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I pull in next to what I now see is an Explorer, and before I can do it myself, Rick already has the door open for me. The butterflies are back, but for a different reason this time.

I haven’t seen him since he left here on Monday after I unloaded my anxieties on him. It had been an altogether weird and somewhat unnerving day, and I wasn’t sure if perhaps I’d come across as a flake or something, and he’d decided to keep his distance.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” I ask, getting out.

I immediately walk to the back and open the hatch.

“Just seeing how things are,” he responds easily as he moves up beside me. “I see you did a bit of shopping.”

Reaching around me, he grabs a handful of grocery bags and the box holding my prized new power drill.

“My Phillips screwdriver and dime-store hammer weren’t getting me anywhere,” I admit, grabbing as many bags as I can carry before following him up the porch steps. “Hang on…”

I manage to get the key from my pocket and bump him out of the way to unlock the door.

“You did some work in here,” he notices, looking around as he carries my shopping into the kitchen and dumps everything on the counter.

“I did. Trying to stay busy inside because there wasn’t much I could do out there with that damn rain coming down for days.”

“I know, it’s been a pain in the ass with this investigation, but we’re supposed to be done with it for a while; if the forecast is to be believed,” he shares before adding, “Let me go grab the rest.”

I give myself a mental slap. Of course, he’s been busy. He’s investigating the dead man we found up the mountain. It just goes to show you how rattled my brain is at the moment, assuming his absence had anything to do with me. I’m reading way too much into things. After all, we’re just friends.

I’d do well to remember that.

Rick

* * *

I feel bad because I haven’t been straightforward with her.

As much as I’d like this to be just a visit to see how she’s doing, my stopping by today is all about the investigation.

After discovering the truck picking up Severin after he snuck out of the hospital was in fact his own vehicle, the search was on for Cody Withers.

I’m willing to bet that punk was the one driving the Sierra, but he lied to my face, telling me he hadn’t seen his foreman since the brawl with Levi. He thought he was clever, pretending to be a concerned coworker wanting to hand over his missing friend’s belongings. He probably thought Silence was a hick town, with idiots for law enforcement, and he was staying a step ahead of the game. Although, what type of game, I’m not sure of.

It’s safe to assume Withers knows a lot more about what happened to Doug Severin. He may well have been responsible for the man’s death—it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch, given the nature of the tattoos I glimpsed on his chest—but for now he’s a person of interest and it’s imperative we track him down.

When I talked to Cody, Severin’s body hadn’t been found yet, or I would’ve been more thorough and checked his background. As it was, I took down the phone number and an address he gave me, and I’ve since discovered the phone was no longer in service and when I drove up to Spokane yesterday, I found the dingy studio apartment empty. Somehow, Withers must’ve heard his foreman’s body was found and decided to take off.

Then earlier this morning, in one of the telephone interviews we’ve been conducting with the few other members of the road crew, one of them mentioned he’d overheard Severin on the phone with someone last week, talking about a quarry.

That definitely piqued my interest, but it also raised some concerns around Dana being up here by herself.

Tessa is up there now with a couple of our deputies, having a look around. I was behind her but turned off at the driveway to the house. I quickly radioed Tessa to let her know I was checking in on Dana.

“I think I’ve got it all,” I announce, hauling in the last of her purchases.

“Oh, thanks. Leave those on the floor in the living room,” she says, indicating the pile of boxes I’m carrying.

She bought a shitload of tools, all decent brands and therefore not necessarily cheap. I cringe when I think of the money she spent buying everything brand new. Some of it she could probably have picked up secondhand at a lot less. I hate to see her throw away money, but I have to remember it’s not my call.

“Are you looking to move in?” I ask when I notice the amount of groceries she’s loading in the ancient fridge.

That thing has to be at least fifty years old, if not more.

“I’m hoping to this weekend,” she mentions. “That is, if Nate has time to help me move some of my furniture. The bigger pieces won’t fit in my Toyota.”