Page 86 of Dark Roads
“I know.” Every single guy I knew seemed to be obsessed with helping Beth. I’d been one second away from whistling to get her attention when I’d heard Mason’s truck roll in. Now I’d have to find some other way to get a message to Jonny and let him know that I was okay. When I’d jumped from the semi, I’d cracked the screen on the burner phone, and it wouldn’t turn on, but riding to Jonny’s house was a risk as long as Andy was staying there.
Wolf slipped out from my side, skirted along the shore, nose to the ground. He stopped in front of Beth’s car where Mason had been standing and sniffed along the edge of the hood. I whistled for him, but he kept pacing around her car with his hackles up, then he trotted over to where Mason’s truck had been parked. He looked up the road again, his ears cocked.
I followed Wolf’s path along the shore and came out in front of Beth’s car. I touched a drip of engine oil on the bumper and rubbed it between my fingers. I’d seen Mason check the oil and assumed that was the problem. Her keys were still in the ignition. Had she been high again? While she slept the other night, I’d reached right into her car and put her cell on her seat.
I slid behind the wheel and popped the hood. The oil was close to the full line and looked clean. The battery connections were tight. I got back inside, left the door open in case I needed to jump out. The car started right away. She only had a quarter tank of gas, but that was enough to get to town. Why didn’t she drive? I glanced around the car, found a few coins in her console, and tucked them into my pocket. I would try to call Jonny from a payphone after dark.
A photo was slipped into Beth’s visor. I pulled it out. Amber and Beth. I recognized the picture from Amber’s Facebook page. I traced the curve of her beautiful face with my finger.
Wolf put his front legs across my lap and whined as he stared into my eyes. I scratched his neck. He pawed at my chest. His whine grew more intense, shifting into a higher pitch.
I looked at him, then down the campground road. Beth had looked surprised when Mason drove in, so she hadn’t expected him. He’d shown up early, when no one else was awake.
How did he know she would need a ride? The diner wouldn’t even be open.
Amber had also worked for Mason. She also had an unreliable car—tire problems, in her case. If Mason had stopped to offer her a ride, she would have accepted. Anyone would have, me included. But Mason was one of the good guys. It couldn’t be him. It just couldn’t.
A year ago, I was in Vaughn’s truck, hurtling down the highway to the lake. I tried to remember what he’d said about the killer. One sentence spun out of the darkness.
He’s already looking for his next victim.
Going to town was risky. Vaughn would be on high alert. Or maybe it would be good timing. He wouldn’t think the thief would go near the diner again so soon. I rode the trail fast,my eyes focused on every bend, each dip in the dirt. Jonny’s bike was heavy. One wrong jump and I’d launch Wolf—and myself—into the air. There had to be a good reason Mason was giving Beth a ride. She was probably helping him buy cleaning supplies for the diner. Still, the thoughts kept coming. Why did he even have a camper on his truck? I’d never known him to go on trips, hunting or otherwise.
On the outskirts of town, I hid Jonny’s dirt bike in a cluster of trees, then Wolf and I jogged to the forested area across the street from the diner. I pulled out my binoculars.
Mason was at the front counter. He was doing something to the cash register, probably trying to get it working again. I couldn’t see Beth. Time ticked past. The sun rose higher, reaching through the trees and heating up the forest. Thirty minutes later Mason was sweeping the floor, making piles of broken glass, righting overturned chairs. Still no sign of Beth.
Another fifteen minutes passed. The anxiety in my stomach bloomed. She wouldn’t be in the kitchen or the storage room. The diner was closed, and nothing was damaged in those rooms.
Mason’s truck was in the alley, close to the back door. Like he wanted to keep an eye on it. I stared at the camper. The curtained windows. I wanted to look inside, but someone might see me. I watched the diner’s front window for another twenty minutes.
This was wrong, every part of it. Beth was in trouble. Mason had done something to her. I waited for a few cars to pass, gave Wolf the signal to stay, then walked across the road with my shoulders hunched. I stuck to the alley wall, inched closer to the truck, and looked into the front.
Beige plaid fabric. Tidy. A tree-shaped sanitizer dangled from the rearview mirror. No purse or girl’s clothing. No blood.
I climbed up onto the rear driver’s-side tire, braced myselfagainst the wall of the camper, and peered through the dirty window. The curtains blocked my view of most of the interior. I glimpsed floor and part of the bed area. I pressed my ear to the glass and softly said, “Beth?”
No response.
I climbed down, returned to the woods. If Beth wasn’t in the camper, maybe she was trapped at Mason’s place. He lived on a big piece of property miles past the lake, off a dirt road that led to the second peak of the mountain. It was within a half mile of where Dad had crashed his truck. Only a month before the accident, I was with Dad when he dropped off tools that Mason wanted to borrow. Mason met us at the bottom of the driveway. Now I wondered what he had been building. He’d given the tools back after the funeral.
I needed help. I swung the binoculars over to the truck stop. Three rigs parked close together. The drivers were standing around, coffees in hand.
“Stay,” I told Wolf. He grumbled, then found a spot in the dirt, and dug a shallow hole. He flopped down with his head across his front legs. “I won’t be long.”
Following the forest around the bend, I waited until traffic had cleared before running across the road and hiding among the rigs. Making sure no one had seen me, I crept around the back of the trucks until I reached the phone booth. The men were focused on their conversation.
I dropped one of Beth’s quarters into the phone. Thompson took a long time to answer. I was about to hang up when I finally heard his voice.
“Thompson.”
I pressed my mouth close to the receiver, muffled it with my hand. “Beth, the new waitress at the diner, is missing. Mason did something to her car so he could give her a ride, but she didn’t show up with him. He’s taken her somewhere.”
A pause, then, “How do you know this?”
“Doesn’t matter. You have to search his camper.”
“Last time you called, you said Vaughn was the killer.”
