Page 218 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

She buckled her belt and waved as she pulled out and headed home.

He stood where he was, watching her leave, regretting the last couple of hours—that he’d upset her. He wished he’d handled things differently, that there had been another way. But after their walk in the woods, he was more convinced than ever that she had been to Brewster’s Forest long before their early-September hike. The place was certainly a little spooky—any abandoned cabin in the woods was—but her reaction hadn’t been one of simple discomfort. She’d been afraid.

He got in the Tahoe, ready to move things along. After pulling his phone from his pocket, he dialed Sanchez’s number and headed the short block to his office.

“This is Sanchez.”

“Hey. Sorry I had to let you go earlier. Callie and I were in the woods.”

Sanchez whistled through his teeth. “It must be warmer there than it is here.”

“Nah, we’re just made of heartier stock on the island.”

Sanchez swore as he chuckled. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Nate grinned as he pulled into his spot at the station but didn’t bother turning off the engine yet.

“I imagine you were doing some work for the case.”

He nodded even though Sanchez couldn’t see him. “We’ve had a couple of interesting developments over the last twenty-four hours.”

“Like?”

“Like Lily and Leah Sanderson recognizing one of Callie’s pieces at the exhibition last night as a rug they’d had out at the abandoned cottage—”

“Get the hell out.”

“I hiked out there by myself this morning—borrowed a key and took a look around—but I didn’t see anything. This afternoon I talked to Callie—brought up some ideas about repressed memories—”

Sanchez sucked in a breath through his teeth. “How’d that go over?”

“Not well. She walked out there with me and sort of freaked. I’m more convinced than ever that she was in those woods.”

“Very interesting.”

Nate rubbed at his forehead, remembering Callie’s pale cheeks and huge, terrified eyes as she shoved past him in the loft. “She was afraid, Sanchez. My gut’s telling me that’s our ground zero—that she saw or heard something she wasn’t supposed to.”

“What did the Sandersons have to say about all of it?”

“I spoke to Mini Sanderson, the property manager here on the island. Apparently, Evan Sanderson let his business partner’s kids stay at the house right around the same time Samantha disappeared—college-age, threw a party, and trashed the place.”

“Party animals or maybe someone covering up a crime scene?”

He shut off the engine and got out, too restless to sit inside. “Both are possibilities. I’m planning—” A knock on the door and muttered voice through the phone interrupted Nate.

“Damn it, I’ve gotta head out,” Sanchez said. “Don’t people know they’re not supposed to go missing on Sundays?”

Nate clenched his jaw, far from finished with their conversation. “Get back to me when you can. I’ll start looking into the co-president’s kids and see what I can find.”

“Sounds good.” Sanchez cleared his throat. “I should probably mention real quick that the family and I are heading out of town on Friday—Disney World for a week. Something the kids have always wanted to do, so we’re gonna make it happen—spend Thanksgiving and the whole nine yards. I haven’t helped you much and I hate that I’ll be helping even less…”

“You’ve been a great sounding board—see things that I might not always see.”

“You’re doing a damn fine job. If you ever think about changing career paths, you should let me know.”

Never again was he moving away from Sanderson. “I appreciate it. Have fun with the family.”

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call, but I’ll get back to you later anyway.”