They’d passed the sheriff’s office when Grant spotted a whitehaired man walking in an unsteady gait, like someone who’d had too many drinks.
“That’s him,” Grant said.
Melissa rolled to a stop beside Mr. Logsdon.
Grant got out and approached the man. “Mr. Logsdon.”
The old man jerked to a stop and swayed. He looked at Grant, his eyes narrowing. “Do I know you?”
“I’m Grant Hayes. We met yesterday. Have you seen Avery Hart?” he asked.
“Don’t know anyone by that name.”
Grant tried again. “Have you seen Sarah?”
Mr. Logsdon’s glazed eyes filled. “She came home.” His brow wrinkled. “Only there were two Sarahs. I don’t understand.”
“That’s right,” Grant said. “Two Sarahs. Where did they go?”
“Two Sarahs,” Mr. Logsdon fixated on that fact. “She came home. But there were two.”
Grant bit back his impatience, knowing the longer he was delayed, the worse were Avery and Bree’s chances. “Did you see where they went? Did you see where the two Sarahs went?”
“One fell down the steps,” he said. “The big man put them in a van and drove away.” He looked into Grant’s eyes, his face drawn and anguished. “Sarah’s gone.”
“We’re going to find her, Mr. Logsdon. Can you tell me the color of the van the two Sarahs left in?”
“Gray, with the chance of lightning.” The old man turned away. “I have to get to work. I’m late for the night shift. Have to keep the boiler going, the heat just right.”
“Where do you work?” Grant asked.
“I have to go. I’m late.” The old man staggered away, on a mission to get to work he no longer did.
“We can’t let him wander around at night,” Melissa said, joining Grant.
Grant hurried after him.
About that time, Sheriff Taylor drove up beside him. “Mr. Logsdon on his way to work again?”
“He is,” Grant slowed to a stop, his gaze following the old man. “He said the Sarahs were taken away in a gray van with lightning.”
The sheriff frowned. “The Sarahs?”
“His missing daughter,” Grant said. “He was confused that there were two.”
“I remember when that happened. It was a big story in town. Tom hadn’t heard from Sarah in a couple of months, and then he got a call from her husband, asking if she’d shown up at home. Said she’d disappeared. Tom and Maggie spent years looking for her. He’s never been the same.”
Melissa drove up in her red truck and nodded toward Mr. Logsdon. “Want me to follow him?”
“He knows where he’s going,” the sheriff said. “He walked to work every day for forty years. It’s muscle memory, even when the rest of his memories are fading.”
“Where did he work?” Grant asked.
“The old lumber mill,” the sheriff said. “It’s been closed for a few decades. The place employed a lot of people when the town was growing back in the early nineteen hundreds.”
“He won’t get hurt there?” Melissa asked.
“We don’t always know when he goes there. Maggie used to call us when he would go to work. We’d keep an eye on him and make sure he got home safely, even the night shift knows what to do.”
