Page 71 of Dead Man's Hollow
She waves off his apology, staring at the empty driveway.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Rich’s car was parked in the driveway. It’s gone.”
“Maybe he went to work,” Bastian suggests.
“Maybe. Or maybe they’re together.”
“That would be good. It would mean she’s safe.”
Would it, though? Maisy’s not about to tell this man that his wife was involved with Rich when she vanished. Or that Rich has been actively hiding what happened to her thirty years ago.
Instead, she tries Rich’s cell phone number. The phone rings several times, then voicemail picks up. Maisy hangs up without leaving a message.
They get in the car, and she begins to drive at a slow creep, combing the streets around the cul-de-sac where the Marinos live.
“If this is an episode, will she definitely go someplace that holds memories for her?” Maisy asks.
Bastian shakes his head. “Not necessarily. Dr. Marchand said that may be what happened last time. It’s possible Chloe went to the winter festival because we go every year. But it could have just been where she ended up.”
He falls silent for a long moment before he continues in a dull voice, “Sometimes people travel great distances, even to different countries, and start new lives. They don’t remember the old one at all.”
“That’s not going to happen,” she promises him.
He looks away from the street to give her a bleak look. “It already happened once. After all, that’s how she ended up in my life. There’s no guarantee it won’t happen again.”
She reaches across the center console and rests a reassuring hand on his arm for a moment. “We’re going to find her. And she’s going to remember you and Emilie. You’ll see.” Then she passes him her phone. “Keep calling Rich until he answers.”
They reach the end of the neighborhood without a Chloe sighting. Maisy pulls over and closes her eyes to think. If Chloe is with Rich, where would he take her? She sits, quiet and still, and waits for inspiration to strike. Beside her, Bastian repeatedly calls Rich’s cell phone.
When she opens her eyes, he’s watching her expectantly.
“Let’s go to McKeesport. We’ll hit her old haunts. The house she grew up in, her school, and?—”
“Dead Man’s Hollow. We should start there. If she’s with her brother-in-law, he may have taken her to the last place she was seen in a misguided attempt to help her remember,” Bastian says urgently.
Dead Man’s Hollow makes a lot of sense. Itfeelsright. Jordana would scoff at making a decision based on a feeling, but Maisy’s intuition has yet to let her down. She types the address for the conservation area into her phone and pulls out. She exceeds the speed limit by exactly seven miles per hour the whole way. She once dated a state trooper who swore nobody gets pulled over for going seven miles over the limit. The rapid thrum of her heart urges her to go faster, but she resists. The last thing they need is to slow themselves down by getting pulled over for speeding. Bastian keeps trying Rich’s number without success.
Her map app shows multiple parking lots scattered through the park. Maisy gambles and pulls into the one closest to the baseball field. There’s a single car parked in front of the wooden kiosk displaying an information sign and a trail map. Her stomach drops.
“That’s Rich’s car.”
“Good,” Bastian says. “That means they’re here, and she’s not alone.”
“It does mean they’re here, and she’s not alone.” Maisy agrees. She’ll reserve judgment on whether this development is good.
ChapterThirty-Eight
As Chloe trudgesthrough the dense, green woods, she’s hyperaware of the man a half-step behind her. He’s close enough to push her forward with the heel of his hand when she hesitates at a fork in the path. Under other circumstances, she’d enjoy this hike. Instead, she’s trying to beat back her panic.
Rich’s cell phone rings incessantly. He doesn’t answer it or silence it. He simply ignores it. He’s muttering to himself, trying to find the spot where there’d been a bonfire three decades ago.
She tries to focus on the lushness of her surroundings. The canopy of trees and the abundant wildflowers and native plants create a fairytale ambience. Unfortunately, she’s here with a big, bad wolf rather than a charming prince.
“It all looks so different now,” he grumbles.
She clears her throat. “If you can’t even recognize this place, how do you expect it to prompt me to remember anything? Let’s go.”
