I started the car and bolted out of the parking lot. I raced toward the campground, zipping past the speed limit, not caring.
At the entrance to the campground, I slowed and drove between the posts supporting the sign which welcomed campers and provided arrows pointing toward Hideaway Beach. I followed the narrow road to the cabin that housed the main office. Jerry’s red Volkswagen bus was not in its usual spot. The sign in the office window was flipped to the closed side.
I parked and went up onto the porch. I pressed the side of my hand against the glass to block the glare from the sun going down over the water. The room was empty, the chair pushed up to the desk, the counter swept clean.
I stepped back and looked around me. There were a few small trailers nearby, but the towing vehicles weren’t parked beside them, suggesting they were not occupied. Four tents sat closer to the water. Only one had a vehicle parked in the space beside the campsite.
Walking so quickly I was almost running, I hurried to the one tent that gave me hope. Although it was getting close to dinner time, I supposed a lot of campers were still hanging out on the beach. It wasn’t hot, but the air was warm, laced with that soft feeling it gets on unseasonably warm days.
It felt awkward walking up to someone’s tent. It’s not like there was a place to knock or a bell to ring. I didn’t want to just rip open the zipper and stick my head inside. I stood a few feet from the dark blue-domed structure, trying to be quiet so I could hear if anyone were moving about inside, but at the same time, trying not to be too quiet for fear I would look like a stalker myself if someone suddenly emerged.
“Hey! Anyone in there?” I called out. “I don’t mean to startle you. I’m looking for Jerry Briggs…the campground manager.”
There was a grunting sound as if someone was waking up from a nap. It was definitely a male grunt. Suddenly I realized that Dave, who didn’t live on Liars Island, could very well be inside that tent. The odds were against it, but the thought both thrilled and frightened me. Thrilled me because, despite everything, I desperately wanted to talk to the guy and terrified me because of what he’d done the night before.
I took several steps back, looking over my shoulder to see if any beachgoers were on the strip of sand directly in front of this campsite. The beach was deserted.
“What did you say?” The voice sounded half asleep, tired still. He didn’t sound welcoming.
“I’m looking for Jerry Briggs. Have you seen him?”
I watched the zipper on the tent door rise along its track, metal teeth letting go of their hold on each other. The sound was so sudden, and the zipper moved so fast, it sounded like those metal teeth were tearing into something edible. I took several more steps back, glancing over my shoulder again, blindly hoping for a witness.
A man wearing a black T-shirt and cargo shorts ducked out through the opening in the side of the tent. His dark hair stood up in spots, and his beard was tangled. Not the stalker. I felt my shoulders sink back into alignment.
“What do you want?” he growled.
“Looking for the camp manager—Jerry.”
“Haven’t seen him. I’m not too thrilled you woke me for this.”
“Sorry. I didn’t realize you’d be—”
“If someone is inside a tent in the middle of the day, they’re either sleeping or…” He laughed. “But I guess you didn’t hear that, so you were fine with disturbing me.”
“Sorry. Jerry hasn’t responded to my messages, the office is locked up, and I’m getting concerned.”
“You his wife?”
I shook my head. “Girlfriend.” I immediately wished I hadn’t said it. If this guy had seen Jerry at all that day, he might be less inclined to offer the details now that he knew he was talking to a girlfriend. The man code of silence or whatever.
“Well, I saw him when I checked in two days ago, haven’t seen him since.” He turned and ducked back inside his tent.
I wanted to call after him, tell him to wait, but all I was doing was grasping at fruitless hope. He said he hadn’t seen Jerry. Even if it were a lie, calling him back out wouldn’t force him to tell the truth. Doubling down on your questions is not how you get someone to stop lying. In fact, I had no idea how to get someone to stop lying. For some people, there has to be a self-serving reason to tell the truth.
So far, I’d never seen Jerry as one of those people who shaped the truth to fit what he wanted. He wasn’t worried about what anyone thought, and he didn’t play games. He didn’t feel the need to be in control. So there was no reason for him to lie. And maybe that’s why I didn’t know where he was. He didn’t want me to know and didn’t want to lie about it.
There was nothing left to do but wait. I vowed I would not send him another text message. No matter what. Even if I never heard from him again.
Chapter 17
As I walked back to my car, I tried to decide whether I should report Jerry missing. For some reason, it now seemed like an invasion of his privacy to do that. He’d told me he was hanging out with a friend, so he hadn’t exactly been missing the night before, just missing from my cell phone. I needed to quell my growing paranoia and give him some space. What was wrong with
