The Courage Tree. Diane Chamberlain

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      “I think the guy’s maybe a bit more interested in little girls than he should be, but I frankly doubt he has anything to do with this.”

      “Do you know his address?”

      “It’s on Canter Trail. Over near Wolf Trap. I’m not sure of the number, though. It’s a small ranch sort of house. A rambler. Brick. But he actually lives in the wooded lot behind the house, up in a tree house, and—”

      “Are you talking about that Trowell fellow?” Loomis looked interested.

      “You know him?” Joe felt a flash of fear. Why would the police know Lucas? Could he really be the pedophile Donna and Frank feared him to be?

      “No, not personally,” Loomis said. “I just know that he lives there. Everyone knows about the guy in the tree house.”

      “Can you check to see if he has a record?” Joe asked. “His first name is Lucas.”

      “Will do. And I’ll have someone swing by there.”

      “Thanks.”

      

      It was dark by the time Sergeant Loomis had finished his questioning of everyone in the group. He stood beneath one of the parking lot lights and drew them all together again with a wave of his arms.

      “All right,” he said. “That’s it for tonight. You—”

      “That’s it?” Joe asked. “What are you going to do? Who’s out looking for them?”

      “Look, Mr. Donohue,” Loomis said. “We’re not miracle workers. We’ve got a situation here of some travelers not reaching their destination. They’ve covered about a hundred miles, through several counties, in a blue Honda Accord, not exactly the rarest car on the road, and we don’t have a clue if they might have taken off in another direction altogether or if they stopped at a rest stop and took naps on a picnic table or if they were kidnapped by someone or decided to stop to eat, or who knows? So there’s not much for us to go on right now. We’ll do all we can. We’ll have the patrol cars along the route keep a lookout for them. Not much else we can do tonight.”

      “What about talking to people in shops or restaurants along the way?” Paula asked.

      “Most departments don’t have the manpower to do that, ma’am. At least not at this point in the investigation. So for now, you should all go home and stick close to your phones tonight.”

      Go home? Joe could not imagine being able to go home. He looked at Janine and knew she was thinking the same thing.

      He moved next to her. “Let’s drive up to the camp,” he said. “Follow the route they would have taken.”

      “We’ve already got that covered.” Loomis had heard him. “There’s no need for you to—”

      “I want to,” Janine insisted.

      “And we’re staying right here,” Rebecca said. “In case they’ve just been delayed somehow and are on their way back.”

      The police officer sighed. “Most of you have cell phones. I’ve got all your numbers. Let’s make sure you’ve all got each other’s.”

      Holly’s parents had no cell phone, but Paula said she would stay with them so that they could use hers. Joe was grateful to Paula for not suggesting she join Janine and himself on their drive. She knew he’d want this time alone with Janine.

      They exchanged phone numbers with everyone, and he and Janine got into his car. Once they were on the road, Janine began to cry. She wept softly, her face toward the window, and he pulled the car to the side of Beulah Road and turned off the ignition.

      “It’ll be all right,” he said, his hand on her shoulder.

      She turned to him. The light from the street lamp lit her hazel eyes and settled in one tear that slipped down her cheek. “I’m sorry, Joe,” she said. “I’m so sorry I sent her.”

      He bit his tongue against an angry retort. “You couldn’t have known this would happen,” he managed to say instead. He reached over and pulled her into his arms, felt her melt there in the comfort of his touch, and he knew without a doubt that he wanted her to be his wife again.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      Lucas turned his head from his computer and listened. Far below the tree house, something was moving. It was not unusual to hear sounds at night on this deeply wooded lot. There was the steady June buzz of cicadas and crickets, and the leaf rustling of raccoons and possums and an occasional deer. But this was the unmistakable heavy crunching footsteps of a man. Lucas held very still, listening.

      “Mr. Trowell?” A male voice called to him from somewhere below.

      Lucas quickly logged off the Internet. He left his small study, reaching in his pocket for the key to the room, and he carefully locked the door and pocketed the key before walking through the living room to the front door. Opening the door, he stepped onto the deck and leaned over the railing, slipping into the blinding glare from a flashlight.

      “Yes?” he called, lifting his hand to block the glare.

      The flashlight was instantly turned off. “Sorry,” the man said. He was now illuminated by the deck light, which fell in a soft glow over the trees and cast shadows through the woods. The light bounced off the badge on the man’s uniform, sending an icicle of fear up Lucas’s spine.

      Damn.

      “Are you Lucas Trowell?” the man asked.

      “Yes,” Lucas said, wondering if the county would send a policeman on a Sunday evening to tell him his house was out of code in yet another way. The county was never quite sure what to do about his tree house.

      “Can I come up there for a minute?” the officer asked.

      “Sure.” Lucas leaned over the railing again to point to the broad trunk of the oak tree beneath his house. “Can you see the steps? They’re around the back of the oak.”

      “Right. I see them.”

      Lucas listened as the man climbed the stairs, cringing at the squeaking sound a couple of them made. They were not rotted or anything like that, but he knew he should fix them, anyway. He had so little time these days to get work done on the house, though.

      He didn’t like the anxiety he felt as the policeman neared the top of the stairs. Did everyone feel a pang of guilt when a cop wanted to see them? Did everyone’s mind race, searching for the reason for the visit? Or did that happen only to a person with something to hide?

      The policeman joined Lucas on the deck. He was a young guy—very young—blond and blue-eyed, and he was grinning. Lucas’s anxiety dropped a notch.

      “Totally cool,” the cop said. “I’ve always wanted to see this place. Everyone talks about it, but I don’t know anyone who’s seen it up close.”

      “What can I do for you?” Lucas asked.

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