Using the scale of the official map, Wyatt calculated how many miles it was from Zeffie’s station to the turn. He continued making distance calculations to Cass and Gibby’s location, making note of the mileage for each segment. Now he had a lock on where Cass and Gibby were.

Satisfied, he sipped coffee and looked out the window.

An Orleans County Sheriff’s SUV, a Vermont State Police SUV, and a couple of other vehicles that Wyatt figured for unmarked police units were at a home across the street.

What’s going on there?

His phone rang, displaying a 212 number. New York. It was his boss, Chase Lockner.

“So, Ray, what’s up on the story?”

Glancing around to ensure people were out of earshot, Wyatt kept his voice low.

“I’ve got a number of interviews done—the boyfriend, his friend who loaned them the truck they were using, the lead investigator, and the motel manager. I’m staying in the same room Moore was in before she disappeared.”

“Are you any closer to unraveling the mystery?”

“I’m following in her last steps. Yesterday, I was at the gas station they’d passed on their way through Lucifer’s Notch. I got some local color and weirdness. Then I went to the spot where Moore was stalked by the mystery vehicle. It’s a beautiful, kind of ominous, place.”

“Any breaks in the case? Anything new from the lead investigator?”

Wyatt looked at the police vehicles at the house across the street.

“Nothing on the record, but my gut tells me they’re working on something.”

“Like what? A suspect? An arrest?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

“Do you think they’ll find her body? Do you think she’s alive?”

“I don’t know. Everything’s still enveloped in mystery.”

“That might be the angle we go with.”

“Not sure, Chase. I’m far from done. I’ve got a lead on two of the last people to see Moore, a couple of oddballs. From what I can tell, they’ve never been interviewed by any media outlet. I’m going after them today. So, if I find them, we’ll have an exclusive.”

“All right, Ray. Sounds good. Keep me posted.”

After the call, and after finishing at the diner, Wyatt left and stood outside, considering the police vehicles.

Something’s going on in there.

When Wyatt saw a door at the house open and a uniformed officer emerge carrying a clipboard, he immediately crossed the street, and caught up to the deputy as he got behind the wheel of the Orleans County SUV.

The deputy’s eyes went to Wyatt and his hands as he came to the driver’s door. The deputy lowered the window.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Hi, Ray Wyatt, a reporter with True Signal News in New York.” Wyatt showed him his laminated ID.