“You have a better suggestion?”
“It’s summer and sort of warm. We could camp out.”
“Sorry. I don’t think sleeping under the stars would make us any less vulnerable.”
“Even if no one knows where we went?”
“I vote for the security of four walls and a locked door. I’ll drive. You can sleep in the truck.”
She felt bad about giving out on him. He had to be tired, too. But she leaned against him and dozed off almost as soon as they’d left Pineview and would’ve slept the whole way if Isaac hadn’t suddenly let up on the gas.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said.
Claire lifted her head from his shoulder. His gaze was riveted on the rearview mirror. Sitting up, she twisted around to see what was going on, but she could find no obvious reason for him to be concerned. A pair of headlights cut through the dark several car lengths behind them, but why would that be a problem? “What is it?” she asked, still groggy.
“Someone’s following us.”
The grogginess fell away. “How do you know?”
The highway was the most direct route to Libby, and it wasn’t unusual for two cars to travel in tandem for the whole thirty minutes.
“Because this is someone who never leaves Pineview.”
“You know the driver?”
“It’s Jeremy Salter.”
She twisted around again. “Are you sure?”
“A few seconds ago, he came up close enough for me to be see the make and model of the car. If that’s not his Impala it’s one that’s identical. And his is sort of distinct.”
Claire wasn’t upset by this. Jeremy had been part of her life since she could remember. His showing up actually seemed sort of fortuitous, since they’d been looking for him, anyway. They’d stopped by once more before leaving town to see if he was home yet. “He must’ve followed us when we left his house. I thought someone was there.”
“The question is…why wouldn’t he answer his door?”
“Who knows? With Jeremy, nothing’s ever very clear.” Except his devotion to her, which was a constant she’d often felt she could live without. “Does he want us to pull over?”
“He hasn’t flashed his lights or done anything else to indicate that.”
She thought of all the small gifts he’d brought her over the years, how excited he was to have her cut his hair, how he seemed to appear almost everywhere she went. “Pull over. Let’s see what’s going on.”
“Not yet. I want to wait until we get to Libby, just in case.”
“In case he’s dangerous?” she asked. “Jeremy wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“In case it’s someone else, someone who might not be as harmless. His father could be driving his car.”
It could easily be Don. She’d seen him behind the wheel of Jeremy’s Impala at Joe’s place, hadn’t she?
“This is so weird,” she murmured, and waited nervously through the next fifteen minutes, until they reached Libby.
All the businesses were closed, but Isaac found a well-lit service station and pulled in. “Hand me my gun.” He’d stuck it under the seat so it wouldn’t be in the way and she could sleep against him.
Claire did as he asked, then watched her side mirror as the Impala pulled in behind them. “Is it Jeremy?”
“Yeah.”
She let her breath go in relief, but Isaac didn’t put his gun away. He waited until Jeremy got out and they could see that he was unarmed.
Isaac lowered his window, but Jeremy trudged up to her side instead. Claire wasn’t surprised.
“Claire, I’m so glad I found you.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “What are you doing out so late and so far from home?”
He ignored Isaac just like he had at Hank’s. “Something’s happened. Something terrible. I have to leave Pine view. It’s not safe there. You can’t go back, either.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My father’s missing. Just like your mother.”
She wasn’t sure whether or not to take him seriously. “What do you mean…missing?”
He scratched his big head, seemed to struggle with the answer. “He’s gone.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been waiting for him, but he doesn’t come home. I haven’t talked to him in days.”
“Where were you earlier?”
“At home. Waiting for him,” he repeated.
“But we stopped by. Why didn’t you answer the door?”
“I didn’t dare. I thought maybe…maybe it was a trick. The person who killed your mother. Or the person who set the fire. You never come over.” For the first time, his eyes darted toward Isaac, giving Claire the impression that it might’ve been Isaac’s presence at his door that had made Jeremy shy away. Jeremy didn’t trust him.
“Your father’s probably over at the Kicking Horse,” she said. “He spends a lot of time there.”
“He’s not at the Kicking Horse.” He screwed up his face as if he was about to cry. “The police are looking for him and everything.”
The police were looking for him so they could ask why he’d been seen burning her mother’s files. But if word of Myles’s interest in Don had gotten out, maybe Les Weaver had killed him to make sure he couldn’t talk. Or maybe someone else had a vested interest in keeping him silent.
She turned to Isaac. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Unfortunately, I believe I am.” Isaac leaned toward the steering wheel so he could see around her. “Has anything else happened that makes you feel your father might’ve been hurt?” he asked Jeremy. A V formed in Jeremy’s forehead. “You mean besides the bullet hole?”
Claire gripped the window ledge. “What bullet hole?”
“The one in the living room. It wasn’t there before. It was only there the day my father went missing.”
“And when was that?” Isaac pressed.
“The night the fire started. I saw blood that night, too. S-some speckles on the wall.” He hugged himself, no doubt to control the shaking that had set in. “I think someone t-tried to clean it up. The—the cleaning smell makes me sick. I don’t like it.”
“Holy shit,” Isaac mumbled.