The Leak Geeks waved her off.

  Ben lifted a finger toward Lacy, and she waved him off.

  “I’m only talking to those knuckleheads,” she said. “You have a valid point. They aren’t equipped for this and at least you know what that means.”

  “What’s that mean?” Noble asked.

  Ben tilted his head and glanced up at the ceiling. “State police or maybe even the FBI will come in and turn the town upside down. You probably know as well as I do that never leads to anything good.”

  Noble did. The FBI took Reese away from him years ago. It had taken several years for Noble to find her again, only to have her ripped away once more. Last thing he needed was the FBI showing up and realizing they were in the same town again. She’d be moved, and he’d have to start over.

  “Place like this must have some secrets, huh?” Jack said.

  “Too many,” Lacy said. “And most people in Montana, well, they don’t like the government stepping onto their property, trouncing on their lives. Not the locals, the staties, or the feds. Always leads to upheaval. Upheaval leads to people pushing farther away from the middle. People pushing farther away from the middle leads to more tension. See, Jack, this place might look nice and quaint on the outside, but it’s a tinder keg, and I’m telling you, it’s close to exploding.”

  Noble drained his beer and slid the mug over to her, asked for another as he contemplated Lacy’s words. How much of what she said had to do with Brenda Caldwell? Was this a woman she knew? Hell, how much of what she said had to do with herself? Was she stuck in the middle? Or was she being pulled farther away than she felt comfortable with.

  Lacy set the beer down in front of him, leaned over the bar top. “Look, all I’m saying is, if Ben is right about you, think about sticking around and helping out. That woman needs it. Hell, this whole town needs it. You see what I’m saying?”

  “Did you know her?” Jack asked. “Brenda Cresswell?”

  Lacy shot a glance to the other end of the bar. It lasted less than a second, but it meant something. “Like you said, everyone here knows someone who knows everyone.”

  “Are you in the everyone group, or are you the someone?”

  Lacy shrugged, stood upright, stepped back. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You help out Ben, maybe I’ll tell you more.”

  The standoff lasted a couple of minutes before Lacy went back to the kitchen. The bar fell silent. Each man swiveled on his stool and stared straight ahead, thoughts dripping into the amber liquid in front of him.

  “I’m only here for a few days,” Noble said.

  “What’s your reason for coming to town?” Ben asked.

  “I’ve got some bad news to deliver to someone who might live here.”

  “That’ll take a few days?”

  “Gotta find them first.”

  “I know most people here.” Ben held his mug up to his lips. “Those I don’t know, I can find. I could help you out.”

  “If I help you.”

  Ben nodded, tipped his glass up, and emptied the mug.

  On cue, Lacy came through the door carrying two plates. She set them in front of Noble and Ben.

  “Best bison burger in the state?” Jack said.

  “In the damn country,” Lacy said.

  Jack took a bite, smiled, said through a mouth full of burger, “I think you’re right. I mean, I’ve never had a bison burger before, but if I had, this would top any other in the country.”

  After they finished, Ben pushed his plate across the bar and turned to Jack. “Talk outside?”

  “Sure.” Jack dropped a fifty on the bar and followed the other man through the front door. The sun hovered over the building across the street, knifed through his eyes, distorted the view of his surroundings. He blinked a few times to adjust. “What do you have to say out here that you couldn’t in there?”

  “Don’t trust those two at the end of the bar,” Ben said.

  “You catch that look Lacy exchanged with them when I asked if she knew Brenda Cresswell?”

  Ben nodded. “Yup.” He paused a beat. “Look, I’m not saying they’re involved, but there’s some connection there.”

  “That’s the feeling I got.” Noble leaned against his Wrangler. “How well do you know Lacy?”

  “Well enough that I’d believe most of what she says.”

  “Did you believe her in there?”

  “You’re asking a lot of questions, Jack.”

  “Suppose I am.”

  “So what’s it gonna be? You on board?”

  “Suppose I am.”

  3

  Clouds rolled past overhead, the sun’s rays catching an opening here and there. They thickened to the north. A storm was on its way.

