As Lori’s eyes glanced over the label of the pickle jar she held in her other hand, she thought Kevin sounded weak, almost broken.

“What is it?”

“Did Sam contact you last night, or this morning?”

“No. Why?”

He didn’t answer.

“Kevin, I’ve been sending her messages, but she hasn’t responded. Is something wrong?”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure everything’s okay, but the detective wanted me to ask you if you’d heard from her.”

“Detective?” Lori’s voice got louder. Mac’s head snapped from the salad dressing as Lori demanded, “Kevin, what’s going on?”

As Kevin recounted all that he knew, the printing on the pickle jar label blurred. Lori dropped it, glass shattered, and an explosion of deli-style pickles littered the floor. Mac raced to catch Lori, as her knees buckled and she dropped her phone.

Another one of her premonitions had come true.

***

Lori and Mac Campbell made a day-long drive from Toronto to the Green Rolling Hills Inn in Spiritsburg, Vermont.

They joined Kevin, met Rod Noble, the lead detective from the Vermont State Police, and endured the whirlwind swirling around Sam’s disappearance. There were more questions from Noble, and from the news media, which included Canadian outlets now.

Lori, Mac, and Kevin went before the cameras, pleading for Sam’s safe return. There were online appeals for help. Sam and Kevin’s friends rushed from New York to help with growing search efforts. More dog teams were brought in. Drones, planes, and a U.S. Border Patrol helicopter scoured the region.

It seemed the whole state was looking for Sam.

CHAPTER 7

Northeast Kingdom, Vermont

Devlin Foxe drove deep into the Northeast Kingdom with restrained urgency.

He got onto Route 14 out of Montpelier, keeping his new Mercedes just under the posted speed limit because he didn’t want to attract police attention. Devlin loved his GLE 450 SUV. It was Iridium Silver Metallic, all tricked-out, spotless, and smelling good. He’d paid nearly 70 grand for it to impress his real estate clients.

But today, Devlin didn’t want to impress anyone.

Today, because of the news breaking out of Spiritsburg, he needed to take care of another kind of business as soon as possible. He couldn’t risk anyone discovering what he’d been up to.

It would ruin everything.

And he had a lot to worry about these days. His wife’s health was deteriorating; he was dealing with complicated listings in Barton and East Montpelier.

And now this.

After driving for about an hour, he heard a helicopter thudding overhead. He slowed down as he came upon Spiritsburg, his eyes widening slightly. Police vehicles and news trucks lined both sides of the road in front of the Green Rolling Hills Inn.

That’s where it happened.