Page 111 of The Deadly Shallows

Noah slid him the drawing of the logo Logan had rendered. “Any idea whose work this might be?”

Jim studied it for a moment. “It’s Dwayne’s.”

Noah arched a brow. That was quicker than anticipated. “Dwayne?”

“Dwayne . . .” Jim’s eyes squinted. “I’m trying to think of his last name, but not sure he ever gave it.”

“Does he come in often?” Noah asked.

“He did, pretty regularly.”

“Did?”

Jim straightened and rubbed his chin. “Is Dwayne in some sort of trouble?”

“We need to ask him some questions,” Noah said, being as vague as possible.

“Good luck finding him.” Jim leaned against the rear counter, linking his arms across his chest. “He hasn’t been in for months.”

“Any idea why?” Brooke asked.

Jim shrugged. “No clue. Guy was in here probably once a week. Everyone in town who wanted a good logo called Dwayne. Then one day he just up and disappeared.”

“Do you have his number?” Noah asked.

“I have his old number,” Jim said. “It says it’s out of service. All his customers are calling here looking for him.”

“Why here?” Noah asked.

“His customers know Dwayne worked with the best supplies, which he got here. They haven’t been able to get a hold of him at his old number, so they’ve tried here.” Jim shuffled through some papers beneath his register. Noah hadn’t seen an actual register in years. Everyone used Square or some card reader nowadays.

“Here,” Jim said, sliding the list over to Noah.

Clasping the steno sheet in his hand, Noah trailed his gaze down the mint green page. Names with numbers next to them. “Dwayne’s customers?”

Jim nodded. “I have no clue where he is. I don’t think any of them do either, but maybe . . .”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Noah said. “One more thing, could you describe Dwayne?”

Jim rubbed his chin. “I’d say about your height, brawnier build—sort of thick, ya know?”

Noah nodded. “Hair color? Eyes?”

“Dark hair.”

“Brown? Black?”

Jim studied him. “A few shades darker than yours, I’d say. His eyes . . . don’t know that I ever noticed, to be honest.”

Noah always waited to get the person’s description without leading with any details and then, if it sounded like a match, he’d show the sketch or photograph—if only they were so lucky to have found that.

He slid the sketch of the “nurse” across the counter to Jim. “Any chance this is Dwayne?”

Jim lifted the sketch and studied it a moment. “Yeah. That’s him. Good drawing.”

“Thanks. We’ve got a talented artist on the team,” Noah said, though Logan would never think of himself as such. “Appreciate your help.” Now they had a name—at least a first name—along with a positive ID on Logan’s sketch. It was a great start to the day.

“So,” Brooke said as they stepped outside, the temps feeling even colder than when they’d entered. “We have a first name to go with the sketch.” Brooke shrugged. “I suppose it’s better than nothing.”