“Yeah.” Ryan wasn’t sure what he was agreeing with, but knew the conversation had reached its usable end. If he’d gleaned nothing else from Point Pleasant’s prime conspiracy theorist, at least he’d learned where his brother planned to be on Halloween night.
“Thanks for the coffee, Jerome. Sorry we’ve got to leave so soon.” He extended his hand to Katie, who stepped to his side and clasped her fingers with his. “You’ve been a big help.”
“That’s good.” Jerome sounded anything but pleased. His shoulders slumped lower, and a look of dejection crossed his face.
Katie tugged on Ryan’s hand. “Do something,” she whispered. Her meaning was clear, backed up by a pointed glance only a female could deliver.
Ryan sighed, committed to the extra mile. “Hey, um…sometime you should join us at the River Café. Maybe the three of us could hook up for a few beers and a burger.”
“Really?” Jerome went from staring at his toes to grinning broadly. “That’d be great—I mean… I’d be into that. I don’t get out that much.”
“You should.” Katie stepped to his side and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Six o’clock tomorrow night. How’s that?”
The kiss left Jerome blinking like a deer in the headlights. He gulped and swallowed. “S-sure.”
Katie waved good-bye, and they stepped outside. As Ryan led her to the car, he hooked an arm around her shoulders. “I wasn’t planning on anything that soon, you know.”
She smiled up at him. “I know. But Jerome needs friends.”
“He’s not a stray cat or a dog you can take in.”
“But I can help him be a little more social.” She nudged him in the ribs. “You can too.”
“Yeah.” It wasn’t hard to temper his enthusiasm. “Looks like I’ve already got a date for tomorrow night.”
Caden wasn’t certain why he hadn’t thought of it before. Three days before Halloween, he drove to the property Lyle Mason’s parents had farmed when Caden was in high school. He’d known of Jerry and Joan Mason the way people in small towns are sometimes aware of others. He’d gone to Lottie’s funeral, along with some other kids from school, when she’d died. Wanting to pay his respects to the shy girl he’d barely known, but unwilling to intrude on the family’s grief, he’d kept to the back of the church.
The Masons had moved years ago, and another family had taken over the farm. Caden thought their name was Gardner or Gander. He recognized the man to offer a nod when they passed on the street, but that was all. With a property nestled several miles out of town, they kept mostly to themselves. Weston had interviewed them personally after learning about Lyle from Lach Evening, but neither the husband nor wife had seen Mason snooping around.
Still, it was worth a try. Especially considering Lyle was growing reckless.
Caden drove past fields filled with brown cornstalks, others dotted with baled blocks of hay. A three-story house jutted in the distance, black against a twilight sky. Night fell fast, evident by the messy ebb of the sun into the horizon. Caden pulled off the road several hundred yards from the house and silenced the car’s motor.
Ever since Ryan had told him about Lyle’s grievance against him, he’d racked his brain, trying to unearth a source. He’d gone through his yearbook privately, studying faces of long ago friends, girls he’d dated, and notes written by people he thought he’d remember forever. Nothing jarred his memory.
Stepping from the car, he closed the door behind him. A short stretch of road and fields wound like a ribbon to the house in the distance. Would Lyle have come back? Was there a secret place tucked among the sprawling grounds and outbuildings surrounding the house? An area where he could hole up and remain hidden until he chose to be seen? He’d grown up on the farm. He’d know every inch of it.
Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Caden walked to the front of his car and leaned against the hood. He didn’t know how long he stayed watching the house, only that the air grew colder, the quiet of the night heavier. After a time, light footsteps sounded behind him, jarring him from the peaceful solitude.
“You won’t find him here.” Lach Evening strolled closer. No overcoat, no gloves, not even the black fedora to crown his platinum hair. Beneath an emerging moon, his white shirt gleamed with a spectral sheen, contrasting his midnight-dark suit.
Momentarily speechless, Caden glanced around trying to pinpoint where he’d come from. He couldn’t spy a car anywhere in sight, or a single trail that would have led to the road. Evening would have had to trek through the cornfields, clearly not the case given the impeccable condition of his clothing. “Where did you come from?”
“I’ve already spoken to the family that owns the farm.” Evening stepped closer. “A charming, if reserved couple. They haven’t seen Mr. Mason, but I’ve advised them he might materialize at some point.” There was nothing haughty in the words, but they rolled from Evening’s tongue with a superior lilt regardless.
“That’s the sheriff’s job.”
Evening made a V of his index finger and thumb, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. “Perhaps I have overstepped my boundaries. Surely, you took care of the matter yourself.”
Caden fought a scowl. “Not personally. Weston interviewed them.”
“And yet here you are, waiting for Lyle.”
He couldn’t deny the obvious. “It was worth a shot. What about you?” He eyed Evening critically. “What are you doing here?”
“Perhaps the same as you. In any event, I think it’s a pleasant hour for a stroll. Good evening, Sergeant.” He started past Caden, walking casually as if soaking up the pleasant surroundings of a balmy summer night.
Caden let him go several feet without challenge. “Mr. Evening,” he called at last.
The man stopped without turning.
“Do you know Indrid Cold?”