A thin coating of snow dusted the ground. It crunched under her boots as she approached the front door. Bree couldn’t explain how she knew, but the house felt empty. There was a stillness that stirred her anxiety and compressed her insides.
In the past, Adam had lost track of everything when he was in the middle of a project. He forgot to eat and sleep. He became obsessed with—no, possessed by—his work. Bree understood. She’d been the same way with homicide investigations in her previous life.
Before her sister’s murder.
Before Bree had essentially become a parent.
Before she’d reconnected with Adam. They’d grown closer over the past eleven months. The desire to provide home and family to Luke and Kayla had forced them to leave their confirmed loner statuses behind. Adam had improved his communication skills, and he made time to see the kids regularly even when he was in the middle of a painting. He no longer completely disappeared into his art. He’d made room in his life for his family.
Bree had been separated from her siblings after their parents’ deaths. After Erin died and Bree moved back to Grey’s Hollow, she and Adam had worked hard to develop a real relationship. She’d never stopped loving her little brother, but she hadn’t really known him. Now that she did, the thought of something happening to him made everything inside her go cold and queasy, like that hope—that light in his painting—would never shine again.
When Adam didn’t answer the door, she knocked again. A gust of bitter wind swept across the meadow, carrying dead leaves and snow dust in a frigid cloud. The hairs on the back of Bree’s neck lifted.
The lights are on. Adam is here. He’s working.
She reached for the knob, then hesitated and looked over her shoulder at Matt. His face was grim in the harsh glare of the porch light. “I’m not sure what to do. He’s an adult. He has the right to privacy.”
“But he usually calls or texts you back, right?” Matt asked.
“Yes.”
“Plus, his car is here and he’s not answering the door. That’s odd.” Matt frowned. “Any chance he has a girl in there?”
“Ugh. I hadn’t even thought of that.” She raised her fist and pounded on the door. The sound reverberated across the empty meadow.
But the house remained still, and Bree’s belly ached with worry.
“That’s it. I’m going in.” She reached into her pocket for her key ring and found Adam’s key. She inserted it into the dead bolt. It turned with no resistance. Bree froze. “The door isn’t locked.”
Was Adam inside, or had he forgotten to lock the door? He could be incapacitated or with a woman. She and Adam had developed a decent relationship, but none of their conversations had covered this specific situation.
“Just go in already,” Matt said.
Bree reached for the doorknob and turned it. She pushed open the door. Her right hand hovered above the butt of her weapon. “Adam?”
No one answered. They went inside and closed the door behind them. The house was one large room, with a partial wall that divided the living space from the studio. A light shone from the studio, casting half of the space in shadows. Bree flipped the wall switch in the kitchen, and the room went bright.
Empty Chinese takeout containers and discarded cans of Red Bull littered the coffee table. Pizza boxes were stacked on the floor. Dishes and cups filled the sink. The bedding was in disarray.
The bathroom door stood open. Bree peered inside. It was empty except for a pile of musty towels on the tile floor.
Matt ducked around the partial wall into the studio area. “He’s not here.”
Bree scanned the mess. With a neat person, this level of disorder could signal the home had been ransacked or that a struggle had taken place. In Adam’s case, the chaos simply meant his current painting was progressing. After he’d finished with the project, he’d eat, sleep, and clean up his house. Then the process would start all over again.
“Now what?” Bree asked. “If a stranger came into my office to report their brother missing because he didn’t return her call from earlier that same day, I wouldn’t waste many man-hours investigating. In that short amount of time, I wouldn’t even consider an adult missing without unusual circumstances or some sign of foul play.”
“There’s probably a simple explanation for why Adam hasn’t responded to your messages.”
“Probably, but how did he go out without his car?” Bree asked. Frantic dread burned in her chest. She pressed a hand to it, as if she could quell the fire behind her breastbone with her touch.
“Rideshare?” Matt suggested. “Maybe the Bronco is having mechanical problems, or he went out for drinks and didn’t want to drive home.”
“Both plausible,” Bree said. “He’s not much of a drinker, though.” As children of an abusive alcoholic, neither she nor Adam had a taste for booze.
“I can’t blame you for being worried. If this were Cady, I’d be uneasy too.”
Bree racked her brain. She walked a circle around the kitchen, her fist still pressed to her chest. “We don’t have a vehicle for deputies to look for him.”
“Do you have the ability to locate his cell phone?”
“Yes!” Bree opened her Find My Phone app and selected Adam’s cell. A gray circle appeared, signifying the phone’s last known location. “His phone is either off or the battery is dead.” If Adam’s phone location were live, the circle would be green.
“Where was it last?”
Bree squinted at the map, then zoomed in. “He was in a bookshop in Grey’s Hollow.”
“Let’s go.”
They locked the door on the way out. Bree drove into town. Slowing the SUV, she cruised through the commercial area. She turned right and slid to the curb halfway down the block in front of Hollow Books. She and Matt hurried from the vehicle and into the shop.
Signs advertised upcoming readings and signings. Faded couches and chairs were scattered throughout the store. They sold coffee, tea, and shortbread from a small cart. Payments were collected on the honor system.
A young woman at the register looked up and called, “Can I help you, Sheriff? We close in ten minutes.”
Bree nodded. She approached the counter and dug out her phone. She pulled up a recent photo of Adam and showed it to the woman, whose name tag read SHARLA. “Did you see this man tonight?”
Sharla tilted her head. “I don’t know. We weren’t very busy tonight, and I was in the back working on orders. Is something wrong?”
“I hope not,” Bree said.
Sharla turned and called into the back of the shop. “Clarice, would you come out here for a minute?” She turned back to Bree. “Clarice is the owner.”
An older redhead hustled through the doorway, wiping her hands on the legs of her jeans. Her eyebrows shot up as she took in Bree’s uniform.
Sharla pointed toward the phone. “Did you see this man tonight?”
Clarice squinted, then reached into her pocket for a pair of readers. She set them on her nose. “He looks familiar. I think he was in tonight.” She turned to Bree with excited eyes. “Is he wanted for something?”