Page 102 of Weight of Guilt

“I’m looking for my son.” Wren kept moving.

The aide called something after her. Wren was already past her, working through the crowd toward the fence where the younger grades gathered.

She found Mason’s teacher, Mrs. Kessler, in the middle of the second-grade line with a clipboard pressed to her chest and a worried look in her eyes. The woman was a first-year teacher and probably around Marlowe’s age.

“Where’s Mason?” she rushed.

Mrs. Kessler looked up. It took her a half-second to place Wren. Then she seemed to register her words and glanced around. “Mason? He’s right here . . .”

Mason wasn’t right here. Neither of them said anything.

“Okay.” Mrs. Kessler’s voice changed. “I’ll contact the office. He probably just wandered away, and in all of the chaos and confusion, he went to a different line. There’s no need to panic.”

As Mrs. Kessler found an aide to watch her class, Wren already had her phone out. She dialed Cody as she moved toward the building, pushing against the current of children coming the other way.

He picked up on the second ring. “Wren, I can’t talk right now⁠—”

“Did you take Mason out of school?” Accusation stretched taut through her voice.

“What?”

“Did you pick Mason up early? Did you come to the school?”

“Wren, I’m on a scene. I’ve been here since one.” A beat passed. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Mason’s not here.” Her voice trembled as she explained everything going on around her. “They had a fire alarm. Now I can’t find him.”

“What? Is there a fire?”

“No, I don’t think so. There’s no smoke.”

“Are you sure?” Cody’s voice rose.

“I’m not sure about anything! But I can’t find him.”

“Go to the office and tell them about Mason. I’m on my way.”

“Okay.”

“Wren.” His voice cracked. “Go now.”

She turned toward the building and darted inside.

Agent Prine had been on the scene four minutes and already had the yard divided. She was somewhere north of fifty, gray coming in at the temples of a short cut she clearly didn’t fuss over, and she moved through deputies twice her size without once raising her voice. She didn’t ask people to move. She simply arrived where she intended to be, and they moved.

Not long after she arrived, a paramedic came off the back of the ambulance and darted toward the sheriff.

Nash had watched the man sit on the bumper, his phone in hand and his expression changing as his conversation continued. The man was probably in his mid-twenties with sandy blond hair and an easy-going manner. Something about him seemed familiar, but Nash couldn’t pinpoint what.

“Sheriff.” The man’s voice rose over the noise. “Sheriff Wilder.”

Luke glanced up from talking to a deputy. “Cody. What’s going on?”

Cody? Where had Nash heard that name before?

That’s when it hit him.

This was Mason’s father. That fact only made him watch the man even more.