  Ben climbed into his truck and leaned out the open window. “I’ve got some errands to run. Head on over to the Lewiston Inn. Sam runs it. Tell him I sent you, and he’ll take care of you. I’ll drop by there this evening. We can grab some dinner and I’ll fill you in on the case.”

  Jack nodded and waited until the man pulled out before climbing into the Wrangler. He pulled up his mental map and saw the layout of the town. The Lewiston Inn was three blocks west, one block south. The drive would take two minutes, max. Noble stretched it out to twenty, scoured the perimeter of town, the edge of the grid that contained seventy percent of the residents.

  The houses were all similar. Craftsman style. Built in the earlier part of the 1900s. The lots were similar in size, but each presumably took on the characteristics of their owners. Some were meticulously kept. While others looked like nature had taken over. There were a lot of trucks and SUVs parked in driveways.

  Noble saw fewer faces along the border of town. None were Reese. Those who spotted him waved and went on about their business. It was still early afternoon. Perhaps there would be more out and about later in the day.

  He cut down a middle road toward Main Street and navigated to the Lewiston Inn. The building took up a quarter of a block and was situated on a corner. A sign fixed to the facade said there was parking in the rear. Noble drove around back and pulled into an empty spot in an empty row in an empty lot.

  The hotel blocked the sunlight. A stiff breeze blew across the lot. It felt fifteen degrees cooler. Noble grabbed his bag from the back of the Wrangler and stood there for a moment, soaking in the atmosphere. Smoke rose from a building adjacent to the backside of the parking lot. A barbecue restaurant he couldn’t recall the name of. The smell lingered in the air. He figured it would be a good place to eat later if Ben agreed.

  As he headed toward the sidewalk, the rev of an engine caught his attention. He glanced to his left and saw a Chevy Blazer with a lightbar fixed to the roof speed up and come to a rolling stop about twenty feet away. Noble put his head down and turned right and kept walking toward the corner. The cop pulled up even and rolled down his window.

  “New in town?” the cop said through the open window.

  Jack kept walking, didn’t look over.

  “Talking to you, buddy.” When Jack continued walking, the cop lurched forward ten feet or so, threw the Blazer in park and hopped out. He raced around the front of his vehicle and blocked Jack’s path. His hand rested on his service pistol. “You got a problem with authority?”

  Jack slowed up, stopped far enough away from the officer so the guy couldn’t touch him. “No.”

  “Then why are you running from me?”

  Jack laughed. “You call walking at a leisurely pace, running?”

  “I don’t need your smart ass⁠—”

  “Did I do something wrong? Jaywalk across the parking lot or something?”

  “Well, no, but⁠—”

  “So you’re harassing me just for shits and giggles then?” Jack noted the officer’s name tag read Tilley.

  “You got a mouth on you, you know that?” The cop’s eyes narrowed, a storm of his own brewing in the furrowed lines of his forehead. “This is a quiet place and we like to keep it that way. Strangers stick out, especially those who don’t stop when addressed by the law.”

  Jack met the officer’s gaze. “Look, Tilley, I’m not trying to make waves. I’m here on personal business. Should be in and out in the matter of a few days.”

  “Personal business, huh?” He studied Jack for a few seconds, one eye squinted. “You got a name?”

  “Jack.”

  “Jack what?”

  “Sure.”

  “Huh?”

  “Look, all you need to know is my name is Jack—” he hiked his thumb over his shoulder, “—that’s my Jeep over there, and I’m gonna stay here at the Lewiston Inn for a couple days while I take care of my business. If you need to know more than that, find a reason to arrest me.”

  The officer’s posture eased slightly, but his hand remained near his pistol. “All right, Jack. Best keep your guard up. Like I said, we don’t like anyone disrupting our peaceful community.” The cop’s radio crackled to life, a voice calling for assistance on the other end. He glared at it, presumably torn between duty and the desire to assert his authority. “I’ll be keeping an eye out. Don’t cause any trouble.”

