Page 70 of Weight of Guilt

“I don’t do well with this. You know I don’t do well with this.” Her mother’s breath came uneven over the line. “Just tell me nobody’s hurt.”

Wren’s hand came up over her mouth. “No one is hurt. Not really, at least. We’ll be fine.”

Her mother didn’t say anything a moment. Then, “I’m on my way.”

Nash left his truck at the pull-off and got in Luke’s SUV. They’d gone maybe two miles before Luke asked, “So what’s in Sevierville?”

“Christian.” Nash watched the guardrail run past. “He put his hand through a storm door about six o’clock this evening.”

Luke’s eyes widened. “On purpose?”

“He was upset. He reacted. He didn’t want to go to a doctor. Wren and her sisters told him he was going anyway. Now he’s at the hospital.”

“I hate to hear that.”

The road narrowed and started to climb. Luke’s headlights swung across a mailbox with no house behind it.

“I called Roy’s work this afternoon,” Luke said. “Thursdays were his day off. Have been for years.”

Nash turned that over. “Paige didn’t mention that.”

“She probably didn’t know. I have a feeling Roy wanted to keep that a secret.”

“How long is years?”

“That’s the part I called you about.” Luke slowed for a curve he clearly knew was coming. “Sales manager said Roy set his schedule that way his first month on the floor and never moved it. Not for a holiday weekend. Not for the tent sale in April, which the man brought up twice like it still aggravated him.”

“When did Roy start there?”

“Fall of the year Christian went missing.”

Nash sat with that a moment. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but how could he not? What secret was Roy keeping?

Ten minutes later Luke’s headlights swept across the pumps.

The station sat alone where the road crossed a creek, one pole light over two pumps and a cinder-block building with a hand-lettered sign about live bait. A single truck was parked around the side.

Inside, the man behind the counter was somewhere past sixty and heavyset, with reading glasses shoved up on his head and a crossword folded under his elbow. His name tag read EARL.

Luke introduced them before showing him a photo of Roy.

Earl brought the glasses down to get a better look. “That’s Roy.”

Luke’s eyebrows flew up. “You knew him.”

“In a manner of speaking.” Earl tapped the counter with one finger. “I mean, he came around regularly.”

“When did you see him last?” Luke asked.

“Thursday. Friday, maybe.” The corners of Earl’s mouth pulled down. “I heard what happened. Real sorry about that.”

“How often did he come by here?” Luke asked.

“Every week.” Earl shrugged. “He’d fill up, get a coffee, tell me about his aches and pains.”

“When he left here, which way did he turn out of the lot?”

“Left. Always left.” Earl took the glasses back off. “Ain’t nothing up that way. I asked him about it one time.”