Page 41 of Silent Bones
“That site’s not easy to reach,” Noah said. “Most people boat in.”
“I prefer wheels. I know the trails.”
“And you just happened to ride through an active crime scene?”
Mack’s jaw flexed. “Didn’t know it was one.”
“So, do you know Logan?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play games.”
“Look man,” Mack said, lowering his arms, “unless you’re charging me with something, I’m not answering any more damn questions. I was there to fish and trap. I admit that. That’s all. I didn’t see anyone. And for the last time, I wasn’t eluding the police. My bike is loud. I can’t hear a damn thing at the best of times, but certainly not over that engine.”
McKenzie leaned in toward Noah and nodded toward the truck. “That’s a ’25 Tundra,” he muttered. “Top trim. Seventy grand easy.”
“And?”
McKenzie tapped Noah on the arm. They stepped back from Mack and walked a few paces into the woods for privacy.
“What is it?” Noah asked.
“It’s not what, it’s where,” McKenzie replied. “I looked into him while I was waiting for you. Six months ago, Hawkins paid cash, get this, for a top-tier silver Airstream. A 2025 Classic 33FBT. One hundred and eighty-three grand. Paid for outright.”
“Cash?”
“Yup. Same with that truck. No financing. No loans. I checked. But there’s no Airstream here, and no sign of it on any other owned property.”
“He doesn’t exactly scream diversified investor.”
“Nope. Off-grid, no job, no income that we can find. Either he hit the Powerball or there’s a pipeline we’re not seeing.”
Noah returned to the clearing and squared up with Mack, who leaned lazily against the porch beam.
“What do you do for a living?”
“Self-employed.”
“Doing what?”
“A little of this. A little of that. Handyman shit.”
“Sounds handy,” McKenzie said. “I could use one.”
“Sorry, I don’t fix ugly.”
McKenzie narrowed his gaze at him.
Noah nodded. “That truck yours?”
“Yup.”
“Must’ve cost a pretty penny. You buy that with cash too?”
Mack raised an eyebrow. “Is that illegal now?”
“No, just rare. Being a handyman doesn’t pay much. What about the Airstream?”
