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  “How far north do we have to go before we find like a gas station?”

  “I’m heading for Duluth to see someone,” he said. “Once I’m north of Mercer, I’ll get back on the highway.” As he spoke he reached for both her hands and looped duct tape around her wrists.

  “Not too tight in case I have to throw up again,” she said.

  “Yeah but I’m not taking chances.”

  Beth was quiet as he pulled the Jeep back onto the road. At least she was off the floor and her stomach seemed to be settling down. But her head was throbbing.

  “Are we meeting Wendy?” she asked.

  “Wendy’s history.”

  “I like Wendy.” Beth hoped this was the right thing to say. Make him feel good about his friend.

  “She got old.” He pulled the Jeep to a stop though he left it running and reached back into the wooden box she had seen on the floor. “Got some good stuff here,” he said as he pulled out a small container, shook a powder into one hand, held it to his nose, and sniffed twice.

  “Is that cocaine?” asked Beth.

  “Nope. Oxy—crushed. Want some? Got plenty.”

  “I think I would throw up again. Maybe later?”

  His eyes lightened as he gazed at her. “You might be okay,” he said, sounding pleased.

  Beth checked the digital clock on the dashboard. It was nearly nine o’clock. Her parents must know by now that something was wrong. Gingerly, she touched her head again. The lump felt like it had doubled in size.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  At six o’clock that evening, as the family sat down to dinner at the kitchen table, Mark looked around and, spotting an empty place, asked, “What’s Beth up to this evening? Still on the tennis court?”

  “I have no idea,” said Erin, “and I’m upset with her. She left the house around ten this morning in her tennis clothes and I haven’t heard from her since. No note. No phone call.”

  “Are you serious?” asked Mark. “That isn’t like her.”

  “Mark,” said Erin, “she’s fifteen. Who knows what a fifteen-year-old is thinking.” She shook her head in irritation.

  Midway through the meal, Erin set her fork down and jumped to her feet. “I’m calling Chrissie, see where those girls are. Beth knows she’s grounded and not supposed to be out after seven. Kid is really pushing it.”

  After checking with Beth’s best friend, Erin walked back into the kitchen. “Chrissie hasn’t seen or heard from her. Said she texted her all afternoon and no response. Mark, this doesn’t compute. I’m calling Coach Moore.”

  Another call and Erin returned to the kitchen, took off her apron, and said, “I’m driving up to the tennis courts. He thinks she may have decided to hit with some of the boys from the tennis team.”

  “For six hours?” Mark sounded incredulous. He looked at Mason and Cody, who had been eating quietly. “Guys, do you know where Beth might be?”

  “She hates me. She doesn’t tell me anything,” said Mason, shoving another forkful of chicken and rice into her mouth.

  “Me too. She told me I smell,” said Cody. “Can I have some more milk please, Dad?”

  “Brothers and sisters,” said Erin with disgust as she walked toward the kitchen door. “Ain’t life great. Mark, you coming?” Mark took one more bite of his dinner then wiped his face hurriedly with his napkin and nodded that he wanted to go along.

  Pausing before getting into her SUV, Erin watched her husband open the door on the passenger side. “I’m worried, hon. Too many drugs in this town. I know she swore she wasn’t one of the kids buying weed the other day but they are all too close to the action.”

  “And she’s fifteen,” said Mark with a grim look on his face.

  “And she’s fifteen,” repeated Erin.

  After parking near the tennis complex, Erin and Mark hurried along the walkway to the courts. Only two were busy, both occupied by adults playing doubles. They tried the door to the storage shed where they knew the tennis equipment was stored. The door was unlocked. Stepping inside, they saw a radar gun on the floor lying halfway out of its box.

  “Over here in the corner, Mark. It’s Beth’s backpack, the blue and white one she uses for tennis.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Erin reached into the bag and in a side pocket she found what she had hoped not to find: Beth’s cell phone.

  “I’ve got Chief Ferris’s personal cell number in my phone,” said Erin. “I’m calling unless you think maybe we’re overreacting?”

