Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The woman in the car was Misty Reynolds. Official ID had come back just this morning, and Cam had immediately reached out to Misty's sister, Lorraine, to let her know. He'd tried calling David Collins, but it went to an automatic voice message. He would give it some time and try again later.

The old case file, yellowed with age, lay open before him. Cam traced the worn edges of the paper, feeling the weight of nearly two decades pressing down on him. The name "Misty" stood out in bold letters, a ghost from the past demanding his attention.

Misty Collins had disappeared nearly thirty years ago, vanishing in the middle of the day while her husband, Dennis, was at work, and her stepson, David, was at school. No signs of struggle, no items missing from the home, just a typed letter left behind saying "I can't go on like this anymore." And then… nothing. No further communication, no sightings. She had simply vanished.

Cam skimmed the report, the details etched into his mind. Misty's case had been cold almost from the start. Dennis and David had been thoroughly questioned, their alibis solid. Friends and neighbors had been interviewed, but no one had seen anything unusual. The police at the time had chalked it up to a woman overwhelmed by her circumstances, deciding to leave everything behind. But now they knew better.

He leaned back in his chair, glancing at the photo of Misty clipped to the top of the report. She was a beautiful woman, her smile radiant even in the grainy photograph. Cam couldn't shake the feeling that there was a connection between Misty's disappearance and the disturbances Kinley was experiencing.

He flipped through the pages, looking for any detail he might have missed. There had to be something. His eyes landed on the interview with Dennis. He had described Misty as perpetually happy, content with her life as wife and mother. There had been no signs of depression or distress. And yet, the letter...

The letter. Cam's mind raced. It had been typed. That was unusual for a variety of reasons. Most people in emotional distress would write something by hand. The typed letter felt cold, detached. Could someone have forced her to write it? Or worse, could someone have written it for her?

The question remained—why? Something wasn't right, and he was damn well going to figure out what the hell was going on.

He pushed from the chair and strode toward Dare's office. Sawyer was following up on a few leads from Jayla Simms's case—a friend had just returned from vacation, and he wanted to question her about the few weeks leading up to Jayla's disappearance.

Cam paused in the doorway and gave a quick knock before moving forward and dropping into the chair across from Dare. The sheriff barely glanced up from the mound of grant paperwork in front of him. "Anything new on the Gill case?"

"No." Cam barely repressed a growl. "We've checked every damn lead, questioned every single person she came in contact with, but no one knows a damn thing."

Dare's lips turned down in a frown. "Something will turn up; it always does."

Cam drummed his fingers on his desk. Lindsey wasn't the only thing bothering him. "I've been thinking about what Yvonne said the other day—about the Collins family home."

A single dark eyebrow lifted, and Cam leaned forward in his chair. "Maybe there's a connection there."

Dare stared at him for a long moment. "Did you look through the old case file?"

Cam nodded. "Not a damn thing worthwhile in there. They treated her like a runaway."

"She was an adult," Dare pointed out. "Maybe there was something going on between her and Dennis that no one knew about. If he killed her, we're never going to know. He probably took that secret to the grave."

It was possible, but something about the whole situation just didn't sit right with him. There had to be something. "I'd like to go talk with Sheriff Johnson."

Though the man had been returned for half a decade, everyone still used the title out of deference of his dedication to the community.

Dare nodded slowly. "Couldn't hurt. I'll come too."

Giving Sarge a quick pat on the way out, they piled into Dare's SUV and headed to the Johnson place on the outskirts of town. A half hour later they pulled up to a quaint farmhouse, windows glowing cheerily in the fading afternoon light.

Dare cut the engine and glanced at Cam. "Hopefully Sheriff Johnson remembers something useful."

They climbed out of the car and approached the front door. Before Dare could knock, the door swung open. Harold Johnson stood there, his tall frame slightly stooped with age but his eyes sharp and alert.

"Jensen, McCoy," he greeted, stepping aside to let them in. "Come on in. Coffee's on the table."

The inside of the house was cozy, and the scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air. Cam's stomach rumbled, reminding him he'd forgone lunch today, so completely enveloped in Misty's old file.

Dare and Cam followed Johnson to the kitchen, where Edith Johnson greeted them warmly, wrapping them each in a hearty hug. "It's so good to see you both!" Her full cheeks glowed pink with cheer. "Can I get you some coffee?"

"That would be great, ma'am, thank you."

Cam slipped into a seat at the table next to Dare, and soon two steaming cups slid in front of them. Edith disappeared with a little wave and a promise to see them agains soon, then left them to speak with Harold alone.

Sheriff Johnson turned a sharp eye their way. "What brings you boys by?"

Dare got straight to the point. "Thanks for seeing us, Harold. I'm sure you've heard about Misty Collins."

Harold's face tightened, and he gave a slow shake of his head before speaking. "Sure did. She was such a sweet girl. I remember it like it was yesterday."

"Can you tell us what you remember?" Cam asked, leaning forward.

Harold took a sip of his coffee. "Misty was a good soul. Beautiful, friendly. Seemed to have everything going for her. Then one day she just… up and left."

"Dr. Seidel said she sustained wound that appeared to be from a knife or sharp object," Dare said quietly. "From what he can tell, Misty didn't leave—she was murdered."

"I had a bad feeling about that," the Sheriff murmured. "She left a note saying she was leaving town. Nothing suspicious about it on the surface, but something never sat right with me. Dennis was distraught—said it wasn't like her to just up and leave without a word."

Dare nodded. "Where did you find the note?"

"Right there on the kitchen counter," Harold replied. "Said she needed to get away, said not to worry and that she'd be in touch."

"Did you ever get any leads?" Cam asked.

Harold shook his head. "At the time we were treating it as a missing persons. We checked her credit card activity, but it was like she vanished into thin air." He paused. "We even checked with her friends, coworkers… No one remembered anything."

"What about her family?" Dare pressed. "Did they mention anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?"

Harold slowly shook his head. "Everyone seemed to love her. She used to work in the office at the old paper mill, but she quit when she got married. Dennis was sure she wouldn't just leave. He was convinced Misty was taken, but we never found any evidence to support that."

Dare exchanged a glance with Cam. "Anything else you remember? Anything at all?"

Harold leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant. "There was one thing that always bothered me. The note was too... neat. It felt staged, like someone wanted us to believe she just ran away. But I could never prove it."

Dare nodded slowly. "Thanks, Harold. We'll take a look at those files again. Maybe there's something in there we missed."

Harold stood up, moving with surprising agility for his age. "I have some notes from back then, too. I'll get them for you."

As Harold disappeared into another room, Dare turned to Cam. "What do you think?"

Cam frowned. "We know Misty didn't leave on her own. Someone made her disappear—but who?"

"More to the point," Dare said, "why?"

Harold returned with a box of files and set it on the table. "Here you go. Everything I had on Misty Collins."

Dare and Cam thanked the retired sheriff and gathered the files. With a last goodbye to Edith, they headed out into the twilight. Back in the cruiser, Cam flipped through the files. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

Dare was silent as he started the engine, then steered the car toward Brookhaven. "What does your gut tell you?"

A heavy sigh filtered from Cam's mouth. "I think they're connected. I don't know how or why, but…"

"Go through Harold's notes, see if anyone else remembers anything," Dare said firmly. "If there's a connection, we'll find it."

Cam nodded. The past had its secrets, and Cam was determined to bring them to light.