Read Resolution: Evan Warner Book 1 for Free Online

fireball, or so far away that it becomes an ice cube. Superficially nothing new has happened. Nothing has changed.
    “What do you think, buddy?” I asked Frank.
    He opened his eyes halfway. Blinked lazily. Then closed them again.
    No comment .
    I looked to my right. Through the trees I could see the pond sparkling in the sun. Faintly I heard voices. Kids playing and fishing. People swimming and paddling in canoes and rafts.
    Straight ahead of me was the end of the access road. It looped around an island of trees like the eye of a needle and rejoined itself and went off out of sight. I could barely see the driveways of the two nearest tent sites to the right of the road.
    To my left I could see the rough outline of cabin number 7 through the foliage and the end of its driveway meeting the road. Everything looked as it should. Sounded as it should.
    How could something like that happen here ?
    Realistically, what can I do about it?
    What would Clint Eastwood do?
    I looked at my wrist and smiled. A few years back my father gave me a black silicon bracelet with white letters abbreviating the question WWCD? It’s a silly slogan that strangely resonates with me. Maybe because I’ve watched too many movies. Or maybe because it sparks a legitimate play of conscience against the status quo. I’ve never been able to tell the difference. My father had meant it as a joke. But really, he couldn’t have picked anything more fitting with my personality.
    The question put an end to my attempt at relaxing. I couldn’t sit still. No way would Clint mope around feeling bad about something. So I called my cousin, Will, to cover the grounds for me. Then I got Frank loaded in my minivan so we could go for a drive.
     
     
     

 
     
    7
     
     
    Driving slowly along the access road, my eyes were peeled out of habit. Watching for any hints of trouble. I passed the cabins and entered the stretch of tent sites. Site 14, where Jeremy Conner had been taken from, was all cleared out.
    I smiled. I wouldn’t miss Rianne for a second.
    The crashed minivan had been towed away and the broken glass had been swept up from the road. All that was left of the scene was the scar in the tree where the van had hit. A nice old maple tree. Never hurt anyone. Just standing there minding its own business for a hundred years. Until suddenly some dumbass smashed into it. Now it would have that scar forever.
    After passing through the long section of tent sites I came into the rows of big motor homes nestled in their lots within tall shade trees and smaller vegetation. Then I passed my parents’ house. All was quiet between my cabin and the main road, which is about a mile. From a bird’s eye view the road is a windy half-circle running parallel with the oval shape of the pond.
    About a hundred yards beyond my parents’ place I came out from the shade of the trees. Turned right onto the main road and headed for the center of town.
    The heart of Saulsbury is an old colonial village set up on a plateau, fanned out around the four-way intersection of routes 4 and 127. There’s a church, a post office, a country store, a fire station. Rows of big colonial houses line the roads in all directions, each with massive old maple trees in the front yards. Supposedly Daniel Webster used to sit under the big maple by the church to read. But who knows if that’s actually true.
    I crossed the four-way intersection under the blinking yellow light and turned into Crossroads Store. Pulled in beside a fancy pickup. I knew the owner. I had to laugh. It fit perfectly with the sort of day I was having. Tommy Brady is among my least favorite people on earth. Of course I’d run into him now.
    In order to compensate for various inadequacies, Tommy gets a new truck every spring. The best Ram (formerly Dodge) money can buy. I parked my van right beside it. A four-year-old navy blue Town & Country. I got it gently used with low miles for much less than a new one. Not as impressive as a