Cold Death by Mary Stone (best e reader for android TXT) 📕

was six or seven unless their parents agreed to let her bring a baby pig home.

The pig chased her around the enclosure, which was full of mud from a recent storm. His mom had ended up slipping right on her butt in the dirtiest part, and their dad had started laughing, and then Clay. Caraleigh had finally stopped throwing a giant hissy fit and laughed too.

They’d bought a stuffed animal pig on the way out, which Caraleigh had aptly named Baby.

Lucas smiled. “She always loved all the animals. Sometimes, she’d climb the big tree near the cabin or go to the sunning rock and sit there for hours, just watching the animals go by. There weren’t any pigs, though, but I told her that some places do have wild pigs, called javelinas. She said she wanted to go there one day and see them.”

Clay could almost picture her begging Lucas to take her to see the wild pigs. “That sounds like Caraleigh.”

Lucas pushed a French fry around on his plate. “When we find her, can we take her there sometime? To see the javelinas?”

When…not if.

A lump formed in Clay’s throat. “Yeah. I’d like that a lot.” And it was true.

Lucas visibly brightened at the reassurance, and the lump in Clay’s throat grew. After spending the day with the other man, it was impossible not to like him. He hoped, for both of their sakes, that Lucas’s optimism wasn’t misplaced and that they’d find Caraleigh alive and well.

Or they’d find her body and find closure in knowing her fate.

Somehow.

“Thanks for coming with me today, Lucas. I really appreciate your help.”

Lucas shrugged. “I wanted to come.” He pushed the last fry around his plate once more before peeking up at Clay. “And you can call me Luke.”

After they both finished eating, Clay grabbed the check and followed Lucas…Luke…past the other diners to the cash register. The waitress was gone, replaced behind the counter by a young man in a plaid shirt and overalls with a gray bandana wrapped around his neck.

“How was everything this evening?”

Clay passed him the bill and a credit card. “Delicious, thanks. Could you recommend any local places to stay the night? We were thinking of doing a little more hiking in the morning.”

“Sure, no problem. There are a couple of decent hotels less than a mile—”

“Gah!”

The high-pitched exclamation cut the cashier off. Clay whirled to check on Luke, who’d gone stiff as a pole. His mouth moved like he was trying to speak, but no sounds came out, and his gaze was fixed to a spot to the right of the cashier’s head.

“Is he okay?”

Clay wished he knew. “Not sure. Luke, what’s wrong?” He traced the trajectory of Luke’s stare to the corkboard. The picture of the cartoon hamburger was still front and center, but how did that make sense? They’d laughed about the stupid thing earlier. Nothing else was there but a bunch of customer and employee photos. “What is it?”

In response, Luke darted forward, straight for the cartoon burger. He curled his hand and clawed at the pictures, as if trying to rake them off the board.

“Uh, he can’t do that. Should I call 911 or something?”

“No! Don’t call, and for god sakes, don’t touch him. He’ll be fine. It’s probably just sensory overload.” Clay rushed forward, kicking himself the entire time. He should have known better when they’d walked in. This place was too crowded and too damned noisy by far.

When he reached Luke, the man was smacking his palm against one specific picture, making deep, guttural noises in his throat. Clay lifted a hand to touch him before dropping it again, remembering how physical contact would sometimes make Caraleigh’s meltdowns worse.

Think, dammit! What used to help Caraleigh?

Clay relaxed on an exhale and allowed his body and voice to fill with calm. Before he could help, he first needed to identify the problem.

“Hey, Luke. Everything’s going to be okay. Can you help me understand what’s going on? Is it too noisy in here? Because it’s nice and quiet outside. We can get some fresh air or hop in the car and turn the radio on to any channel you like.”

Luke cried out and gave his head a violent shake.

“No, you don’t want to go outside? What is it, then? The photo? Is there something in that photo that’s upsetting you?”

That question prompted Luke to reach for the photo with both hands like he might tear it off the wall.

“Hang on, we need to leave that up there for now. Here, let me take a look too. You can show me what’s so exciting.” Clay leaned forward and peered at the photo, wondering what in the hell had upset Luke so much. The big man with the trucker hat, who was smiling into the camera over an empty plate? Or the pretty blonde waitress who stood behind him with her hand on his shoulder, wearing a checkered shirt and a phony why-do-I-have-to-be-in-this-picture smile?

Frustrated, Clay scanned the rest of the frame, seeking a clue as to what set Luke off. He reached the far left corner, and his heart stuttered to a stop before starting again at triple speed. He rubbed his eyes and leaned in closer to ensure the dim lighting wasn’t playing tricks on him.

The checkered shirt and denim overalls marked the woman in the frame as a waitress, but it was the face that rendered Clay unable to move.

Half a face. That was all that showed, like she’d turned away from the camera a fraction too late to avoid being in the shot entirely.

Still, half a face was enough for Clay to recognize his sister.

Caraleigh.

Pressing a hand to his trembling lips, Clay read the handwritten numbers at the bottom.

The photo had been snapped an entire year after Luke was fished out of the river.

18

That morning when I opened my eyes, my mind was already abuzz with the coming day’s festivities. The soft, green glow of the digital clock confirmed that I’d woken up