  “Maybe we are but what the hell,” said Mark. “I don’t like this. She’s never without her phone. She sleeps with the goddamn thing for Christ’s sake.”

  Lew and Osborne settled down for a late dinner on the picnic table outside her little red farmhouse. She lived on a lake too small for fishing boats, too boring for jet skiers, and so far from the lights of Loon Lake that Osborne had grown to treasure his two evenings a week at what he liked to call “Lew’s Place”: hours of peaceful silence, stars, and the warmth of her arms as he slipped off to sleep. Never in his life had he expected to be so lucky.

  Both befuddled by yet another afternoon watching the Youth Fishing Tournament videos with nothing of note happening, they had left the police department early. Bruce was so frustrated he had decided that the spittle found in Chuck Pfeiffer’s hair might be the key to who shot him even though Ray had protested yet again, “Bruce, have you ever noticed how many people spit when they talk without even trying to?” Bruce conceded that might be true but nevertheless he decided to run DNA tests on every single staffer who had worked in or even been near the Pfeiffer booth.

  That made Lew happy as it kept him from bugging her. “I love the man,” she had said, muttering, to Osborne. “I love that of all the Wausau boys I get to work with it’s Bruce, but the guy’s OCD habits can drive me over the edge. Let’s hope it takes him the entire day to get samples from the Pfeiffer public relations staff and video crew.”

  Ray hadn’t been a problem when they came up dry after running the videos the umpteenth time: He went fishing.

  Lew sighed as she set a plate of spaghetti on the table and a bowl of salad on the table. “I have an early conference call with the governor’s office in the morning. They want an update on the Pfeiffer investigation. On top of that, I continue to get nowhere with that Wendy Stevenson. She’s refusing to answer any questions. I tried. Todd tried. She is one stubborn young woman.”

  “No luck reaching that guy she expects to post her bail?”

  “Nope. He must be using a prepaid phone and I have no doubt he’s determined to distance himself on this one.”

  She looked so forlorn Osborne decided to change the subject. “Love your spaghetti sauce, Lew,” he said, scooping up a mouthful.

  “Sauce is from last summer’s tomatoes and the lettuce from this summer’s garden. Pretty good if I say so myself.” She smiled. They had a running joke that Lew never hesitated to compliment her own cooking.

  “Did Ray ever convince Patience to eat fish?” she asked as she ate. “I forgot to ask him this afternoon but he seemed happy.”

  “Apparently she agreed to ‘think about it’ after his argument on talking trees. Also, she does eat shrimp but only because it’s her mother’s favorite dish and she doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. But,” Osborne raised his right index finger to mimic Ray, “she thoroughly enjoyed his wild blueberry pie with ice cream on the side. He told me he was smart enough not to mention that ice cream is made from milk, which comes from cows and cows have emotional issues, too.”

  He was still grinning when Lew’s cell phone rang. “It’s Erin,” she said, looking at the screen. “Maybe she’s looking for you for some reason?” Lew listened then said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, Erin, but you may want to wait a few hours. This sounds too much like she may have run off. Trust me, she’ll be back. I remember when my daughter—”

  Lew listened again, her eyes darkening before locking on Osborne’s. “I’ll m
eet you and Mark at the station in fifteen minutes. Stay off your phones in case she tries to call.”

  Clicking off her phone and standing up from the table, Lew said in an even tone, “Doc, Beth is missing. She’s been gone since this morning and they have found her phone and her backpack with all her things in it.”

  Osborne refused to hear what he heard. No. No. No. He sat stone still, fork poised. Beth? His beautiful Beth? The granddaughter whose face and eyes and cheekbones were identical to those of the mother he last saw at age six? How could he bear this?

  “Help me carry the dishes inside,” said Lew, watching him with worried eyes. “Just leave everything on the counter. We’re meeting Erin and Mark at the station. I have to get out an APB as soon as possible.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Beth didn’t know until her head bumped on the car door that she had dozed off. Waking, she became aware that the Jeep was parked somewhere with the motor running. Carefully she raised her throbbing head and tried to look around. Bertrand wasn’t in the car but it was parked near a neon sign blazing The Wolf Den. She wondered how long they had been there. Glancing down at the clock on the dashboard she could see it was after midnight.

