“Sheriff Tyler’s talking with the paper. Should be back any minute,” Deputy Rich said, and Tom slammed his cup to the desk.
“I’ve had enough of this. Tell him to call me when he’s in,” Tom said, leaving the station. A bewildered middle-aged woman named Shirley sat behind a desk near the entrance, the desk phone ringing as he neared her.
“Sheriff’s office,” she said, her voice throaty from years of smoking, Tom guessed. “I’ll see if he’s in.” The woman’s curly hair swayed as she lurched her head backwards. “Rich! Where’s the sheriff?”
Tom answered for the deputy, keeping his voice at a normal level and cadence. “He’s not here. What’s the call regarding?”
Tom didn’t want them to think he was overstepping any jurisdiction, but he’d been sent on this case as a favor. He’d much rather be in his own office at Gilden a town over, where time hadn’t been forgotten, and things like desk phones were a distant memory.
Shirley eyed him up and down, and he stepped back, feeling uncomfortable under the assessment. “Someone found a shoe. They think it could be related to the case,” she said after a moment of internal deliberating. They always came around. Tom knew enough about the town to know they were scared of something. The small department considered him as a possible threat and a potential savior. If he could solve the missing girl’s case, then everyone could stop their whispered tales of the local bogeyman.
Tom didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the phone from her hand, scratching himself on one of her gaudy oversized rings. “Detective Bartlett. Tell me what you found.”
A man’s voice carried over the handset. “I was walking my dog, Ruby. She likes the forest. Lots of good smells this time of year, you know? As I was saying, I was walking Ruby, and after a mile or two, we headed back. I’m seventy-four, and I get tired, you see.”
Tom was tapping his index finger on the wooden desktop, and he was propped on the edge of it, his leg dangling down the side. Shirley was leaning in, like she wanted to hear the conversation. Tom turned from her. “Go on. Then you saw something?”
“A shoe. Right there in the mud. Ruby found it, actually. Sniffed it right up. I thought it was strange and remembered hearing about the Tremblay girl. She lives a couple blocks from me. Has us all scared. Margie won’t leave the house, but I told her they usually take kids, not old ladies.”
Tom’s heart raced in his chest. A shoe was good evidence. He’d moved to Gilden two years ago, a transfer from Chicago. At the time, he started to hear rumors of Red Creek, and all of the disappearing kids over the years. He’d done some digging and found they accused one Katherine Smith and her grandfather, Conway Smith, for the murders. There was a whole big excavation at an orchard to prove it, but something about it didn’t sit right with Tom. Then he heard the rumors being whispered around his ears, and those he believed even less, if that was possible.
“Where is it? Did you leave the shoe?” Tom was worried the old man would have compromised the scene, but after a day of rain and a dog slobbering around it, he doubted there would be much use even if it was intact.
“I left it and went straight home and called the sheriff’s office. I can show you where it is,” the man said.
“Good. Good. Let me take your name and address, and I’ll be right over.” Tom grabbed a pad of paper and a pen, and jotted the name Bob on the sheet, giving Shirley a grim grin.
He hung up and turned for the door. “Tell the sheriff to call me.”
His unmarked Chevy waited for him at the end of the parking lot, and he glanced up at the sky, hoping the dark clouds were only there for show today. Any more rain and the minor amount of tracking he’d been hoping for would be wiped away.
Tom drove from the sheriff’s office and noticed the string of empty businesses on the side street. Three out of seven were empty, For Lease signs by the same realtor splattered around the entire block. Only the auto repair shop looked open at this early hour; half a dozen old trucks and cars were parked to the side of it.
Tom hadn’t spent much time in Red Creek since moving the sixteen miles away to Gilden. Never much of a reason to come here.
He turned on Main and saw the sole thriving business in the entire town: Chuck’s. He’d never eaten there but suspected he’d be there a lot while the investigation was ongoing. His stomach grumbled at the thought of something more than the piece of toast he’d demolished before making the half-hour commute.
He kept driving, light raindrops finally breaking free from the bloated clouds above, eventually making his way to Wood Street. He slowed as he passed the missing girl’s house. It was clearly built in the seventies, the roof in desperate need of new shingles, the shutters’ green paint peeling after years of exposure to upstate New York weather.
A light was on in the living room, and a dark form moved behind thin curtains. He still needed to talk with the family, because the interview Tyler and his deputy had done was half-assed at best. No wonder they’d called in a real detective. They weren’t built for this kind of case.
He found Bob’s house easily. As stated, his was the one with a wide assortment of garden gnomes. Tom parked the car, and the old man stepped out from his front door, standing
