6. Ridley

6

RIDLEY

I dipped my paddle into the glassy lake, sending ripples across the surface. The sun had barely surfaced, sending beams of that pink, reddish light across the landscape, but I’d been up for hours. I’d had the nightmare again.

The same as always. It started out beautiful, a lake not unlike this one, if a little less mountainous. But this specific body of water was the one Avery and I had grown up visiting. We’d be swimming and playing until all of a sudden, Avery was drowning, screaming for my help. But I was stuck in the quicksand of the shallows, never able to get to her. Never able to save her.

It came less often these days, but it made sense as to why it had sprung to life in my subconscious last night. At least it meant I got to see this sunrise. It was my favorite time of day. A time when everything was so still you could fool yourself into thinking nothing bad could ever happen.

Even Tater appreciated the sanctity of sunrise. She perched toward the front of my paddleboard, clad in her life vest, taking in the view. And likely looking for fish.

I switched my paddle, from side to side, in a practiced rhythm, soaking in the gift of it all. The fact that my muscles were strong enough to propel me through the water. That I had a job I loved that afforded me this paddleboard and campsite fee. That I was breathing.

A familiar stabbing pain hit my sternum. But I just grabbed on, holding it close.

“You’re with me, Avs.”

For the first few years after she went missing, I held out hope. That she was out there, still breathing too. But then I started to wonder what exactly I was hoping for. That she was chained up by some madman? Trafficked overseas for drugs or worse?

Some part of me knew she was gone and that the best I could hope for was that she’d found peace. My mom didn’t share that opinion, and I didn’t blame her for it. How could you let go of a daughter without hard proof that she had left this earth? Mom dove headfirst into every rabbit hole. It wasn’t until she nearly drained my parents’ savings account paying for psychics and people who had so-called tips on Avery’s whereabouts that my dad finally put his foot down.

He took Mom off the investment accounts and everything financial but their joint checking. If he hadn’t, I wasn’t sure they’d even have a house to live in anymore. Now, Dad was living with two ghosts, his daughter’s and his wife’s. But then again, I wasn’t sure he was truly living either.

We traded the occasional email, checking in, but he was distant. That distance had come on slowly, so slowly I hadn’t noticed it until one day I realized that talking to him was more like conversing with a coworker than my dad. Maybe it was a self-protection mechanism. A desperate effort so that if anything ever happened to me, he wouldn’t be leveled again.

That was the thing these monsters didn’t realize. They thought they were only ending one life, but it was so many more. The ripple effect of cruel violence that would live on for generations to come, all of us still breathing branded by it.

I turned the paddleboard in a wide circle, pointing us back toward shore. I could’ve stayed out here for hours more, but I’d woken to half a dozen emails from Baker wanting to know if I’d found anything worth covering in this case. The urge to block his email address had been strong.

Covering missing persons cases wasn’t anything new for me. It was just that usually the victims were still gone. More than six hundred thousand people went missing every year in the United States, and while many were found, there were others who stayed gone. Ones who became forgotten by all but their nearest and dearest.

I gave those people a voice. Making sure the world didn’t have any choice but to hear their stories. Each case I covered had a tip line funded by the show. Those tips came to me but then got dispersed to the law enforcement in charge of the case, forcing them to pay attention. Sometimes those offices were grateful for the help. Sometimes they didn’t want to lift a finger they didn’t have to. It didn’t matter, I would keep fighting regardless of their attitudes.

It made sense why Baker was confused about my need to cover this case. While it was still unsolved, the victim was safe, home, whole. But my gut was screaming that this was where a reign of terror had begun. And I had a string of cases to prove it. I just wasn’t ready to let Baker or anyone else in on that yet, not until I had more. I just hoped Emerson would be the one to give it to me.

I leaned my bike against the lamppost next to Cowboy Coffee and locked my chain around it. Pulling off my helmet, I deposited it in my basket and shook out my hair. It was still damp from my post-paddleboarding shower. But I was damn glad I’d installed the shower last year.

It wasn’t exactly a five-star hotel, but the fact that it hooked off the side of my van meant I got a view of the sky while I got clean. But whenever I did spring for a hotel or a short-term rental for a time, I took every bathtub soak I could get.

Grabbing my small bag, I slid it over my shoulder and headed inside. The scent of freshly roasted beans was almost as good as sunrise mountain air. The café was only about one-third full, which meant I’d missed the breakfast rush. There were a couple of teenagers, which told me school was out for the year, a group of women with babies and toddlers, and two men who looked to be in their eighties playing chess at a corner table.

“Back already?” a voice called from behind the register.

I grinned at Ezra as I walked toward him. “I need another hazelnut latte. That thing was downright dangerous.”

