Second Chance Cowboy

“Let’s not jump to conclusions before we know if that’s even her car down there, okay?”

She nodded, although they both knew it had to be.

He walked down the road to a spot where the slope wasn’t so steep and worked his way down to where he’d seen the patch of blue from above.

The chokecherries and dogwood were thick and hard to navigate, but he hadn’t gone far when he caught the glint of a chrome bumper.

Forcing his way closer, he glanced into the rear window. The car was covered in dust but he could see that there was no one in the backseat.

Working his way along the passenger side of the car, he covered his hand with the tail of his shirt to open the door. If this was a crime scene, he didn’t want to destroy any more evidence than necessary.

The door opened and he peered in. No eight-months-pregnant woman inside. The keys were in the ignition, he noted. The car appeared to be in Neutral.

He glanced around. No sign of a struggle. No blood. No indication anything had been taken, since there were a couple dollars in change in the drink holder and the glove box was still closed.

He glanced at the driver-side door. It was closed, a dense wall of brush against it—just as there had been against the passenger-side door. Just to be sure the car was Charlotte’s, he checked the registration in the glove box.

Then, reaching across, he pulled on the trunk lever. The lid groaned open.

Closing the door, he straightened and moved to the rear of the car. He was relieved to find the trunk empty except for the usual junk most people carried there.

He closed the lid, careful not to leave his prints.

“Hank?” Arlene called down, sounding scared.

“She’s not here,” he called back. “I’ll be right up.” He climbed out of the ravine to find her standing on the road where he’d left her. She’d worn a path in the dirt, though, where she had paced.

“It’s her car, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “But she wasn’t in it when the car went off the road.”

She didn’t seem to hear him. “Oh, my God, she could be out there anywhere, wandering around, maybe having her baby.”

“Arlene.” He touched her arm. “She wasn’t in the car when it went off the road.”

She stared at him. “What?”

“Come here.” He walked her over to the spot where the car tracks left the road. “See. Someone walked around here, then walked to the edge of the road. See how deep the footprints are?”

“What are you saying?”

“The car was pushed off the road. The keys were in it and the car was in Neutral.”

“Why would Charlotte do that?”

“The prints would indicate the size and shape of a woman’s shoe.”

Arlene met his gaze. “How do you know so much about this kind of stuff?”

“I like murder mysteries,” he said truthfully.

She looked sickened as she glanced back down into the ravine. “She’s run off, hasn’t she?”

“It would appear that way. Her purse isn’t in the car. There was no sign of a struggle. Did she take a suitcase or an overnight bag when she left for her doctor’s appointment?”

Arlene shook her head. “I don’t know. She could have put one in the car the night before.”

“We’ll know more once we get the car out of the ravine. Who should I call?” He pulled out his cell phone but quickly realized he couldn’t get any coverage out here. “I’ll call from town.”

She nodded and gave him a name of a tow truck operator. “Thank you.”

He wished there was something he could say to relieve her worry. “She isn’t alone. Someone met her here.” He pointed to another set of tire tracks on the opposite side of the road.

“I can’t imagine who it could have been.” She frowned as if she remembered something.

“What?”

“Just that I’ve seen a car I didn’t recognize drive by the house numerous times over the past few months,” she said. “A silver SUV.”

“Did you happen to notice the license plate?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t pay much attention to it. I wouldn’t have noticed it at all except that we get so little traffic out our way.”

“You didn’t see the driver?”

“No. I can’t be sure if it was a man or a woman.”

“You don’t know of anyone who drives a car like it?” he asked.

She shook her head again. “I wish I was of more help.”

“Don’t worry. She’ll turn up.”

“Only if she wants to be found. You don’t know Charlotte.”

Hank smiled and put his arm around Arlene as he walked her back to his car. “Charlotte doesn’t know me.”

HANK WAITED UNTIL the tow truck operator unhooked Charlotte’s car in the front yard of the farmhouse before opening the car.

Arlene came out of the house and stood on the porch, watching.

Hank slid behind the wheel, careful not to touch anything. He heard Arlene come up to the side of the car.

“You still aren’t convinced she ran away,” Arlene said.

“Better to be safe than sorry,” he said as he tilted his head to study the steering wheel. “How tall did you say your daughter was?”

“Five-four.”