  Jack watched the deputy stride back to his Blazer. The encounter left a sour taste in his mouth. He didn’t need complications. Definitely not when he had a difficult task ahead. He turned the corner and made his way to the front of the Lewiston Inn, the brass of the door handle gleaming in a stray beam of sunlight that evaporated by the time his hand hit it.

  Cool air billowed from a vent overhead. The lobby was a throwback to another era, with dark wood paneling and deep green carpeting. A hint of cigar smoke lingered. A grandfather clock ticked methodically in the corner. At the reception desk, a man in his late fifties with a head of thick silver hair looked up from his newspaper. “Help you?”

  “You Sam? Ben Dunston sent me,” Jack said. “I need a room.”

  The man nodded as he folded his newspaper and set it to the side. “You’re in the right place, then.” He stepped in front of his computer and tapped at the keyboard. “You want a room on a high floor?”

  Jack stifled a smile. The place was only five stories high. He’d forgo the view of rooftops for the safety a lower floor offered. “First or second floor is fine with me.”

  “We have a nice suite on the second floor. Rumor is Franklin Roosevelt stayed there one summer back in the ‘20s.” He turned around and opened up a wooden cabinet door, reached in and retrieved a key. Sam slid it across the counter. The tag attached read ROOSEVELT 214. “There’s an elevator right over there.” He gestured. “Or stairs if you go down that hallway right there. After five, I’ll be manning the bar. Just walk past the elevators and find me. I make a mean Old Fashioned.”

  Jack couldn’t help but feel the weight of the upcoming conversation with Reese as he pocketed the key. He’d need to be at his best, which meant rest. And sobriety. He thanked Sam and found the stairwell. The creak of the stairs beneath his boots served as a reminder that in towns like Lewistown, every step was noticed, every stranger a subject of curiosity or concern. He’d have to tread carefully.

  Once inside his room, Jack set his bag down and moved to the window, peering out at the gathering clouds. He hoped the coming storm would be the only one he’d have to weather.

  4

  Jack shook off the cobwebs left behind from his nap and spent a few seconds grounding himself in his new location. The room was simple, plain. A bed, chair, dresser, and nightstand. An alarm clock with large, bold numbers sat atop the nightstand. 5:30.

  He went to the window, which looked over Main Street. The clouds had darkened and thickened while he slept, but the rain hadn’t started yet. The sidewalks were livelier than earlier. People made their way in and out of the grocery store across the street. Tomorrow would bring more activity. Friday had a way of doing that. There was still tonight to deal with, so he put on his shirt and shoes and took the stairs to the lobby.

  Sam greeted him at the bar, which was empty except for an older couple at the far end. There were a dozen pub tables spread throughout the room and booths lining the walls.

  “Settling in?” Sam asked.

  Jack nodded. “Ready for that Old Fashioned.”

  “Bourbon or Rye?”

  “Rye.” He pointed at the lineup of bottles set in front of an antique stained mirror. “Whistle Pig 12 year.”

  Sam nodded. “Good choice.”

  Jack watched as the man mixed the drink and poured it over a large ice cube. Sam slid it across the bar.

  “What brings you to our little town?”

  Jack hesitated before saying, “Looking for an old friend. Heard they were living here now.”

  Sam nodded, said nothing. His lips drew thin, and he avoided making eye contact.

  Jack reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a picture of Reese. He set it down in front of him. “She look familiar?”

  Sam glanced down, shook his head. “Might be a small town, but that doesn’t mean I know everybody. I keep my circle small, if you know what I mean.” Before Jack could respond, Sam added, “Ben called about half an hour ago. Said he’ll be here around six.”

  Jack hefted the drink to his lips, took a sip, said, “Good. That’s enough time for you to make me another one of these.”

  He nursed his second drink, letting the smooth rye calm his nerves. It was five minutes to six. He had just enough time to savor the last sip when in walked Ben Dunston. The older man’s presence was commanding, even in the casual attire of jeans and a flannel shirt. He waved to the older couple at the far end of the bar, then made his way over.

