Page 26 of In the Dark of the Past

Libby reached out and gently touched her arm. “I mean…we could look at this positively. Maybe you’re getting too close without realizing it.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“Close to what, though?” River asked. “I don’t feel like I’ve uncovered much of anything yet. Except some partial memories about my parents.”

Autumn put a hand on River’s shoulder. “Or—and to echo you, don’t take this the wrong way—maybe someone thinks you’re the easiest one to scare off.”

River’s jaw set. “If that’s it, then they don’t know me at all.”

My chest tightened, unexpected pride and worry tangling together. “We’ll figure this out,” I said. “But you’re not doing it alone.”

She looked at me again, and something changed in her expression. I saw the vulnerability. But I also saw the bravery.

“I know.” She nodded. But she didn’t look at me. She looked at her friends.

The girls formed a quiet perimeter around River, watching over her while I started taking photos of the damage with my phone. Forensics would do their thing, but I often took my own shots to view later. It helped me form pictures in the moment, too.

Despite the quiet of the night, somewhere in my gut, I knew this wasn’t the end of it.

It was only the beginning.

After the initial chaos at the scene died down—my deputies and forensics doing their thing, River assuring everyone she was fine, Myra checking the locks, me calling Cade to come and help board up the window, Autumn already plotting a campaign for better surveillance downtown—I took a few minutes to walk the area around the building.

Nothing about the break-in sat right. It was almost as if someone had wanted to make it appear like a break-in without actually entering at all… But why?

Once I made it back around to the front door, I crouched near the base of the shattered pane and saw it. A faint scrape on the concrete. Like someone had dragged something. Or perhaps they’d left something behind and then changed their mind, and moving it caused the scuff. I looked closer. It sort of looked like a mark from a hiking boot sole.

It wasn’t much to go on—at all—but something about it scratched at the back of my brain. Call it associative thinking. Though I wasn’t sure if there actually was a connection. Still…

Mrs. Jenkins.

I stood abruptly and grabbed my phone, opening the old case notes I’d been poring over in the late hours of too many nights since we’d taken it on. Mr. Jenkins’ statements had always felt disjointed toward the end, dismissed because of his age and declining cognition. But one line in particular jumped out at me now:

Eleanor mentioned walking her favorite trail. Said it always felt off out there. Like something or someone was watching.

No one had prioritized that in the initial investigation. The car had been found near a different trail; the one River and the girls had visited recently. But there were two trails that paralleled each other out there. I remembered now. Eleanor had preferred the less-traveled one. Narrower. More winding. And back then, Mr. Jenkins had said it wasn’t always properly cleared. The Parks and Rec people prioritized the others.

I turned toward River, who was still talking quietly with Libby and Autumn. I wasn’t sure where the others were. Maybe they’d already left. When our eyes met, I motioned her toward me. She started over without hesitation. When I noticed the other two following, I shot her a look, and despite her initial eyebrow scrunch of confusion, she turned and spoke to them for a minute before making her way the rest of the way to me alone.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“Please tell me that means something here actually makes sense to you.”

“Maybe. When we were together, your dad used to walk one of the trails obsessively, right?”

She nodded slowly. “Almost every day. Sometimes with Harlan Whitaker. I always assumed it was for his mental health. He did love nature.”

“Which trail did he walk? Do you know?”

She frowned. “The north one, I think. The one on the other side of the old fire road, farther away from the ranger station. Nobody really used it except the townies. He said it was peaceful.”

Bingo.

I leaned in. “Mr. Jenkins mentioned that same trail. Called it Eleanor’s favorite. But he said it felt...off.”

River’s expression shifted, something dawning between realization and dread. “Wait. Are you saying my dad and Eleanor shared a connection to that place...and no one ever searched it?”

“Not thoroughly, I don’t think. At least not officially, anyway. The focus was on the other trail. The one closer to where her car was found.”