?" I ask, though my stomach is already dropping with dread. "Has anyone said anything about…" I swallow hard. "Him."
Sheriff Cooper's expression hardens. "All I know is reports of the stranger asking questions around town today. Tall, well-dressed, driving a fancy sedan which has been located at the Fox Hollow Lodge, unmoved since this morning."
Beau throws an arm around me, his body radiating tension. "Has the hotel room been checked? Is the man inside?"
I notice how he stops short of saying his brother's name. Like it's a curse he refuses to utter. Then Sheriff Cooper meets Beau's question with a long, deliberate stare that sends ice through my veins.