  “Right on time.” Jack stood to shake Ben’s hand.

  “Punctuality is a habit of mine.” A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Ready to dive into this?”

  “All business,” Jack said. “I like that. Saw a barbecue place behind the hotel. Figured we could talk over some ribs.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  They left the inn and walked the short distance to the restaurant, the air thick with the promise of rain.

  The BBQ restaurant stood on its own. Its weathered brick facade a testament to the town’s century-old history. The building, like many others in Lewistown, had seen countless seasons and stories pass through its doors. Its red bricks were faded and chipped in places.

  Above the entrance, a vintage sign swung gently in the evening breeze. Its peeling paint still legible enough to read “Hank’s BBQ” in bold, faded letters. The smell of smoked meat greeted them as they entered. The young woman at the stand took Jack in, smiled at Ben and told them to seat themselves. They found a booth in a corner that offered some privacy.

  A few minutes later, a waitress named Shiela came over and greeted Ben by name. She set two bottles of beer down on the table, said, “Your usual, sir,” and walked off.

  “Friend of yours?” Jack asked.

  “I may come in once or twice a month,” Ben said.

  There was laughter behind them. “Try once or twice a week,” Sheila said. “He having what you’re having, Ben?”

  “Ribs?” Jack asked.

  Ben nodded, said, “Yeah, double it up.”

  Jack leaned in. “All right, Ben. We can bullshit all night long, but I think it’s better we just get down to it. What do you know about Brenda Cresswell’s disappearance?”

  Ben took a deep breath. “Brenda’s a high school teacher. She’s well-liked by her students and colleagues. She went missing last week. Last seen leaving the school around 5 pm. Her car was found abandoned on a back road about ten miles out of town, keys still in the ignition.”

  “You see the car?”

  Ben nodded.

  Jack took out a small notepad and jotted down some notes. “Any signs of a struggle?”

  Ben shook his head. “None. The car was locked, and there was no blood or any obvious signs of foul play. It’s like she just vanished into thin air.”

  “Her personal affects? In the car?”

  “Her purse was in there, but it was empty. Brenda also carried a backpack. Maybe she dumped everything into that.”

  “What about her personal life? Any enemies? Someone with a motive?”

  Ben sighed. “That’s the thing. Brenda was well-loved. No known enemies. But she was involved in some community projects that might have ruffled a few feathers.”

  “Such as?”

  “She was spearheading a campaign to protect some local land from being developed into a resort. The kind of place rich people could come out for a week and pretend they’re roughing it, while all they’re really doing is glamping. The developers weren’t too happy about it.”

  “Was her car found near that land?”

  Ben nodded. “Same road, few miles away.”

  Jack scribbled in his notebook. “Developers. Resort. Got it. Anyone specific?”

  “Yeah, a guy named Carl Hennessey. He’s been pushing hard for this project. Stands to make a lot of money if it goes through.”

  “Is Hennessey from here?”

  “Sort of. His family…” Ben glanced over Jack’s shoulder, straightened up.

  Sheila set down two plates with baby back ribs hanging over the edges. She replaced their empty beers and then sauntered off.

  Ben chuckled as he watched her go. “Almost got caught gossiping by the town gossip.” He grabbed a bottle of barbecue sauce and applied it liberally to his ribs. “Seriously, it might be a good idea to talk to her later if we can get a lead or two.”

  “Why not now?”

  “Already tried.” Ben cut his ribs into manageable pieces. “She didn’t have anything, and she’s not particularly close to Brenda. Knows her because they were a couple years apart, but very little interaction since high school days.”

  Jack looked at the waitress and guessed her age to be late thirties. “Good twenty years then.”

  Ben nodded. “Anyway, back to Carl Hennessey.”

  “Right.”

  “His family has always been here, but he was shipped off to boarding school. Youngest of five children. An accident, if you will. Parents didn’t want anything to do with him. They died. He came back for his inheritance and apparently spotted a gold mine of an opportunity here. Decided to build up the place.”