Olga’s recollection coincided with that of Megan’s coworkers as well, both of whom he’d spoken with on the phone and confirmed their previous statements. Ramone Garcia, a physician’s assistant, had seen Megan leave at her regular time, right after 5:00 P.M., and his coworker, Andie Jeffries, an RN for the McEwen Clinic, had agreed. The parking-lot camera had filmed Megan leaving work and getting into her Toyota at 5:09. The doctor who owned and ran the clinic, Thomas McEwen, MD, had been at the hospital that afternoon, and there was nothing more that he could add, only to say that everyone who worked at the clinic was trustworthy and that Megan had done a good job as a bookkeeper who worked with the insurance companies. Other than having trouble getting to work on time, Megan Travers had been “an asset to the team.”
Rivers wondered about that, but didn’t say as much. He directed search teams from both the county and state police to look carefully in the area near or past the summit. It appeared she’d gotten that far, at least, but then what?
He and Mendoza also double-checked Megan’s phone records and credit-card receipts. Her checking account had been untouched, no debit activity since the last time anyone had seen her. Unless she had a secret identity or a helluva lot of cash stashed away, or a friend who was hiding her and letting her use his or her funds, there was no way she wouldn’t be spending her money for gas, food, and lodging.
His frustration with the case grew. It was over a week since Megan’s disappearance, and he had no idea what had happened to her. Was she alive? Hiding? Kidnapped? In a bad accident, trapped somewhere? Or, he worried, dead?
“Any word from the state police?” he asked again, glancing at Mendoza, who was, as usual, looking at her phone.
She shook her head. “Don’t you think I would’ve said?”
“Maybe we can nudge them again.”
“Like we did yesterday and the day before.”
He looked through the windshield at the vibrant blue sky. “It’s clear today. They could send a chopper up.”
With a lift of one eyebrow, she sent him a get-real glance. “I think they’re on it.”
“Just check, would you?”
He reached into a pocket and grabbed his sunglasses as the glare of sunlight off the snow was blinding. The road was clear until they reached the foothills, where the plows hadn’t been able to keep up with the snowfall and the road was packed with ice, snow, and, in some spots, gravel.
He wondered about the little Toyota. It too had disappeared. Was it secreted in a garage somewhere? Or already out of the country, as the Canadian border was only a few hours north? Or buried deep in the snow at the bottom of a steep ravine in these craggy mountains?
Traffic cameras had been checked, where they existed, but, of course, there were none in the mountains. As they crested the summit, where snow-shrouded evergreens guarded the road, he wondered if Megan had gotten this far. Had she even made it out of the town?
The crumpled note she’d left came to mind:
J—
I’m leaving you.
This time forever.
You’ll never see me again!
M
Was it a suicide note?
Or just a breakup message?
Or a desperate cry for attention from a woman who wanted to shake up her lover? That seemed far-fetched, but he’d seen worse in his years on the force in California. Twice before, Megan had been reported as missing, the reports both filed by James Cahill. This time he’d been in the hospital. Would he have let the authorities know if he hadn’t been laid up? The whole case was blurry and undefined, more questions than answers. That would have to change.
Rivers squinted into the lowering winter sun, and Mendoza informed him that yes, the state police were already on it, searching the area from the air.
“And you doubted them,” she chided.
“Just double-checking.”
“Uh-huh.” She glanced out the window and changed the subject. “Pretty up here.”
And possibly deadly, he thought, but didn’t want to ruin her take on the beauty of nature.
* * *
“I’m telling you, that Charity woman, she’s driving me nuts!” Lenora said, her words as clipped as they had been when Rebecca was a teenager and had gotten into trouble. It sounded as if she were driving, ambient noise audible over her distressed words. “It’s harassment, that’s what it is. Harassment!”
“Just avoid her.” Rebecca stripped the few things she’d hung from the small closet and tossed them onto the bed of her hotel room. She was finally leaving Riggs Crossing. Something she should’ve done days ago.
“That’s impossible. That little reporter found a way to get past the guard the other night, and I almost had her arrested. She was trespassing and bothering me and the neighbors. June? Lives two doors down on my street? She saw that woman in the very same van cruising around the fitness club the day after she showed up here. Following me! Can you imagine?”
Rebecca could. She’d dealt with Charity Spritz herself, knew how determined and nosy she could be. “I don’t know what to tell you. She’s bothered me too.” Though the reporter’s calls had definitely waned in the last couple of days. Probably because she was in California bugging Lenora.
“I’ve called her boss, let me tell you, some vile man, Earl Dean something or other—”
Earl Ray Dansen, Rebecca knew, but didn’t correct Lenora.
She glanced at the desk in the hotel room, really just a table, where her laptop was recharging, her notes already stacked, a copy of the local newspaper folded after she’d read every column inch of it.
“—I gave him a piece of my mind. I don’t mind if he’s got someone trying to find out
