George had parked the rollback next to the cars lined up for crushing and unloaded the Plymouth. Damn, they were going to recycle her. Maybe the engine was kaput.

“George, my man,” he said, announcing his presence. George was seventy if he was a day, and he didn’t like anybody sneaking up on him. He carried a .9 mm in his coveralls. No way Joey was sneaking up on the old dude. “What’s up with this one? Doesn’t look like it was in a crash.”

“Who knows?” He hopped down from the cab. “Somebody abandoned it in front of a guy’s house. He wanted it removed.”

“Damn. Maybe the engine blew or something.”

“Maybe. Gotta take a leak.”

George hustled toward the shop. Joey circled the Plymouth. The keys were in the ignition. He glanced around, then opened the driver’s-side door. He settled into the seat. Curious, he twisted the key. The engine started.

What the hell?

He shut it off and got out. George would tell the boss if he caught Joey messing around with anything other than a damned broom. Since they were going to crush the car anyway, he yanked the keys from the ignition and stuffed them into his pocket. As he withdrew from the car the second time, he spotted something on the floorboard. Shiny. Slender.

He picked up the chain . . . no, bracelet. Shoved it into his pocket too.

He pushed the door closed just in time. George came around the end of the row of compacted cars.

“Tate’s looking for you,” he said, the air huffing and puffing out of him.

Damn, it was hell getting old. Joey did not want to turn into that.

“On my way. Just needed a smoke break.” He started toward the shop but paused. “Where’d you say you picked up this piece of shit?”

“Canyon Lane off Shades Crest Road. Up on the mountain. Number fourteen. Way off the beaten path. I guess that’s why they dumped it there. People are stupid. Could’ve brought it here and made a few bucks.”

“Yeah,” Joey agreed. “People are stupid.”

Especially people with money.

Joey walked back to the shop.

His boss was waiting for him. “Where the hell you been? You were supposed to have this place cleaned up before three.”

Tate was older than George and as mean as hell. Joey was reasonably sure if you looked in the dictionary for junkyard dog, you’d find Tate’s picture.

“I was asking George about the Plymouth he just brought in. It’s just like the one I used to have. Can’t believe somebody just dumped it. Especially in the middle of nowhere. Talk about weird.”

“Let me tell you something, boy,” Tate said, moving closer. “In this business you learn fast to keep your nose out of other people’s business. You don’t ask questions. You don’t talk about what we do here. You got that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Old bastard.

He swept the floor and cleaned the bathroom in under twenty minutes, and then he was out of there.

He was still cussing under his breath as he spun out of the lot. The old turd stood at the door, watching him go. He was probably cussing Joey too.

He stopped for gas and entered the address into the navigation app on his phone. Once he was back on the road, he relaxed. He thought of that detective and the card she’d given him. Maybe he’d impress his aunt for once and call this shit in. The bracelet he’d snagged out of the car had looked a little rusty, but now that he thought about it, maybe it was blood dried into the tiny links. That could be evidence. His pulse rate shot into high gear right along with the 944.

Yeah, he could be like a hero or something if he helped the police figure out this case. Angie would really be after him then.

3:30 p.m.

The drive took half an hour. The mountain road was curvy as hell, but that wasn’t a problem for the 944. This baby hung with those curves. The road dead-ended at an old cabin. He raised up his sunglasses and peered at the number on the mailbox.

“Damn it.” He’d passed the address.

The other turn was half a mile back, and it was hard to see until you’d already driven past. Since he hadn’t seen any other houses and that was the only side road he’d gone by, that had to be it.

He turned around and drove back in the direction he’d come, this time a hell of a lot slower. He made the left turn, and there was the mailbox. He glanced at the numbers painted on. Yep. This was the place. He drove along the narrow gravel road. The cabin sat a quarter of a mile back in the woods. This one was an upgrade from the one at the end of the road.

