CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
She’d just crossed the L.A. County line and was driving past the gray-green hills of Los Padres National Forest when her phone rang.
“Hello?”
Logan’s car was equipped with Bluetooth, and he’d synced it with her phone before he’d deployed. The radio cut out, and Mac’s voice came clear and crisp through the BMW’s speakers.
“Veronica? Where are you?”
“En route to Bakersfield. I got a lead. What’s up?”
“Well, it might be nothing, but I thought you should know. That story about the Meat Loaf song in the ransom message? You know, the proof-of-life stuff?”
“Yeah?” Veronica was suddenly alert. She sat up.
“Well, she posted it on Facebook five years ago.”
Veronica’s fingers curled more tightly around the steering wheel. She stared intently at the road.
“Still there?”
“Yeah. Sorry, Mac. I’m just thinking.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean she’s, like … not alive. Does it?”
“I don’t know what it means yet. Is there anything else?”
“That’s all I’ve got for now. Should I stay in the office in case you need anything?”
“No, there’s no sense in that. Go home, Mac. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She stopped at the turn-off to Frazier Park and found Oxman’s card in her bag. He answered on the third ring.
“Mr. Oxman, this is Veronica Mars. I know you asked me not to interfere until you get Hayley home safe, but I wanted to give you a little information. It looks like the proof-of-life story they offered for Hayley was actually a story she posted on Facebook when she was thirteen years old.”
There was a long silence on the line. When he spoke, his voice was low and careful. “I see. That’s … good information to have. I’ll have to look into it.” Another pause. “Thanks, kid.”
She didn’t have Jackson’s card, but the Meridian Group’s website had a number listed for “general inquiries.” A nasal female voice answered.
“Meridian.”
“Hi, this is Veronica Mars calling for Lee Jackson. Any way you can patch me through?”
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Mars, but Lee is in the field.”
“I know that, but I really need to get in touch. Can you maybe forward me, or give me a number where I can—”
“I can take a message for you.”
She gritted her teeth in frustration but left her name and number. For just a moment she considered calling her mother, but the idea of having that conversation with Lianne—of having to discuss everything this new development could mean—made her squirm in her seat. Better to leave it to the professionals. Better to tell Jackson and let him make of it what he would.