“She’s in San Francisco,” she said.
“Holy shit,” Martin said.
Cassidy told him what she’d learned from Dutch and Lars.
“So you’re heading there now?” Martin said.
“Yeah.”
“What about Kilauea? Don’t you head out soon?”
“Tonight,” Cassidy said.
A long silence passed, and Cassidy wondered if she was making the right choice.
“Wow,” Martin finally replied.
“Crap,” Cassidy groaned, eyeing her dashboard’s temperature gauge, which was climbing again. She should have refilled the radiator before leaving the fairgrounds, but hadn’t wanted to do so in front of Dutch.
“What?” Martin said.
“My car’s been overheating. I think there’s a problem with the radiator.”
“Turn the heat on,” Martin asked.
Eager to try anything, Cassidy flipped the dial. As soon as she got to San Francisco, she would find a repair shop. Quinn was due back late tonight—maybe he had a recommendation.
“This is getting intense, Dr. Kincaid,” Martin said. “Bikers and strip clubs? You sure about this?”
Cassidy grimaced. “No,” she said.
“I just can’t believe that Izzy would . . . do all this.” She heard movement, and imagined Martin pacing in his hotel room. “I mean, what’s her goal? Why San Francisco?”
“I don’t know,” Cassidy said.
“I’m pretty sure you should call it off.”
“What do you mean?” Cassidy asked, frowning.
He sighed. “Just . . . I’m pretty sure Gorman is going to say the same thing. Whatever her reasons are for ditching in Biggs Junction, she’s moved past them now. Otherwise, she would have returned to Eugene. She’s had plenty of opportunity.”
Cassidy heard the bleep of an incoming call and checked the screen. “It’s Richard,” she said to Martin. “I’ll call you back.” She ended the call and answered Richard’s.
“You are released from your duty, Cassidy,” Richard said, sounding tired. “Preston Ford says he would like the privacy to deal with Izzy himself.”
Cassidy felt the air leave her lungs. “Does he know where she is?”
“You mean, besides San Francisco? I don’t believe so,” he answered. “But he’s excused us from responsibility.”
Cassidy heard the relief in his voice, but it didn’t resonate in her. “Oh,” she said.
“He wanted me to thank you for all the work you’ve done and to submit any receipts so he can reimburse you. In fact, he’s made a generous contribution to the Hawaii Volcano Observatory Society.”
Cassidy’s eyes widened. “He has?” she asked. “Wow. How did he know they helped fund my trip?” She glanced at her car’s temperature gauge, which was holding steady.
“He’s a very resourceful man,” Richard replied with a tired sigh.
“Is he going to San Francisco to find her?”
“Not that I know of,” Richard answered.
“Why not?” Cassidy replied. “Izzy might be in danger. Saxon Pike sounds . . . scary.”
“Yes, and I relayed everything to Mr. Ford. He was very grateful. I get the feeling he thinks she’ll contact him now that he’s frozen her finances.”
Cassidy winced. “Wow, that’s . . . aggressive,” she said, her gut simmering with unease. This is his answer? Cut her off and wait for her to hit rock bottom? The image of Izzy with a needle in her arm returned.
“Where are you now?” Richard asked.
Cassidy thought back to her last mileage sign, for a town called Lamoine. “Somewhere near Redding.”
“Well, you can turn around,” Richard said.
Cassidy considered her options. Redding was the next town, less than an hour away, and with an airport. Should she get help for her car, or hop a flight back to Seattle? If she was lucky, she might still make her flight. Or maybe she could pay someone extra to fix her car on a Sunday, and she could drive home. The fastest option was to turn her car around. Her Subaru would make it home, even with a faulty radiator. She could be in Seattle with plenty of time to make her 11:00 flight to Hawaii.
“I appreciate all that you’ve done to help,” Richard said.
After Cassidy hung up, she sat back and blinked at the passing scrub forest landscape and the dry, baked dirt banks of the Sacramento River. Up the slopes of the hillsides she spotted the occasional black cow, tail swinging at the flies. To let out the extra heat from the blower, she lowered her windows all the way and let the cool morning air whip into the cab, bringing in the dry earth smell of the landscape.
It was perfectly reasonable that Preston Ford would want to take over the search for his daughter, now that he knew her location. Maybe he was enlisting the help of a private detective or was mounting a manhunt, starting with Silver’s, right now.
But the relief she expected that came with letting go of the search didn’t come. How was Preston Ford planning to help his daughter? Cassidy felt strongly that he had judged his daughter for participating in the video, and was now punishing her behavior. Any normal parent would march right into that club and demand Saxon tell him everything. But Preston Ford was not a normal parent. Cutting off her money may be his version of damage control, but it felt excessively harsh. The young woman seemed to be making ever-dangerous choices. She needed someone to shelter her, not condemn her.
The thought of beautiful, assertive Izzy roaming the streets made her shudder.
Cassidy thought back, re-examining all the contributing factors at play—Cody and Will and the video, Izzy’s escape from the creep in the VW bus, her mysterious visit to Charlie’s. Something must have happened there, something more than Charlie had let on. Otherwise, Izzy would have gone back to Eugene. Instead, she got high with Lars in his hotel room then accompanied him to Mt. Shasta. Then, hours later, at a concert, she hitches a ride with a dangerous outlaw to San Francisco.
Why?
Izzy had probably run out of money by now. Was San Francisco significant or did it simply present an opportunity? Did it have anything to do with Dominique? What about Izzy’s long-term
