28
Miranda was being an idiot, and she knew it. Allan Knight was not looking at her like a man looked at a woman he wanted. Far from it. The whole idea of that was stupid. She knew better.
It was probably just hunger. He needed a Happy Meal or something.
Yeah, she’d just tell herself that until they were back in St. Louis and she could put some distance between them. “We need to get in there and do the interview.”
“No kidding. Are you prepared with what angle you want to take?”
“Yes.” Maybe. One thing Miranda hated was feeling unsure of herself. This man probably had the ability to make her feel that way far, far too easily.
“And if she doesn’t cooperate?”
“We have other ways to find what we need.” Jac was already tracking down Luther’s daughters from their phone numbers. They’d go from there.
After they dealt with Pauline.
Miranda pulled in a deep breath, then set the trail mix aside. It was time to refocus. This was the first real step they’d taken to finding that answer. Clint and Joel had tried—but the files they’d had from when the Beises had disappeared fourteen years ago were pitifully thin.
No doubt Clint’s father had made sure it stayed that way.
Poor Clint. His entire law-enforcement career had been overshadowed by Clive.
Miranda had despised that man. Deeply despised him. Mostly for how he’d treated Clint, and how he’d idolized that creep, Jay—Clint’s younger brother. That guy had scared Miranda. She’d refused to ever be alone with Clint’s brother. Clint had never questioned her about why. She suspected he knew.
Just like Luther Beise that day, Jay had a habit of getting pushy with girls. Miranda had kicked him in the balls once—for daring to lay a hand on her sister, Marin, without permission. Clive had seen what had happened. He’d made it clear she had better watch herself around him after that.
Miranda had told Clive to bring it on—if he wanted to face down her father and grandmother for it.
He hadn’t. Her father hadn’t made it to general by being a pushover.
Clive and Jay Gunderson had been the biggest blights on her relationship with Clint when she’d been nineteen.
Clive Gunderson and Luther Beise had been good friends. Despite what Clive had done—and she’d heard from her grandmother that there was far more that people didn’t know about—Clint would probably always have to live with the ghost of Clive’s actions riding on his back.
Miranda wondered what kind of ghosts Pauline had.
“Come on, Knight. Let’s go ghost hunting.”
“Lead on. You’re the boss, Talley.”
“I am, aren’t I?”
“This time, anyway.”
29
Jac studied the printouts and looked at her supervisor. Carrie was on her cell, giving her husband instructions on what to do for their two children. They had a toddler, she thought, and an infant. Or maybe they had one infant, and his brother Seth and his wife had the toddler? It was hard to keep the Lorcans straight. There were a lot of them in PAVAD now. She waited until Carrie disconnected. “I think I may have found someone. One of the sons.”
“Who?”
“Lesley Beise. The oldest boy.” She turned the top printout toward Carrie. They were working out of an actual jail cell. The door was open, of course, but it was still a cell. It looked like something off a 1970s television show, complete with thin cot, shiny metal toilet—yuck, she’d just pretend it wasn’t there—and a small table. There were copies of the Bible and War and Peace on the table, waiting for the cell’s next occupant.
The Masterson County Sheriff’s Office was probably the tiniest office she had ever worked out of. But they were making do. They were PAVAD—adaptability was one of their hallmarks, after all. Maybe it was a hallmark Jac struggled with—she liked routine and order and a plan—but she didn’t let that stop her from doing her job.
“What do you have?” Carrie asked.
“Lesley was really heavy into cars. And he didn’t care if the parts he used to refurbish were…less than ethically supplied. He had a small charge on his juvenile record that wasn’t sealed. It happened two weeks before they disappeared, so he had a warrant with his name on it for failure to appear in court. It’s long past the statute of limitations, but it’s still visible.”
“How does this help us locate him?” Clint asked.
“Car parts. There were only so many suppliers for the car he drove back then. And the car disappeared the night the family did.” Jac handed Clint the papers nearest to her.
“Keep going. I’m listening.”
“Well, it was a rare car—an overseas model from the seventies. I went over your files and those from fourteen years ago. Lesley Beise’s car wasn’t mentioned anywhere.”
“I had no records of any of the Beise kids owning cars in their names.”
“Well, there aren’t very many of these cars in the region. And it was actually in his grandmother’s name. Not Helen. The Beise grandmother. And only one junkyard that supplied parts for it. Lesley Beise ordered an alternator from the junkyard a month before the family’s social media presence ceased. He picked up the part a week later.”
“How do you know?” Clint asked.
“I called. Got a sheriff’s deputy in Della County, Wyoming. He headed to the
