After making calls and getting some estimates, he drove back into town and had a late lunch at the drive-up. The afternoon stretched ahead of him, with time to kill before picking David up at seven o’clock. Emma was working, and he had no reason to drive back to the cabin. But he hadn’t spoken to Traverton lately. Something had finally compelled the detective to call the state troopers, send the photos, and recommend a search. Before he returned to the site tomorrow, John needed to know what it was.
He caught Traverton in the parking lot, coming back from lunch. The detective greeted John affably. “I was glad to hear you’d been rescued,” he said. “Just goes to show you can’t keep a good man down. Come on in. I had a feeling you’d be showing up today.”
John followed him into his office. “I talked to Packard,” he said. “I’ll be going with the search team tomorrow.”
“I know. Packard called me after you left him. He’s grateful that you’ll be there to guide the team.”
“So what made you finally call them?” John asked.
“Come around by the computer, and I’ll show you,” Traverton said. “Remember when I told you I was going to search the missing persons database? Take a look at what I found.”
He brought up a screen with a school-type photo of a woman. “I sent this to Packard,” he said. “But I asked him not to show it to you. I wanted to see your face when you recognized it.”
John read the text below the photo:
Bethany Ann Proctor, teacher, 39. Reported missing from Boise, Idaho, June 16, 2017.
John studied the woman in the picture—dark hair drawn back from a pale, narrow face, little or no makeup, as if she’d long since given up trying to look attractive. But her mouth was smiling, and her gentle brown eyes were magnified by her thick-lensed glasses—the same glasses John had discovered at the trailer site. A tiny gold locket, the old-fashioned kind that opened, hung around her neck on a chain so thin it was barely visible.
She looked like a good woman, a kind woman. “I hope you haven’t shown this to Philpot,” John said. “Anything he learns will go straight to Boone.”
“I know better than that,” Traverton said. “We’re going to keep quiet about this, at least until the team has searched the site. If Boone’s guilty of a crime, we don’t want to spook him.”
“If Bethany Ann is out there, we’ll find her.” John was surprised at the surge of emotion when he spoke. Before, he’d only been interested in a reason to arrest Boone and get him out of the way. Now there was this woman with a face and a name—a woman needing love, who’d trusted Boone Swenson and been betrayed even more cruelly than Emma. She deserved justice. And she deserved to go home.
CHAPTER 13
As John drove to pick up David at the restaurant, he tried not to feel like a nervous teenager going on a first date. Hope battled trepidation. He looked forward to being with his son. But there was so much more at stake here than a pleasant evening.
Would his intervention help keep David from trying alcohol again and open the door to a new relationship between them? Or would the boy shrug it off and go his own way?
John tried to remember what he’d been like at that age—already drinking heavily and angry at the world. Would he have listened if some well-meaning adult had stepped in and tried to help? Probably not. He was already set in his ways. And he hadn’t been much older than David when he became a father.
But it was different with David. He had a secure home with caring parents. The only disruptive influence in his young life was the father he’d barely known—the father who was trying to help him now.
Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he was about to make matters worse. But at least Marlena had been willing to give him a chance—maybe his only chance. He had to take it.
He pulled the Jeep up to the hotel and entered through the lobby. The restaurant was busy with Saturday night customers. He caught sight of Emma, bustling among tables. She gave him a quick smile and moved on.
Pearl, who was in on the plan, gave him a nod and disappeared down the back hallway. A few minutes later, David appeared, dressed in jeans and a down jacket. “Hi,” he said. “Mom didn’t tell me where we were going.”
“She wasn’t supposed to.” John could feel his heart pounding as he ushered his son outside. A heavy weight of awkwardness hung between them as they climbed into the Jeep.
“I don’t know what to call you.” David fastened his seat belt.
“You can call me John.” It was far too soon for Dad. He wouldn’t expect that. Not yet. Maybe never. But that was all right.
“Why did Mom say I could go with you tonight?” David asked as John pulled away from the curb.
“I think you know. After last night, she’s afraid you’ll grow up to be a drunk like your father. She wants me to show you a thing or two.”
“You’re not a drunk. I found that out on the TV after you crashed. The man said you were one of the best pilots he ever knew. You couldn’t do that if you were a drunk.”
“You’re right. I’m not a drunk. But I was, for a long time. It cost me my marriage—and it cost me my son.” At least they were having an honest conversation. “So tell me. What was it you had to drink last night?”
“My friend said it was gin. He got it from his dad’s liquor cabinet and brought it to the party.”
“How did it taste? Did you like it?”