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of the highway on a long stretch between exits.
    I think every muscle in me tensed up at the sight of that car. I was trying to look at the area around it, but my eyes wouldn’t let go of the car itself, straining so hard to see inside that they watered. I was terrified I’d see a body. Amy’s body, toppled over in the front seat. I didn’t.
    “Looks like she had a flat.” Mason pointed to the rear passenger-side tire as he pulled to a stop behind the ca. Wehind tr and got out. His phone was in his hand before he’d taken even two steps from the Monte Carlo. “Don’t touch anything, Rache. Nothing, okay? Be careful where you step, even. Really, just don’t get too close.”
    “I know. I know. I’m not a rookie. I’ve banged a detective. As you well remember.”
    I was trying to ease my nerves with humor, but it wasn’t working and he knew it. He kept his eyes on me as he spoke to someone. A 911 operator, I guessed. I moved closer to Amy’s car, resisting the urge to race up to it and yank open the door. Instead I walked along the pavement side of the car, shielding my face with my hands and peering into the car without touching it.
    It wasn’t empty. Amy’s suitcase was in the backseat. Her backpack and handbag were in the passenger seat. Her keys were in the ignition.
    “State police are on the way,” Mason said, joining me beside the car. “Anything look odd?”
    “Yeah. Her purse. It’s right on the passenger seat.” I looked around at him, met his eyes. We both knew that wasn’t a good sign. If she’d left on her own, she would’ve taken her purse with her.
    We walked around to the front of the car. After snapping photos with his cell phone from every angle and noting that the shoulder was too hard for footprints, Mason laid a palm on the hood of Amy’s car. “Cold. It’s been here a while.”
    “Overnight, I’ll bet. The kid—Mike?—said she left at eight-fifteen, and we’re only an hour and twenty from her place.”
    He nodded in agreement, and we moved slightly closer for a better look at the flat tire. The jack was lying on the ground nearby. Mason hunkered down and leaned in. “Hell.”
    “What?”
    He lifted his head, looked me right in the eye. “Looks like some blood on the jack handle.”
    My stomach convulsed, and for a second I thought I was going to lose my doughnut. Instead, I staggered a few steps backward, ’cause I damn well didn’t want to see Amy’s blood on that jack. I clawed my phone out of my pocket and dialed her number one more time, in sheer desperation. “Answer me, dammit, Amy.”
    The phone rang in my ear.
    And then it rang again, from somewhere nearby.
    Frowning, I lowered my phone. “What the...?”
    “It’s under the car!” Mason dropped onto his knees and reached for it, yanking it out from under her car. When he got to his feet, I saw he had an evidence bag in his hand, using it as a glove to handle the phone.
    I heard sirens. The state troopers were on their way. I hurried up to Mason, leaning over his shoulder. “Check the phone, fast, before they take it into evidence.”
    He did. “Wait, wait, wait. She had the camera app open.” He tapped his thumb on the plastic bag repeatedly as the sirens drew closer.
    The last photo she’d taken came up on the screen.
    It was the tailgate of a white pickup truck, license plate and all, and it was taken from very near where we were standing. We both looked just past the front of Amy’s car. That truck had been parked right there. Right there.
    The state troopers came into sight, siren screaming.
    “Send that to my phone,” I said.
    “Rachel, it’s evi th, it’dence. Procedure—”
    “Procedure, my ass.” I yanked the phone from him so fast I should have taken his hand off at the wrist, then tapped Share Photo. Hit the first letter of my name, and my email address popped up. I tapped Send and handed the phone back to him as the police cruiser pulled up behind his car.
    The two troopers came up