My sister had called, so now she knew where I was.
What next?
I needed more coffee. Then I’d sit and look through the monster book. I couldn’t bring myself to open it last night—I’d been too exhausted, and a little too freaked out—so had left it in my backpack with the creepy little doll, deciding I’d look at both with fresh eyes in the light of day. I’d tossed and turned, staring frightened at my backpack half the night, as if the doll might unzip the bag, find its way out, and carry the book over to me.
* * *
A FAMILIAR BLUE pickup was parked next to my van at the campsite.
Shit. Now was not the time for a visit from the constable.
Pete wasn’t in the truck or anywhere around the site.
And the door to the van was open.
Had I left it open in my haste to get to the call? I jogged the last few steps and climbed up into the van.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded.
He was standing in the back by the bed, holding my digital recorder. “Looking for you.” He smiled sheepishly, set the recorder back on the shelf.
“You just let yourself in?”
“The door was open, and you didn’t answer, so I came in to make sure you were okay.”
“Well, I’m fine,” I said.
He nodded. “Yeah, I see that.”
He stepped forward, his body filling the space. I wasn’t used to having anyone but me in the van. Not ever. There wasn’t room for two people.
I backed out through the open door, clearing the way for him.
“It’s an impressive setup you’ve got there. Perfect for working on the road.”
I said nothing. Then: “Was there a reason you stopped by?” The words came out stonier than I’d meant. His smile faded.
“I talked to the state police this morning,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Lauren Schumacher is still missing,” he said.
“Is that so?”
He nodded. “They’re sending another detective here to town tomorrow morning to interview people. They want to look into this whole Rattling Jane angle.” He looked at me. “They’ll be wanting to talk to you, I’m sure.”
“Me?” I swallowed.
“I think they’d be interested to hear your… theories. Among other things.”
I forced a smile. “I’m happy to share what I’ve got, but I’m afraid it’s not much.”
He paused for a moment. “Tell me honestly, what do you think so far? Do you think there’s anything to all the Rattling Jane stories?”
“The jury’s still out,” I said.
“I don’t know, the idea that there could be any truth to them just seems… unlikely to me.” He looked at me, waiting for a response.
“Sometimes things aren’t what they seem,” I said.
“Isn’t that the truth.” He turned toward his truck.
We’d said our goodbyes and I was climbing into my van when he called my name again. I turned, watched as he took a card out of the front pocket of his shirt and left it on the picnic table. “My number,” he said. “In case you want to talk.”
I closed the door, leaned against it taking deep breaths, listening to him get into his truck and pull away.
Shit.