I didn’t know what was going on inside Jude’s head. I wasn’t even sure if he thought that Ash was his father, or if Free and I were the only ones who’d gone there. But I had enough question marks in my own past to know how they could eat at you, tearing chunks out bit by bit.

Cady had leashed me for the remainder of the search. There was nothing more I could do for Bella right now. But Free and I? We could make another trip to town. We could find some chatty locals—for Jude.

Chapter 22

Jude wasn’t about to sit out this particular adventure—and neither was Silver. Given the German shepherd’s history of keeping an eye on us in Cady’s absence, that was hardly surprising.

Also unsurprising: the fact that it didn’t take long for Jude to recover his voice. “It’s a lovely day for being inexcusably nosy, is it not, ladies?”

“I believe the phrase you’re looking for,” Free put in as we hugged the side of the winding road that led into town, “is that it’s a lovely day for mischief.”

“Miscreants’ Creed,” I said, a small smile creeping over my lips. “Line one.”

As we hit the outskirts of town, we drew a few looks from locals.

“I was thinking we’d head for the wilderness-supply store.” Free chose that moment to saunter across the street, well aware that people were watching and completely unbothered by the attention. “It was closed earlier, but my little sojourn by the local pool hall last night led me to believe that Hunter’s Point is the kind of place where people nickname their guns and keep their wilderness supplies well stocked. Ten-to-one odds say the place is a family business that’s been here for years.”

“Phoebe Eloise,” Jude said fondly. “Have I ever told you that you’re terrifyingly perceptive?”

Free lightly kicked a rock and watched it skid across the concrete. “Call me by my full name again, Saint Jude, and play Russian roulette with your chances of waking up tomorrow morning with only one eyebrow intact.”

Jude meditated on that threat as we made our way to the supply store. The bell over the door alerted the shopkeeper to our arrival. Free went in first, and I went in last. The place seemed to be about one part hardware store, one part camping outlet, and one part armory.

“Can I help you kids with something?”

The man behind the counter was about seventy-five, dressed in flannel with a beard he kept shaved close to his face. There was nothing unwelcoming about his expression, but I wasn’t sure it was welcoming, either.

“Jackpot,” Free murmured to me. “I bet he’s worked here for forty years. The older they are, the more they like to gossip.”