The shopkeeper must have seen something in the sheriff’s face—or in Mrs. Anthony’s or mine—because he intervened before the sheriff could answer. “I get people in here asking about missing loved ones from time to time,” he said, taking control of the situation. “But that doesn’t mean those people are really missing. If a person wants to start over, if they want to disappear—a national park isn’t a bad place to do it.”

The sheriff let the lot of us chew on that for several seconds. “Some people don’t want to be found,” he said evenly. “Others set off without a real idea of where they’re going. A person who enters the park from Hunter’s Point might not be planning to come back the same way. My office takes reports, but we’re not responsible for every Tom, Dick, or Harry who passes through.”

“And Bella?” Jude took the words straight from my pounding, bloody heart. “Are you responsible for her?”

Mrs. Anthony drew in a ragged breath.

“Does your grandfather know you’re here?” the sheriff asked Jude pointedly. “Or, for that matter, your mother?”

Silver trotted over to Jude and plopped down at his feet, as if to declare that there was an adult keeping tabs on the three of us, thank you very much. I half expected the sheriff to reach for her, the way he’d tried to grab Saskia.

“Sheriff Rawlins is right.” Mrs. Anthony straightened her spine and focused on the three of us. “I appreciate the moral support, but this isn’t something I want kids mixed up in. Given the circumstances, I doubt your family would feel any different.”

Our family was out there looking for her daughter right now.

“Would this be an appropriate time to mention the Freedom of Information Act?” Free adopted her most wide-eyed, innocent expression. “Because I’m pretty sure that as a law enforcement agency, the local sheriff’s office can only withhold government records in accordance with a small number of exceptions that don’t seem to apply to Mrs. Anthony’s request.”

If any of the adults in this room had known Free, they would have realized that telling her to stay out of something was as good as sending her an engraved invitation to dive right in.

“Is she right?” Mrs. Anthony turned back to the sheriff. “Do you have a legal obligation to give me those reports?”

“Not if disclosure would endanger the lives of civilians or interfere with enforcement proceedings.”

“Which would only be the case,” Free interjected sweetly, “if the files were part of an ongoing investigation. But since you can hardly be held responsible for every Tom, Dick, or Harry who passes through…”

A sixth sense warned me against pushing the sheriff further.