Hardy had nearly four years as a deputy with the county. He loved to serve, loved his job, was good at it, but wanted more. He’d applied to the Vermont State Police and other agencies, hoping to become a detective. His dream was to become an FBI agent. He glanced at his text book, Practical Homicide Investigation, on the seat. He intended to resume reading it on his break. That’s when his radio interrupted.

“What’s your twenty, Austin?”

“North on 14, a couple miles from Coventry.”

“Got a missing person complaint in Spiritsburg. Jonas Seaver, manager of the Green Rolling Hills Inn, says a female guest checked in with a male companion, and the male has just reported her missing. Can you swing by and check it out?”

“On my way.”

Hardy turned his car around.

***

Fifteen minutes later, Hardy was at the motel, taking a statement from Kevin Tatum, a college student, from Queens, New York.

At first, in the back of his mind, Hardy believed that this was some kind of lovers’ spat. Tatum and his girlfriend, Samantha Moore, had had a long drive, had run out of gas. She was pissed at him, exhausted, and had stormed off into the night. Leaving the drinks was like flipping her finger at him.

But watching Tatum repeatedly rake his hands through his hair, his gaze darting, voice wavering, Hardy cautioned himself about drawing conclusions from the get-go. Samantha Moore’s disappearance was sudden; either Tatum was acting, or something else was at play.

“Let’s go back over a few things.” Hardy flipped through his notes. “You argued about taking the short cut, about running out of gas?”

“Yeah, but we made up and planned to get back on the interstate in the morning. Sam was good with everything. We weren’t arguing when we checked in. She just stepped out to get us drinks, and—boom—she’s gone. I just don’t know what’s happened to her.”

“After she left the room, did you hear any voices, noises, anything?”

“No. I was in the shower.”

“Okay, sir. I need you to think. Is there anything you can remember that was unusual leading up to this point? Any calls? Messages you or Samantha received? Anyone you encountered?”

“Well, when I was walking back from the gas station, two people picked me up—Cass and her son, Gibby. They were a little weird.”

“Define weird.”

Kevin shrugged. “Talking about Scripture and stuff.”

“What sort of stuff?”

“How this part of the state is known for mysterious disappearances and things. I never told Sam what they said, because I didn’t want to upset her even more. But is it true? I mean, my friend in Queens had read about it.” Kevin’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Is there anything to it?”