“Coffee addiction is my goal.”

“Well, you’ve succeeded. But I’m going to get some breakfast too.”

Ezra nodded. “Want a rec?”

“Always.”

“Breakfast burrito or the cowboy hash. I rotate between the two daily.”

I chuckled. “I’ll do the burrito today and hash tomorrow.”

“You got it. For here or to go?”

“I’ll do here today. Need to get a little work done.”

“I’ll get that in right now. Total is sixteen-fifty.”

I tapped my card to the reader and waited for the beep. “Thanks so much.”

“Anytime,” Ezra said and moved to hand my order to the cook.

Sliding my card back into my wallet, I surveyed my table options. It didn’t take me long to decide. There was one against the window that would allow me to overhear both the group of moms and the two men playing chess. Both had interview potential.

I studied the women as I approached my chosen table. They looked to be anywhere from midtwenties to early thirties, so in the range where they would know Emerson if they were lifelong Shady Cove residents.

The town intro I’d posted to TikTok and Instagram was getting enough attention that my days going under the radar were limited anyway. People had already begun digging into cold cases in the area wondering which one I might pick up. There weren’t many, but my followers had found all the options.

A woman in her midfifties who’d been murdered during a home invasion eight years ago. A hit-and-run that left a man dead five years ago. A string of robberies eleven years ago that resulted in a deputy’s death. A few even thought I might be taking on the opiates ring that was rumored to be running in the area. And, of course, Emerson’s case.

She’d been kidnapped from a local park after tennis practice. A star athlete, she’d always stayed after for an hour or two to hit balls on her own. While waiting for her ride, someone had hit her from behind, knocking her unconscious.

She’d woken up in the back of a covered pickup truck, wrapped in a burlap sack, limbs bound. It wasn’t clear if her abductor thought he’d killed her or if he simply thought she’d be unconscious for longer. Regardless, she managed to get free of her bindings and jump from the moving vehicle.

Emerson had fractured her hip and dislocated her shoulder in the fall but still managed to walk until she found someone from the search party out looking for her. But she never played tennis again. In fact, as far as I could tell from the records I’d found, she’d dropped out of high school altogether.

I didn’t blame her. I couldn’t imagine the kind of fear you lived with having to walk around never knowing when you might come face-to-face with your abductor.

Lowering myself into the chair that gave me the best vantage point of both groups of patrons and the street outside, I dropped my bag onto the seat next to me. It only took a matter of seconds for me to get my notebook and laptop set up.

I’d read any article I could get my hands on. The case had been covered by every news outlet in the area, everyone wondering how this could’ve happened in such a small, safe community. As I’d dug deeper into the troves of Facebook, I’d been able to find out about a handful of people the police had brought in for questioning.

Emerson’s tennis coach, a teacher, a member of the parks and rec maintenance staff. I didn’t have every person’s name, but I was working on putting together the pieces. And I knew with time I could find them all.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, putting the finishing touches on my Open Records request. It likely wouldn’t get me much since the case was still open. But they’d have to give me the basics. Sending it in would mean blowing any sort of cover I had. But I wouldn’t get anywhere without asking the questions I needed to. I couldn’t picture the broody sheriff being thrilled with my nosiness, but he’d just have to get used to it. My fingers hovered over the trackpad mouse for a moment, and then I hit send.

Here we go.

“Breakfast burrito and nectar of the gods,” Ezra said as he slid the plate and coffee onto the table.

“Thank you so much.” I took a small sip of the coffee. “Damn, nectar of the gods is right.”

He chuckled. “Decades of slinging coffee, and I’ve finally got it down.”

It was the perfect opening. That faint buzz lit in my muscles. The kind that always took root when I was starting a case. The type of buzz that reminded me anything could happen. That I might be the one to break a case wide-open. Only this time it was more.

“How long have you owned Cowboy Coffee?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.

Ezra scrubbed a hand over his cheek, the barest hints of reddish scruff there. “Over fifteen years now. Worked here for a decade before I bought it.”

I let out a low whistle. “Coffee’s in your blood by now.”

“It’s definitely baked into me. I still smell it every night when I get home.”

I grinned. “There are a lot worse smells you could carry with you.”

His mouth curved in answer. “True.”

“Can I ask you a question?” That buzz intensified, making my muscles almost vibrate. It was like that feeling of being at the top of a roller coaster, knowing you were about to fall.

Ezra’s expression grew puzzled. “Sure.”

“Did you know Emerson Sinclair?”

I watched as his body language changed, could see as the wave of tension washed over him. Ezra’s jaw tightened and his eyes went hard. The jolly coffee enthusiast was gone, and I knew I’d made a miscalculation on whom to approach first.

Shit.