“Raven, if Chelsey isn’t in her right mind, we need to tell someone.”
“Oh, God. What if I’m wrong and making mountains out of molehills?”
He touched her shoulder.
“What if you’re right, and we don’t step in before something terrible happens?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Saturday, August 14th
9:10 a.m.
LeVar patted Jack on the head as the big dog watched him fish two glazed donuts out of the box.
“Sorry, these aren’t for you.”
The dog cocked his head, tongue hanging out and beading with saliva.
As LeVar plated the donuts, Thomas shuffled into the kitchen and yawned. The sheriff wore baggy shorts, a T-shirt, and flip-flops, his disheveled hair messier than normal. He’d worked late pouring over his notes on the Skye Feron and Justine Adkins cases. LeVar had glimpsed him through the window last night, guilty that he’d hidden their investigation from the sheriff. Until LeVar found concrete evidence, he needed to keep the investigation secret. Thomas wouldn’t approve of their group, especially with Scout involved.
“I picked up a dozen donuts from the Broken Yolk this morning. Hope you don’t mind me snatching a couple.”
Thomas pawed through the box and grabbed a donut.
“Why would I mind? You paid. Take ten bucks out of my wallet.”
“My treat, Shep Dawg.”
Thomas smirked.
“Shep Dawg. I kinda like that. But I still want to pay.”
“I don’t pay full price. Ruth gives me a discount. You know how that goes.”
He turned to leave before the sheriff asked any more questions.
“You want to grill later?”
“Say the word, bruh.”
“All right.” Thomas narrowed his eyes as LeVar slid the deck door open. “I’ll check in with you after four.”
LeVar winced as he closed the door behind him. Was Thomas on to their investigation club? He stopped himself from running and did his best to appear casual while he crossed the yard. Inside the guest house, he pulled the curtain on the front door and exhaled.
Scout was already scouring the security camera footage from last night.
“Find my prowler yet?” he asked.
She glanced over her wheelchair and shook her head.
“But I caught three raccoons scrambling between our yards. Oh, and a dozen deer.”
Scout was all smiles as she ran through the footage on high speed.
“That’s lit,” he said, pointing at the screen with his half-eaten donut. “You can see the sun rising. See what I did there? Lit, sunrise?”
“Yeah, you’re a real Chris Rock, LeVar.”
He slid the plate in front of her.
“What’s first on the agenda?”
“We should pick up where we left off yesterday.”
“The girl Paige and Justine tormented. Dawn.”
Scout called up two browser windows. One held a digital yearbook from Harmon High School from the year Skye Feron vanished. The second contained Kane Grove High’s yearbook.
“I get the impression Paige wasn’t as liked as she was popular,” said Scout. “Dawn might have been a rival.”
“We don’t know her last name.”
“It sucks, but we’ll go through both yearbooks, name by name. If she’s in there, we need to find her.”
Outside the window, a family floated on the lake in kayaks. Scout returned to work, examining the two senior classes and running her finger along the names.
“I don’t get it,” said Scout, shaking her head. “There’s nobody named Dawn in either yearbook.”
“Weird. It’s a common name.”
“Not common enough. I’m unsure where to go from here.”
The guest house turned quiet as they mulled over their decisions.
“Let’s go back to Webb-WLHS and find everything we can on her.”
“We scoured the unofficial forum.” Scout slapped her forehead. “Why didn’t I think of it?”
“What?”
Scout typed in a blur as she opened a new search window.
“People who hide behind sock puppet accounts often use the same name elsewhere.”
“So we search the internet for Webb-WLHS.”
“And we figure out who he or she is by following the breadcrumbs.”
Scout scanned the results and stopped on a classified advertisement. LeVar pointed at the first link.
“Is that an advertisement from Wolf Lake?”
“It might be.” Scout opened the link. “Someone sold a snowblower under that user name. But I don’t see an address.” Her eyes hovered over the contact information. “Bingo. There’s a phone number.”
“Scout, it’s a 607 area code. That’s our region.”
As they considered their next move, LeVar tapped his foot impatiently.
“We should call this person.”
“And say what?”
“Duh. That we want to buy the snowblower.” He punched the number into his phone. “I’ll call. I sound more like an adult than you. No offense.”
“None taken, old man.”
He grinned. In his ear, the phone rang. Switching the call to speaker, he set down the phone and waited.
“Hello?”
Scout mouthed, “Is that a woman?”
LeVar shrugged. The pitch was too neutral to determine gender.
“Is this the person selling the snowblower?”
A long pause followed.
“That’s right. Who’s calling?”
“Uh…” Scout slapped his arm to get him talking. “Benton Brickfield.”
Scout dropped her head to her chest.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Brickfield?”
“My snowblower died last winter, and I need something new this year. What’s the horsepower?”
The unknown person read the details over the phone.
“I didn’t notice an address in your listing. I live in Harmon. You close by?”
“The address is 4890 County Line Road.”
LeVar snapped his fingers and gave Scout a thumbs up. This person lived just outside Wolf Lake.
“The snowblower is one-hundred-fifty. Cash only. No checks.”
“That’s fair. When is a good time to pick it up? I can borrow my buddy’s truck next week.”
“How about Monday or Tuesday afternoon?”
“I can make that work, Mrs….”
LeVar drew the word out, prompting the person to give a name.
“Remember. Cash only. If you bring a check or credit card, no sale. See you then, Mr. Brickfield.”
The caller hung up.
A grin formed on Scout’s lips.
“I can’t believe you used the name Benton Brickfield.”
“Shut up. It was the best I could come up with on the spot.”
“And you want to be a private investigator.” She tutted. “You need to think fast under pressure. Are you really gonna drive to County Line Road?”
LeVar leaned back and closed his eyes.
“Naw. We gotta bring the sheriff in on this.”
“Already?”
“We found someone on the forum harassing Paige