  She twisted to get a better look past the steering wheel at the gas gauge. The gauge was so low they would have to stop for gas soon. Pulling and twisting her wrists, she felt the duct tape loosening. After a few more twists and tugs, the tape was loose enough for her to slip one hand out.

  Peering through the darkness around the tavern and under the neon sign, she could see they were out in the country somewhere. Relieved that they were off the logging road and back on a highway, she wondered if this was the time to run. No, not good, she told herself. If the people inside the bar know Bertrand, they might help him, not her. Since she had no idea where she was, running through the woods in the dark might be dangerous. No, she needed a well-lit place with people, people who would hear her screams and help her. Knowing Bertrand was low on gas made her hopeful.

  Beth slipped her hand back into the duct tape noose: She had a plan. Play along until . . .

  The car door opened and Bertrand climbed in. He was carrying a small Ziploc baggie, which he tucked into the wooden box. “Hah,” he said, “a buddy of mine just gave me some really good Oxy he got from Canada. Really good. He says anyway, but he was lookin’ happy.”

  Putting the Jeep in reverse and backing out of the parking lot, he said, “Gotta get some gas down the road here. Get you some ice there, too. Soon as you feel better, we’ll have fun. Promise.” He winked.

  “Thank you,” whispered Beth. He patted her knee. She felt her insides curdle. She made up her mind to never ever let something like this happen to her again.

  Half an hour later, he pulled the Jeep into the first convenience store with gas pumps that had lights on. Beth waited, watching as he walked in and appeared to prepay for the gas. She thought about making her move but the area around the gas pumps was so well lit that Bertrand would be sure to see her. Her indecision made her feel like crying.

  Bertrand came out of the store with a paper sack and opened the passenger car door. “Here, babe,” he said. He handed her a bag of ice. It felt like it weighed five pounds and was bulky and wet but she was happy to have it. She pressed it against the side of her head and watched while her jailer filled the car with gas.

  Getting in, he set the paper sack behind his seat before reaching for the Ziploc he had stashed in the wooden box. Holding the Ziploc in his left hand, he drove the Jeep back onto the highway for a short distance until they reached a clearing along the road. Pulling over, he killed the engine, reached for a can of beer from the paper sack behind him, then slid his seat back and opened the Ziploc. He grinned over at Beth as he maneuvered a small funnel into the neck of a nasal-spray bottle and shook some of the powder into the funnel. After screwing the top back on to the bottle, he held it to his nose and snorted twice. Happy, he exhaled and relaxed back into the driver’s seat.

  He thrust the nasal-spray bottle toward her but she shook her head. “C’mon, babe,” he said, “time for fun.”

  He grinned broadly and she was appalled to see two of his lower teeth were missing. Worse, the grin reminded her that all she was wearing were snug tennis shorts and a short-sleeved, tight-fitting athletic shirt. She knew her clothes were splattered with vomit but she doubted that would stop him. Oh, God, what a creep, she thought. But she knew as she shivered she would do anything to stay alive.

  “Give me one more hour,” she said, trying to sound encouraging. “This ice is working.”

  “Ah-h-h,” he closed his eyes for a brief moment before sitting up so fast, Beth yelped in surprise. “Oh, sorry babe. Want to show you something . . . check this baby out.”

  He held out a small revolver. It had an ivory-colored grip that caught the soft light streaming in from the moon and stars. “Ain’t she pretty?”

  “Isn’t that a ladies’ purse gun?”

  “Yep. Might be a ladies’ gun but fits great in my pocket. Does what it needs to do, too.” He turned the gun over in his hands and faked aiming it out the windshield.

  “Nice. Where’d you get it?”

  “Wendy. A parting gift you might say. I’ll teach you how to shoot it.”

  “You don’t have to. I know how. My grandpa taught me to shoot a twenty-two pistol. I’m good, too.” Beth was determined to keep him talking about something other than her.

