I don’t think about that. Or at least I try not to.
I open yesterday’s case notes and force myself through them. Fence dispute between two ranches east of the ridge. Noise complaint that turned out to be a bear. The quarterly county report I keep meaning to finish and never do because paperwork wasn’t why I became a deputy and it sure as hell isn’t hell why I took this job.
Acceptedis a generous word for what happened. Dale got arrested. Sheriff Dale Miller, who shook my hand when I graduated the academy and told me over bad whiskey, I was the best deputy he’d ever trained, got put in the back of a cruiser. And I sat down in his chair because someone had to. That was last month. The county is deciding whether to make it official. I’m still deciding whether I want them to.
I turn to a fresh page in the notebook. Write the date. Then the plates.
Oregon rental. First seen on Sunday, parked across from Wilde’s General Store. Second sighting Monday, one block east of Roz’s. Third sighting this morning, tucked beside the hardware building, with a clean sightline to the diner’s front windows.
Same vehicle. Different spots. Always within a block of the same building.
I’ve learned not to ignore the thing that won’t stop snagging.
I run the plates. The rental traces to a shell LLC out of Nevada that goes cold after two layers. That’s not a hiker.
I stare at the ceiling, then pick up my phone and scroll to a number I haven’t used in years.
Mike Reeves answers on the third ring. “King.”
“I need a favor.”
He listens while I give him the LLC and the pattern. Doesn’t ask unnecessary questions. “Give me a day or two. Anything else?”
I hesitate. Sophie’s been avoiding me since she returned to town. I don’t blame her since I’m the reason she left at nineteen, but this morning felt off. Her jaw was tight, her movements too careful. “Someone came back to Lush Hollow this past year after eight years in Seattle. Female, twenty-eight. Check if there are any open threat files, anything that might’ve followed her home.”
Reeves is quiet for a beat. “You got a name?”
I swallow. “Sophie Wilde.”
“I’ll see what I can find.”
I hang up and look out the window again. The light drops behind the ridge early and takes the warmth with it, leaving everything in that flat, gray March tone that makes the mountains feel closer than they are.
Jesse stops in at ten. He never calls ahead. He drops into the chair across from my desk, stretches his long legs, and says nothing for a full minute.
I let the silence sit. Jesse Wilde will speak when he’s ready.
“Nora made her diner run this morning,” he says finally.
“Mm.”
“She said Sophie seems off.”
I glance at the notebook with the plate numbers. “She say how?”
“Tired. Watchful.” Jesse picks up the smooth rock on the corner of my desk and turns it over in his hand. “You notice anything?”
I think about Sophie handing me coffee this morning without quite meeting my eyes. She moved like she was checking the exits.“She’s still finding her footing.”
Jesse sets the rock down. “Sure.”
More silence.
“You need anything.” He stands. “You know where I am.” He gets to the door. Stops. Doesn’t turn around. “My little sister doesn’t ask for help. Never has. It’s not stubbornness exactly. It’s more like she forgot she’s allowed to.”
Then he’s gone.
The afternoon is routine with two patrols, but my mind keeps circling back to the rental car. I spot it again on Birch Street at four, parked with a perfect view of Roz’s back lot.
