Chapter 1 - The Hole in the Coat
"That isn't a moth hole," I said.
I held the navy work jacket by its shoulders so the afternoon light could pass through the ragged opening below the collar.
The man standing across my counter went perfectly still.
"Where did you get that?" he asked.
His hair was silver, his dark overcoat damp from the rain, and his voice sounded as though he had spent a year trying not to use it.
"It came in with the county donation clothes. I'm Mara Park. I own this shop."
"I know who you are." He swallowed. "I'm Elliot Bell. That's my son's jacket."
Eleven months earlier, Elliot's twenty-four-year-old son, Owen, had vanished after finishing a late shift at the Briar County road garage.
Sheriff Grant Harlan had announced that Owen was suspected of stealing county equipment and had probably left Bellwether to escape charges.
No charges were ever filed.
No one found Owen.
Now the jacket hung between us, and the dark mark around the hole had the dull brown color I had learned to recognize on clothes people brought in after accidents.
"He fixed that cuff himself," Elliot said, pointing to three crooked rows of gray stitches. "I taught him."
I turned the fabric over. The inner label was faded, but somebody had written O. BELL in black marker.
"I called you because I thought you should see it," I said. "I haven't cleaned it."
"Don't."
Outside the windows of Second Shift Cleaners, red and blue lights began to wash across the hanging shirts.
A patrol car stopped at the curb.
Elliot looked past me and whispered, "How did they know I was here?"
The door chime rang.
Deputy Travis Voss entered without taking off his rain-spattered hat.
"County property," he said, pointing at the coat. "I'll take that now."
I tightened my grip on the hanger.
"Is it evidence?"
"It's a jacket, Ms. Park. Don't make this complicated."
Elliot took one step forward.
"That belonged to Owen."
Voss's jaw moved once.
"Mr. Bell, you need to go home."
"Where is my son?"
The deputy didn't answer.
For a moment, the dryer hummed behind the wall and a receipt fluttered in warm air.
Then Voss pulled a property bag from beneath his arm.
It already had a printed label.
I could read the first line from where I stood: BELL, OWEN.
May you like
The second line made my stomach drop.
It was dated eleven months earlier.
