Luke rubbed the back of his neck, thumb digging into a knot that had shown up sometime between search parties and interviews and never really left.
“That podcast lady just dropped an episode about Caroline Simms.”
The café went quiet in that strange way small-town places do when a name hits the air that everyone remembers.
Marylou’s hand froze around her coffee cup.
“Caroline Simms,” she said softly. “Lord.”
Ned shook his head.
“That was eight years ago.”
“Never solved,” Sara said.
She’d seen one of the old flyers once, tucked on a bulletin board at the sheriff’s office—sun-faded, easy to overlook.
Willow set down the coffee pot and leaned against the counter.
“I remember her daddy putting those flyers up everywhere.”
“Everywhere,” Marylou agreed. “Gas stations. The post office. Grocery stores.”
“Trailheads,” Ned added. “I saw one all the way over near Bryson City.”
“And he came in here every Friday,” Willow said. “Sat right there at the end of the counter with a stack of fresh flyers, asked if anybody’d heard anything new.”
Scout tapped the phone.
“Well, apparently the internet just discovered it.”
Luke leaned over to read the comments scrolling beneath the video.
The feed was moving fast.
where is sylva
someone definitely killed her
look up david mercer
Luke exhaled slowly.
“Here we go.”
Sara looked up.
“What?”
Luke turned the phone around again.
“Guess whose name they’re already throwing around.”
Scout didn’t have to ask.
“Mercer.”
Luke nodded.
