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.She could be in a small town anywhere in the south—the early September heat, the trees, the sense of day ending and evening—for families—beginning.The quiet street, lined with oaks whose gnarled roots bumped up the sidewalk, embodied the charm and beauty of the old south.She started walking again.Only time would tell what course she should take.But the problem with hindsight was that it only pointed out that no choice was without penalty, no action without consequence.J.D.sat at his desk, a sense of impending doom weighing him down.First he’d been visited by Robert Medino.That conversation stuck in his craw, but he’d attributed it to a simple dislike of a smartass—until he’d gotten a phone call an hour ago from Beth Salter.She’d been out of control, demanding that he form a search party for her daughter Angie and another teen, Trisha Webster.The two girls had left school in the morning and hadn’t been seen or heard from since.Angie had a record as a runaway, but Trisha, from all accounts, was a quiet, well-behaved girl.From his window he could see the Chickasaw County board of education building.He watched Dixon Sinclair’s conversation with Big Jim and knew trouble was brewing there.He’d made it his business to learn about Dixon, and what he’d discovered was that she wouldn’t be intimidated by the good ole boys who ran Chickasaw County.She had a reputation as a drunk, but he hadn’t seen any signs of it.Her eyes had been clear, her questions sharp.Dixon was a harbinger of change.He felt it in his bones.He made another call to the Webster house, and Trisha’s mother answered.“I don’t want to speak poorly of anyone, but I believe Angie is a bad influence on Trish.My daughter would never skip school unless she got talked into it.I feel sorry for Angie.She’s a lost child, but I don’t want her taking Trish down that road with her.”“You still haven’t heard from your daughter?” J.B.asked, his sense of trouble deepening.“Not a word.When she does get home, she’s going to be grounded for the rest of the year.Are you organizing a search party?”“Let’s give them a little bit longer to show up,” he said.He replaced the phone, thinking about the treacherous current of the river, especially at Fitler where the two rivers joined.He looked up when Tucker Barnes walked into his office.Tucker looked as if he were fourteen, but behind the John Lennon glasses was a quick mind.“Sheriff, have you had a report on some missing girls?”“We don’t have an official report yet.Mrs.Salter called and said Angie didn’t come home from school.” He hesitated, then continued.“Mrs.Webster hasn’t seen them, either.” Perhaps that would prevent the reporter from calling and upsetting Mrs.Webster further.“So far, they aren’t considered missing, just late.”“Are you launching a search?” Tucker asked.J.D.considered.“It’s just getting dark.I hope the girls show up before bedtime.” He didn’t tell Tucker about Angle’s record as a troubled teen.“If they don’t come home, what’ll you do?”“Let’s not get the cart before the horse,” he said.“I got some photographs of the girls from the school annual,” Tucker said.He pulled two small photos from his pocket.“Is this Angie Salter?” he held out one photo.J.D.looked at the image of the girl.She had on make-up so heavy she looked twenty-one instead of fifteen.“That’s her.”“And this is Trisha Webster?”The girl was timid.He could see it in the way her gaze didn’t quite make it to the camera.Her brown hair was thick.She had the look of a follower.“That’s the Webster girl.” He hesitated.“If you play this story up, those girls are going to have to live with it when they come home.”“If they come home,” Tucker said.“Folks are saying they might have drowned in the river.”“Folks aren’t the most reliable source, Mr.Barnes.I hope you keep that in mind.”His office door opened again, and Vivian Holbert stood in the doorway, looking annoyed at Tucker.“Sorry, Sheriff Horton.I didn’t realize you had someone in here.”“Mr.Barnes was just leaving, Vivian.Is there something I can do for you?”She entered, her pale face pink from exposure to the sun.“I want to speak to you alone.”J.D.nodded at Tucker.“I have to get back to the paper,” Tucker said, closing the door behind him.J.D.turned his attention to Vivian.He knew more about the Holberts than he cared to know.Vivian and Calvin’s daughter, Camille, lived on the river with Eustace Mills, a fisherman and retired bootlegger who was nearly forty years her senior.Calvin had repeatedly tried to force J.D.to go to the river and physically remove Camille.J.D.had consistently refused, pointing out that Camille was a grown woman and could live with whomever she chose.Such logic cut no ice with Calvin.Now, here was Vivian, ready to launch a fresh assault when he had two missing girls to worry about.“I was over at the board of education.” She paused, her pale green eyes steady.“I heard that two girls are missing.I was there when Beth Salter showed up.She made an ass of herself, trying to blame the school because her daughter cut class.She says she’s going to sue.”J.D.was silent.In his dealings with Vivian, he’d learned to neither confirm nor deny.“I think Eustace did it.I think he took those girls and hurt them.” She lifted her chin, daring him to deny it.“Vivian, there’s no indication that anyone took those girls.I believe they’re just working out a wild hair.They’ll be back by suppertime.”“And if they aren’t?” Her tone was cool.“That man is a deviant.I will never understand why you protect him.He has my daughter, and Camille may be twenty-three, but she isn’t capable of making that kind of decision [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]