Chương 4
On the nightstand lay Thomas’s paperback mystery novel, face down despite his lifelong insistence that bending a book’s spine was a sign of failed character.
A triangle had been folded into the corner of page 212.
Harper opened it.
One sentence had been underlined in pencil.
The locked room was never locked from the inside.
She checked the book’s front pages. It belonged to the public library.
Her father did not write in library books.
A sound came from the hall.
Harper turned quickly.
Mason stood in the doorway.
“Deputies are coming.”
She showed him the book.
He looked at the underlined sentence. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“You always know.”
“No. I usually wait longer before saying I don’t.”
He entered the room and looked at the empty side of the bed.
For a moment his anger slipped.
“He’s been forgetting things,” Mason said.
“How much?”
“Names sometimes. Appointments. He put cereal in the refrigerator last week.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did.”
“No.”
“I left you a voicemail in March.”
“You said he was getting older.”
“What wording would have made you come?”
Harper closed the book.
Mason’s voice stayed low. “I’m serious. Give me the sentence. Tell me the combination of words that gets Harper Reed on a plane before there’s blood on the floor.”
“There’s no blood.”
“Not yet.”
She looked at him.
He stepped closer, his eyes bright but dry.
“Mom died on a Tuesday. You came Thursday afternoon. You stood through the service like you were watching somebody else’s family, then left before people finished eating. Dad had to ask me whether you’d said goodbye because he couldn’t remember.”
“I said goodbye.”
“To him?”
“Yes.”
“Did he hear you?”
Harper’s jaw tightened.
Mason laughed once without humor. “Right.”
Maddox appeared behind him. “Deputies just pulled onto the street.”
Mason turned away.
Harper placed the library book on the bed.
The first deputy entered with one hand near his holster and rain shining on his shoulders. He was in his late forties, broad through the middle, with the cautious politeness of a man who had walked into too many family arguments and learned that everyone believed theirs was unique.
His nameplate read HOLLIS.
A younger deputy followed, carrying a tablet and a camera.
Mason did most of the talking.
Thomas Reed, seventy-one. History of minor stroke. No current diagnosis affecting cognition. Last seen by Mason at approximately seven that evening. Harper had arrived in town that night. The threatening photograph had been delivered at a bar.
Hollis looked at Harper. “Delivered how?”
“It was inside my jacket.”
“You know who put it there?”
“No.”
“You leave the jacket unattended?”
“For less than a minute near the restroom.”
“Crowded place?”
“Yes.”
“And this photograph shows your father sleeping?”
Harper handed him the envelope.
Hollis studied the image. His expression changed when he read the message.
“What does this mean?”
“We don’t know.”
Mason looked at Harper.
She ignored him.
Hollis looked between them. “You have any reason to believe the message is connected to your work?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of work?”
“Private security.”
The younger deputy glanced at the Vantage logo.
Hollis said, “Current or former?”
“Former.”
“What did you do for them?”
“Risk assessment.”
Mason made a small sound.
Hollis heard it. “Something funny?”
“No, sir.”
Harper met the deputy’s eyes. “Some details of my previous employment are restricted. I’ll answer what I can.”
“Restricted by who?”
“Federal contracts.”
Hollis took a slow breath through his nose. “Ms. Reed, your father is missing, somebody photographed him through a bedroom window, and there’s a note that sounds like it was written by a person who enjoys making police reports complicated. I don’t need your résumé. I need to know whether armed people might be involved.”
“Yes.”
“Is your father armed?”
“A revolver in the closet lockbox.”
Mason looked surprised. “He still has that?”
Hollis sent the younger deputy to check.
“Anybody else in the house own weapons?”
“No,” Mason said.
“Yes,” Harper said at the same time.
Mason turned.
Harper continued. “There’s a twelve-gauge shotgun in a locked case in the garage rafters. It belonged to our grandfather.”
“You knew about that?”
“Dad showed me when I was seventeen.”
“He never showed me.”
“You were eleven.”
“That was seventeen years ago.”
Hollis raised one hand. “Save it.”
The younger deputy returned.
“Revolver’s gone. Lockbox isn’t damaged.”
Mason’s face shifted.
Hollis looked at Harper. “Your father take it when he goes out?”
“No.”
“Could he have taken it tonight?”
“Yes.”
“That make you think he left voluntarily?”
“It makes me think whoever removed him wanted the house to suggest that.”
Mason shook his head. “Or Dad took his gun because someone scared him.”
Hollis asked, “Any vehicles missing?”
“His truck,” Mason said.
Harper looked toward the driveway. “Where was it last seen?”
Mason frowned. “Here.”
“By you?”
“I came by after work.”
“What time?”
“Seven.”
“Did you see Dad?”
“I just said I did.”
“Did you see the truck?”
“Yes.”
“Parked which direction?”
Mason stared at her.
“The direction matters.”
“Facing the street.”
Thomas always backed into the driveway. He claimed it saved time during emergencies, though the greatest emergency he had faced there in twenty years was a leaking water heater.
Harper walked to the front window.
Tire tracks marked the wet concrete. The truck had pulled straight out. No correction. No backing.
Someone else had parked it.
Hollis joined her. She showed him.
He nodded once. “We’ll put out the vehicle information.”
“Who has access to the alert?”
“Every agency in the region once it’s entered.”
Harper looked at him.
He did not appreciate the look.
“You worried somebody in law enforcement is involved?”
“I’m worried information travels.”
“It does. That’s generally the point.”
The prepaid phone vibrated.
Everyone looked toward Harper’s jacket.
Hollis held out his hand. “Give me that.”
Harper removed the phone but did not pass it over.
The message read:
POLICE WERE NOT INVITED.
May you like
The countdown vanished.
A live image replaced it.
