But it was AJ’s truck. If he was in there . . . injured . . . worse . . .
Quickly now, she covered the remaining distance, and when she was within reach, she touched the front door handle tentatively. It was cool under her fingertips. Still, Lily drew back her hand. Glanced off to her left, where the surface of the lake was visible through the trees, sparkling, serene. She could hear it laving the shore. She saw herself out there, water lapping her torso beneath her breasts. She held baby AJ on his back, balanced in the cradle of her arms. She saw his small face, the soft curves of his cheeks, the rosebud of his mouth, his belly button, that tiny adorable part of his anatomy that had once connected them.
A noise―a sob? a scream?—rose in her throat. She clamped her jaw, and turning back to the truck, she grabbed the front-door handle hard, yanking it toward her. Nothing happened. She tried the back-door handle. Neither door would budge. “Nooooo . . .” Her protest broke through her teeth. She looked around for something to shatter the glass. The ground was strewn with rocks, but none were big enough. Impulsively, before she could think about it, she put her face to the glass, cupping her hands at her temples, making herself look carefully. Although the window was cloudy from the smoke, she could see that the instrument panel was blistered, and the seat upholstery was burned through to the padding in some places. She shifted to the back window. The bench seat was damaged but not as badly.
There was something on the floor.
Blankets? A tarp? A rug? Her heart faltered.
Her gaze was drawn to the passenger side. Juniper branches were smashed against the window, but it was the hook hanging over the door that caught her attention. It supported a number of paper-wrapped hangers, like those used by dry cleaners. Whatever was suspended from them now—AJ’s dress shirts? His chef’s jackets?—was singed and filthy and coated in melted plastic.
But what was that bulky thing on the floor?
She fought looking again.
Backed away from the truck, casting a glance over the roof. Panic rooted her feet to the ground. But she had to do it; she had to see if she could somehow get to the passenger-side doors and open them. But there wasn’t a way. As soon as she rounded the truck bed, she realized it was wedged too tightly into the thicket to allow access.
Returning to the Jeep, she opened the hatch, hunting in the cargo area for a crowbar, any kind of tool that would work to pry open the truck doors or break the glass. But there was nothing of any use. Her hands pattered over the contents—a single, cracked rubber boot, a fishing tackle box. Rags. A pair of sunglasses with a missing lens.
Going to the driver’s seat, she got her phone, dialed the landline at the ranch. The call wouldn’t go through. She looked at the screen. No bars. She tried 911. Wasn’t it supposed to work regardless of reception? She put the phone to her ear. Nothing. Only the frightened huff of her breath. She felt on the verge of hysteria and, closing her eyes, willed herself to calm down, to order her thoughts. A sound came from out on the highway, high and thin, a siren, she thought, coming from the east, from Wyatt. She straightened, but the jolt of her relief was momentary. It couldn’t be coming here. No one knew what she’d found. She hadn’t even left a note for her dad. The siren went by her location, unseen, heading west, hell-bent.
Car accident, maybe. But Cedar Ridge Canyon was that way. Lots of hikers there. Maybe someone had fallen. A boy in her eighth-grade class had died there from the injuries he’d sustained in a fall.
Lily looked back at her phone. She would never get service here. If she wanted help, she’d have to leave. Leave the lake, leave AJ’s truck and whatever was inside it.
It took her half an hour to get back to the ranch road. She pushed the Jeep to the maximum speed, losing traction around curves, bouncing over the ruts, jaw tight. Her dad came to the back door when she drove up.
“Where have you been?” He opened the porch screen. “I was worried as hell.”
“I found AJ’s truck.” She stopped at the foot of the steps. “We need a crowbar, but first, I want to call the police so they can meet us there.”
“Lily, slow down. Meet where? Where is AJ’s truck?” He ducked back onto the porch and got his hat off the hook.
“Monarch Lake.” She flattened her palm on her breastbone, willing herself to do as he suggested and slow down. “It was set on fire,” she said, and she relayed the rest, pulling her cell phone from her jeans pocket. “I tried calling 911 from out there but couldn’t get service.”
“I don’t think you will here, either. The storm knocked out service, phone and electric. Who knows when they’ll get crews out.” Her dad came down the steps, striding past her, heading for the barn, where he kept his tools.
“It wasn’t that bad when I left here.” Lily followed him.
“It got worse. Wind blew like hell. Woke me up, and I went looking for you. I couldn’t believe you went out in it.”
“I’m sorry if I scared you. I had a dream—” She broke off. There was no way to explain that part.
“Maybe we don’t want the cops involved,” her dad said.
“Didn’t you hear me? There’s something, a rug, a tarp—I couldn’t tell, but AJ could be in there, hurt or—” Dead. The word dead stood up in her mind. She bit her teeth against it.
“Sissy.” Her dad faced her. “Think about it. If AJ took the money and your mama’s jewelry out of the safe, if he then went to the airfield and hired himself a pilot to fly him out of here, it’s entirely possible he stashed his truck first. The location’s good. Hardly anybody knows about Monarch Lake, much less goes there.”
“But it’s not really hidden. Somebody would be bound to see it.” Lily followed him into the barn. “If he really meant to get rid of it, wouldn’t he have made sure the fire burned it up?”
Her dad disappeared into the tool room without answering.