twenty-one

“Were you following me?” I say as I walk around the building to where Jude waits.

“Yeah.”

I expected a denial. I should have known better. This guy doesn’t see the need to lie, maybe because he’s grown up in a life where he doesn’t have to. The privilege of privilege.

He continues, “I saw you go into the library. I walked by the window and noticed you were on the computer. I figured I’d give you time to look up whatever you needed to look up. I had a good idea what it was. And I was right.”

There’s a slight smugness there, as if I should be impressed that he guessed.

“You could have just told me who you are,” I said.

“What fun would that be?” There’s a soft drawl to the words, as if he’s teasing, but there’s no sign of it in his face. “Anyway, now you know. Make sense? Why I’m not running to the cops with this?”

“I don’t care. That’s where I’m going. I happen to think your brother’s life is more important than avoiding embarrassing your father.”

“Embarrassing my father is the absolute least of my concerns. The point is that the minute you say his name, they will involve him, and my mother will squelch the investigation because she’ll figure this is just Lennon doing something stupid, which Lennon has been known to do. That’s not going to help your friend. Or my brother.”

“And what exactly would you suggest we do?”

“Look for them ourselves.”

I laugh. When his expression doesn’t change, I say, “You are joking, right?” I wave toward the mountains. “Do you have any idea how much land is out there? It’s not like we’ve misplaced them in a city park.”

“I mean track the clues. Figure out what happened to Edie.”

“So after graduating from high school, you got a PI license.”

“I didn’t.”

“I was being sarcastic. I know you don’t have a PI license.”

“I mean that I didn’t graduate high school. I dropped out in my last year.” He turns and starts walking. “Let’s find a place to talk.”

He gets about twenty feet away before he realizes I’m not following. When he turns and sees me with my arms crossed, he gives a soft sigh. I’m being difficult again, and he can’t quite comprehend why, but he’s being very patient with me.

“You dropped out in your final year?” I say. “The guy who won every freaking academic award your school offers?”

“Not math. Lennon won that. And he tied me in biology, though he should have beat me there, too.”

“Yet you dropped out?”

He shrugs. “Things came up.”

Earlier, I called him Lennon’s crazy brother. Now I’m wondering if Jude really does have a problem, something that made a star student suddenly decide school just wasn’t all that important. Either way, Edie’s disappearance isn’t something I can handle on my own, and while I don’t trust the local police to do a significantly better job, it’s time to notify them. When I say as much, Jude says, “I’m going to ask you, again, not to do that, Winter.”

I take a slow step back and he pauses, frowning slightly.

“If you think you’re going to stop me…,” I begin.

“Stop you?” He rolls the words, as if not understanding them. Then his gaze drops to my hand, which is reaching into my pocket for my knife, and his brows arch. “What do you think I’m going to do? Tackle you?”

“Hold me hostage, maybe?”

Again, I get that faintly put-upon sigh. “I already explained that. When I say I’m asking you not to go to the police, that’s exactly what I mean. If I wanted to threaten you, I would. I’m asking.”

“And I’m refusing.”

“Can we discuss it?”

“No.”

He shrugs, says, “Do what you have to do,” and walks off.

I stop at the sheriff’s department and ask to speak to Sheriff Slate himself. I get stuck with his son, Deputy Slate. When I finish explaining, he leans back in his chair and says, “So Edie Greene—a girl from the hills—has been hooking up with a governor’s son.”

“Congressman,” I say.

“I know you’re supposed to be smart, Winter,” the deputy says, “but I always say, book learning is one thing, common sense is another. Making up stories about a governor’s son—”

“—would be stupid. Same as making them up about a congressman’s.”

His face screws up, as if he’s wondering why I’m bringing a congressman into this.

“Lennon Bishop is Congressman Bishop’s son,” I say. “Lennon came to help Edie after she called him in trouble. Ask Mrs. Reid. She saw Lennon with me.”

“Mrs. Reid can’t see her hand in front of her face.”

“Lennon Bishop was here.”

“And now he’s not. Meaning I can’t interview him. That’s convenient.”

“Because he’s missing. Which is not convenient at all for either him or Edie.”

His eyes narrow. “Don’t you take a tone with me, missy. I remember what you did to Colton.”

“I didn’t do anything—”

“You think you’re too good for us. Decided your poor sister was too good for Colt, and look what happened.”

I pause to calm my pounding heart. “I want to talk about Edie.”

“If Edie Greene is not answering her phone, it’s ’cause that whole story about getting into some fashion school is such bullshit everyone can smell it a mile away. What’s a girl like that gonna do in fashion? Make designer coonskin hats?”

“I called the school. She is enrolled. But she’s not there. She said she was leaving early to come home for the long weekend. And now she’s missing.”

“Which only means she decided not to come back, and she’s avoiding your calls. You’re worried about her, so you think if you make up some story about a governor’s son, by gosh, I’ll pay attention then, ’cause I’m just a hick deputy.”

“His brother—” I stop as I realize what I’m saying. Too late. I push on. “His older brother, Jude, is here in town. I can bring him in to talk to you.”

“His brother’s here and hasn’t reported the disappearance himself?”

“He—”

“A governor’s son is missing and the governor hasn’t reported it himself?”

“Peter Bishop is a congressman. Which—”

“Which doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. He’s still a big shot politician who’d be raising Cain if his boy disappeared. You want me to even consider this story of yours? Bring that boy to me.”