He parked and got out of the car. The place was damned quiet. He climbed the steps and crossed to the front door. He peered through the door and then the windows lining the porch. No lights on inside, but it was furnished and clean. Somebody lived here at least part time. He knocked hard on the door just in case someone was in there. No answer.

Worked for him. He wanted to have a look around. Maybe the chick was here. Or maybe her body was here. He shuddered. Damn, that was cold.

When he’d walked the yard and the tree line, he approached the only other structure, a shed. Nothing there either.

He didn’t find anything with a name on it. Shit. He should have checked the mailbox. There might have been mail inside.

As he walked back to the front of the cabin, he fished out his wallet and retrieved the detective’s card. He called her cell. The call went to her voice mail.

“Hey, Detective Devlin. I think I might have some information that would be useful to your investigation.”

He left the details as he headed for his car. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

He’d been watching the news. There was a reward involved. This would probably be the first big break in the case.

By this time tomorrow his handsome mug might be on the news.

51

4:00 p.m.

“Just be really careful,” Kerri urged her daughter. “Keep the fire extinguisher close to the stove. When I get home, we’ll go see Diana.”

As she ended the call with her daughter, a chime told her she had a voice mail. She hadn’t heard the notification for an incoming call.

“Tori’s cooking tonight?” her partner wanted to know.

“Yes,” Kerri admitted, “and I’m terrified.” She pressed the phone to her ear and listened to the voice mail.

She hoped the call was something useful. This day had given them shit, and the situation with Amelia had made bad matters worse.

The voice that drifted from her phone had her heart beating faster. Of all the people she’d anticipated would come through with useful information, this guy was at the bottom of her list. “That was Keaton.” She turned to Falco. “He says the blue Plymouth showed up at the salvage yard this afternoon. He knows where it was picked up.”

“Did he say where?”

“He didn’t. I’m calling him back.”

The call went to voice mail. She tried once more before moving on. “Let’s go to the salvage yard. If the car is there, we’ll call the CSI folks to do their thing.”

Falco took the next exit and turned around. If the salvage yard was closed before they arrived, the owner would just have to come back and open up for them. They knew Sela had purchased the car. There could be evidence inside of where she’d been and who might be with her.

By the time they were across town, Kerri’s nerves were frayed, and Second Time Around was indeed closed, but the owner was still in the office. He opened the gate and ushered them inside before closing it once more.

Kerri introduced herself and Falco; they showed their badges.

“What can I do for you, Detectives?”

“We’re looking for Joey Keaton,” Falco said. “Is he available?”

“He left at three, lazy little shit.”

Falco raised his eyebrows at Kerri. She moved on to the part that really mattered. “A 1996 Plymouth Breeze, blue in color, was brought to your yard this afternoon. We need to see that vehicle. It may be part of an ongoing investigation.”

Tate shook his head. “Don’t have a Plymouth Breeze. Didn’t have no blue car come in today.”

Though he met her gaze with no fear, he was lying. The subtle shift of his attention to the right as he spoke told the tale.

“Are you sure?” Kerri countered. “Maybe you were out or busy and didn’t notice.”

Tate folded his arms over his chest. “I know everything that happens here. That’s why I’m the boss.”

“I’m sure you won’t mind allowing us to have a look around, boss,” Falco spoke up.

“Actually, I would mind. I’m going home. I’m already closed. I told you we don’t have one, but if you think you need to see for yourself, you can come back in the morning and have a look.”

“I’m afraid this won’t wait until morning, Mr. Tate.” Kerri folded her arms over her chest, matching his stance.

“I guess you’ll have to get yourself one of them warrants, then.”

Well, hell. Her mind instantly calculated the time required to do so. “We can do that if you insist.”

“I do.” He gestured to the gate. “You’ll need to wait outside until then. We’re closed.”

Frustrated but with no other choice, they climbed back into the Charger and parked outside the gate. Tate locked up once more and walked back to his shop.