  “You’re okay, you know,” he said looking at her, his eyes glassier than they had seemed in the daylight. Tipping his head back against the headrest, his arm went slack and he let the gun fall into his lap. In the silence she heard him take a series of short, shallow breaths. His mouth fell open. She waited, expecting him to wake up with a start just as he had before. The minutes ticked by.

  Cautiously she pulled one hand out from the duct tape. She felt for the door handle and clicked it down as she whispered, “Be right back. I have to see a man about a horse.” No response.

  She stepped out of the car and walked around to the driver’s side where she opened the door to lean over him. The eyes were slightly open, no breathing. Her fear fell away.

  Pete Bertrand was having fun somewhere far beyond the road to Duluth. Fun forever.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Slumped in the armchairs surrounding the coffee table at one end of Lew’s office were Osborne, Erin, and Mark. Arms crossed, Lew sat across from them. It was after midnight.

  “I know my kids weren’t getting along,” said Erin, “but we’re like any family that has a teenager, soon-to-be teenager, and a pesky little brother.” She was repeating herself for the umpteenth time as she searched for a reason for Beth to run away. She wanted her daughter to have run away. That was so much better than . . .

  Mark reached for her hand. “Honey, you’ve said that. And we know she hasn’t been fighting with any of her girlfriends.”

  “What about that boy who was trying to buy the marijuana?” asked Osborne. “The one who got her in all the trouble.”

  “If you mean Kevin, Dad, forget it,” said Erin in a voice verging on tears. “She got herself in that trouble. Don’t blame her friends.”

  Lew walked over to her desk and picked up her phone to check with Dispatch. “No news, folks. Sorry.”

  Osborne did not like the sound of that: The APB had gone out before seven that night. Five hours ago. Problem was, he knew, they had no description of a car or a driver for whom to look. All that Lew had been able to offer law enforcement patrols across a three-state region was the fact that a tall, slim girl in her early teens wearing dark green tennis shorts and a white tennis T-shirt was missing. It was an impossible search.

  Osborne got to his feet. “I’m driving out to the house to check on the dog. Call me if there’s any change. I’ll be back in forty-five minutes.”

  “Take your time, Dad,” said Erin sounding despondent. “We’ll be here.”

  “Doc,” said Lew, stopping him in th
e doorway and resting one hand on his arm, “my gut feeling is things will work out all right. Beth is a smart girl.”

  “Lewellyn, I wish to hell I shared that feeling but—” Osborne couldn’t finish his sentence. Feet filled with lead, he shuffled his way down the long hallway, out the entrance where Janine on Dispatch was sitting off to the right staring at her computer screen, and through the door to the parking lot. The fresh air helped a little.

  Starting down the stone stairway to the lake, Osborne stopped halfway down to sit on the stone bench at the first landing. Ten years ago, when Beth was only five, the two of them would cuddle here on summer evenings and he would read to her from The Wind in the Willows. What would he give to have those moments back?

  Moonlight glimmered on the gentle ripples flowing toward shore. Behind him was a muted chorus from oak and aspen, from maple and birch, as the trees rustled uneasily.

  Resting his elbows on his knees, Osborne peered through the towering red pines guarding the shoreline like sentinels. His entire life those pines had confounded him: leaning into the wind, refusing to be beaten back, to be intimidated. If only he could harness their courage.

  He must have sat there a good half-hour before getting into his car and returning to town. Back in Lew’s office, he found his family tense and tired and refusing to leave even as dawn seemed inevitable and disappointing.

  It was three thirty when the phone on Lew’s desk rang and Janine on Dispatch demanded Lew put her on speakerphone: “She’s safe,” cried Janine. “I’m patching you through to a deputy sheriff up near Superior.”

  Everyone jumped to their feet and crowded around Lew’s desk.

  “We have a young person here who would like to speak with you,” said the deputy on the line. He turned the phone over to a familiar voice. “Mom? Dad?”

  “We’re here, sweetheart. Are you okay?” asked Erin. Osborne held his breath.

  “I am. I got a sore head and a big bump. I might have a concussion but that’s all. I’m okay.”