Read Emily Locke 01 - Final Approach for Free Online Page B

Scud and Linda. We paid for Big Red’s slot so he’d videotape it. Afterward, Scud left, and we didn’t have enough people to make a load. Big Red dubbed copies of our dive onto DVDs for Linda and me. It had our dirt dive on it too. I figured Karen Lyons could at least get a look at Linda and Scud.
    On the monotonous drive back to Houston, I tried Jeannie from my cell phone, but only got her answering machine. No such luck when I tried Richard.
    He picked up on the first ring. “Got anything?”
    “I didn’t meet anybody with Kidnapper or Pedophile written on his forehead, no.”
    I ran through the names of everyone I’d met and waited while Richard scribbled his notes.
    “Where are you now?” he asked.
    “I just passed Lake Jackson.” I glanced in the rearview mirror at the single car way behind me. No one was in front. “This feels like Siberia.”
    “Sorry for the long drive.”
    “I have an idea about that, actually. They’re having a boogie this weekend, like a festival for skydivers. The place’ll be packed. I’m going to get a tent and camp at the DZ like everybody else.”
    It’s not uncommon. Camping’s free and saves a long morning drive. Jumpers can drink all they want when the beer light goes on because nobody has to drive home.
    “It’ll be a great excuse to plant myself here.”
    He mumbled that it would be okay.
    I hadn’t been asking for permission, but I let it go.
    “Where can I find a sporting goods store? I need a sleeping bag and a tent.” I hesitated. “At your expense, of course.”
    He told me the exit to use and I thought putting seventy miles between Richard and me for the rest of the trip was a fine idea.
    “What about you?” I knew from our breakfast meeting he’d planned to talk to Karen Lyons’ neighbors.
    “Only a small lead,” he said. “An old-timer two doors down says the street’s been quiet since Eric left. Apparently, Eric drives a diesel pick-up. Truck used to wake the guy when Eric left for work every morning. Neighbor says he hasn’t heard the truck for a week. That’s consistent with the last time Eric visited Casey. This fellow didn’t wake up Saturday night. I don’t think Eric was anywhere near the place.”
    “If it was Eric, surely he’d use a different car.”
    “Of course.” Richard paused. “I said it was a small thing.”
    I remembered Richard wanted pictures so I mentioned the video Big Red had made. I said I’d leave it at the desk at the hotel. That brilliant plan of avoidance was the best idea I’d had all day.
    “I’ll pick up a disposable camera tonight when I’m out getting supplies,” I added. “Tomorrow I’ll set up camp. I’ll call with any news.”
    After we hung up, I imagined Karen hunched over a cup of cold coffee at her kitchen table, willing the phone to ring. And I wondered if the person who stole her son did it for money or revenge, or maybe to explore a sick, twisted fantasy. I worried Casey might already be dead. Then I shuddered, realizing we might never know.
    ***
    I fell asleep that night with a
People
magazine draped over my chest, and I never knew it until the bedside phone in my hotel room clanged the following morning and scared me out of my wits. I scrambled upright under my covers and the phone rang again before I remembered where I was. It rang a third time before I found it in the pitch-black room.
    “Hello?” I groaned, squinting at the digital clock.
    It was Richard.
    “Guess whose body turned up in the San Jacinto River.”
    I leaned closer to the clock. 6:20 a.m.
    Then Richard’s words registered. And they resonated in my skull so violently I thought the room was shaking.

Chapter Seven
    “You there?” Richard asked.
    “They found Casey,” I said, thinking immediately of his mother.
    “No,” he said flatly. “Eric.”
    I collapsed back onto my pillow. At least it wasn’t Casey. Then I felt horrible for preferring any one person’s murder over another’s.
    “A fisherman found him