Although they had warned the deputies and construction crew not to discuss what they had seen at the farm for at least twenty-four hours, Maggie knew after several drinks the men wouldn’t remember their request. As odd as it sounded, she hoped their shock and awe remained on the decapitation and that they would forget about the orange socks. As insignificant as the socks seemed to be, they might play a crucial role in the case.

Now as they sat back, Maggie noticed that Tully had fallen behind, accumulating bottles of Sam Adams. And it looked like he hadn’t touched his fries. Yes, the burgers were huge and loaded with extras but that didn’t usually stop Tully from stealing her fries by now. They sat side by side, Maggie crammed between Tully and Sheriff Uniss, so close that they had been bumping elbows. Sheriff Uniss was in a discussion with one of the truckers about the price of gas and the politics that came with it.

Maggie plucked one of the fries from Tully’s plate to get his attention.

“You doing okay?” she asked and waved a hand at the three bottles of beer in front of him, only one of which had been touched. The others were still full. He had the corner of the table and plenty of room, unlike the rest of them. In fact, Maggie had set her Booty Hunter cap there on the edge, out of the way.

“I keep telling them not to bring me any more.”

“And you’re just not hungry?”

He pulled a ziplock plastic bag from his trouser pocket to show her about a dozen white pills.

“Sinus infection. I need to be taking these antibiotics, but I keep forgetting.”

Maggie stopped a smile. It was so like Tully to empty the whole container into his pants pocket and carry them around with him as a reminder. But he did look a little miserable, his eyes watery, his face flushed and damp with sweat. Suddenly she understood that was probably why he had been acting so odd earlier.

“We should get you out of your wet, muddy clothes and into a bed,” she told him.

Immediately she realized she had spoken too loudly when she saw Howard Elliott and the young deputy across the table look over at her. Even one of the truck drivers standing at the corner of the table smiled at her.

Instead of being embarrassed, Maggie leaned in closer to Tully and he reciprocated by leaning down into her.

“This would be a good time to leave,” she said. “They all think I just made a pass at you.”

Tully’s eyes flashed up and around and he grinned.

“I reserved us a couple of rooms at the Super 8 just up the road,” he told her.

“Sounds romantic. Can I have the rest of your fries? Then we can go.”

He grinned again and nodded. Then he watched her squeeze a pool of ketchup onto his plate and begin her ritual of dipping and munching. He even joined her.

“I’ll give you the details later,” he said in a low tone, almost a whisper, as if keeping up their charade. “Triple A made a hit on the hosiery.”

The orange socks. She refrained from saying it out loud and reminding any of the men. But she asked, “Triple A?”

“Oh sorry, that’s what I’ve started calling Agent Alonzo. His first name’s Antonio.”

“Was the hit a recent case?”

“Within the last month. You were right. Woman victim. Wooded area not far from a rest area.”

“Did he find any other cases?”

“Just the one so far.”

Tully yawned and it reminded her how exhausted she was. It had been a long day for both of them.

“How about we excuse ourselves?” she asked, and he agreed.

Maggie nodded at Sheriff Uniss. They had already decided on a strategy for the next day. Tully promised to call first thing in the morning. Then they said their good nights and started to leave. Maggie went to grab her cap from the corner of the table. It wasn’t there. She glanced around, checking the floor and under the table. The cap was gone. Someone had probably picked it up by mistake. It didn’t really matter. She shrugged and followed Tully out.

They were getting into their rental car when Maggie saw Lily across the plaza. She wandered the lot where the trucks were parked for the night. She had left the farm dressed in tight jeans and a clinging knit blouse that highlighted her ribs and bony shoulders more than anything else. She had the big, awkward handbag around her neck and under her arm and she was knocking on the door of one of the cabs. The trucker inside shook his head, hanging out the window and telling her something. Lily didn’t wait to hear what he was saying and instead headed for the next truck.

Tully noticed, too, and as they settled into the car, he said, “I offered to take her to a women’s shelter.”

“This place is her shelter. Didn’t you notice how relieved she was to get back here?”

“Do you think she saw anything out at the farm?”

“I don’t know,” Maggie said. “But the meth’s probably fried it out of her brain.”

CHAPTER 17

Creed snapped a fresh cylinder of UDAP pepper spray onto his belt. He left his revolver in its case under his seat.

“Come on, Grace,” he said to the dog as he grabbed her leash and stepped out of the Jeep.

In seconds they were hurrying up a path, a shortcut that took them around the rest area’s bathrooms and welcome center and gave them a straight shot to the other parking lot, where semi-trailers filled the slots.

Grace understood they were on a mission. She kept a steady pace beside him, sniffing the air and looking up at him for instruction.

The man and the little girl had been walking slowly but soon they’d be at their destination, an eighteen-wheeler at the corner of the parking lot. The truck’s amber running lights lit up the length of the trailer. The cab’s engine had been left humming. Creed saw motion inside behind the windshield. There would be two of them he’d have to contend with. His fingers instinctively reached inside his jacket and found the canister of pepper spray attached to his belt. He hoped he wouldn’t regret not bringing his gun.

From this close, Creed realized the little girl was crying. The man held her right hand but her left was at her face, wiping at her nose. And he was right—she wore only white socks. No shoes.

Creed’s pulse continued to race. There was no longer panic as much as urgency that pressed him and caused his heart to bang against his ribs.

Grace scampered alongside him, constantly looking up, then forward and back up for a signal from her master. Never once did she whine or hesitate. Even after she saw that they were headed toward a child Grace didn’t show any additional excitement. Somehow dogs always seemed to react differently to children. Grace remained focused on Creed.

He still wasn’t sure what he should look for. He didn’t know many children or spend time around them. His experience extended only to the memory of his sister and Hannah’s two boys, who were too young for Creed to compare to this girl. He guessed she was nine or ten. Maybe eleven, at the most. Brodie had been eleven. Yes, this girl looked about Brodie’s age. Was that it? Was that the only reason an alarm seemed to have gone off inside his head, inside his chest? Was it only that she reminded him of Brodie?

He was counting on Grace’s instincts.

As he approached, Creed tried to assess the man. He was Creed’s height but outweighed him by about a hundred pounds and none of it looked like fat.

Creed stood an inch over six feet, and had broad shoulders but a thin waist, long arms and legs—a lean swimmer’s build. Several years ago when Hannah declared their business solvent and making a steady profit, Creed had added an enclosed (heated and air-conditioned) Olympic-size swimming pool to their complex. It allowed him to include water rescue and water tracking on their list, but it also ensured his own physical health and mental sanity. Since he was a kid, swimming had been the one escape, the one retreat that he enjoyed. No, it was stronger than that. There was something about diving into water and feeling it surround his body that rejuvenated all of his senses. But Creed was well aware that swimming wasn’t exactly a sport that prepared him for a brawl.