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A sharp intake of breath. “You doubt me? Me?” Her aunt couldn’t feign indignation for long, and a low chuckle erupted from the other end.
“Of course not, but things are happening faster than I expected.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered. You do what you need to, and I’ll throw all the roadblocks I can in front of the feds.”
“You sound like a mob boss.”
“Thanks! Love you. Be careful.”
Mere shook her head at her aunt’s joyful foray into chaotic good. “Love you, too.”
The clock never moved so slowly in her life. The one time she wanted—no, needed—to leave early, and that minute hand seemed stuck forever at half-past four. When five o’clock finally hit, Mere closed up as quickly as she could. Dee stayed to help. It wouldn’t do to leave anything unfinished. No need to alert the special agents she was in a rush to leave in case they returned after she left.
She turned off her phone and drove slowly, taking the most circuitous route she could to the Reed house, once again parking in the convenience store lot. She grabbed the emergency flashlight and thin knit gloves she kept in the glove box and walked through the brush. It was the best she could do, and she hoped it would be enough.
Mere found the driveway of the Reed farmhouse. Ander’s truck was gone, and only darkness greeted her. The porch light was off, and not a single window was lit from the inside. Her heart thudded and her palms dampened. She navigated the porch steps; the door stood ajar.
She put on the gloves and pushed open the door. “Hello? Anyone home?”
The distant whoosh of car tires on the road floated on the breeze rustling the trees. Otherwise, silence.
Mere tiptoed through the hall. “Anders?”
Still nothing. She swung the flashlight around. Everything was as it should be. Pictures on the walls, furniture in their proper places. In the back room, the squares of drywall had been replaced, and a five-gallon bucket of paint stood in the center, surrounded by other accouterments.
She made her way to the kitchen. On the table was a piece of paper under a mug. It was a letter addressed to the landlord.
Dear Mr. Baker,
I apologize for the damage in the one room. I repaired the walls but had to leave before the joint compound dried. I left paint and supplies to finish the task and do not expect my security deposit back. It should be more than sufficient to complete repairs. I will not be returning to Strawberry Creek. Business has called me away unexpectedly.
All the best,
Anders Haynes
Mere left the note where she found it and returned to her car. She collapsed into the driver’s seat, missing his presence. Grief pressed her down and stole her breath. Tears splashed on her shirt, and her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel soon sent an ache through her arms.
She released the wheel, snatched some tissues out of the center console, and wiped away the tears. She had missed her opportunity, but Anders had gotten away. That had to be enough. After taking a few deep breaths, Mere drove away. Sirens blared in the distance.
17
USUALLY A VERY QUIET TOWN
Flashing red and blue lights greeted her unkindly as she pulled in front of the duplex. Two patrol cars flanked the driveway, and a large black SUV blocked the road. Special Agent Okabe stood in the middle of the porch, and Gaudin leaned against a patrol car.
Mere parked carefully and exited her vehicle slowly. No one approached, but all eyes were on her. She walked up the porch steps.
“Good evening, Special Agent Okabe.”
“Hello, Ms. Larsen. Getting home late?”
“Had some errands to run.” Ice water ran through her veins. How was she pulling this off? “Is there something I can do for you?”
“It’s funny, but there were a lot of 911 calls tonight. A few bear sightings, a couple of Peeping Toms, a few suspicious noises from outside. And a Nadine Rask called about fifteen minutes ago with a report of breaking glass in her neighbor’s house. Imagine my surprise when that neighbor turned out to be you.”
