“Are you okay?” Isaac stood over my air-depleted lungs.

I held up a finger until I could breathe.

“Hope you have plenty of juice in that thing. We may be stuck here awhile.”

After a moment’s reprieve, I could speak. “This one’s empty, but I have another one in my purse.” I reached for the spare, but it was gone.

I always carried an extra inhaler. What happened to it?

35

DENTON

I missed Shelby already. Yet the miles from home gave me time to ponder the dysfunction in her family and possible scenarios of who’d threatened her. Clay Pearce was an authoritarian, and although he was supposed to be a churchgoer, I failed to see Jesus in him.

Apparently Clay’s daughters bought into his archaic methods of ruling the roost. My suspicions he’d made off with the money vanished given the condition of his bakery and home. His 2006 Honda in the driveway added to his less-than-stellar financial condition. Marissa came across as more sensible, and while she claimed to want a relationship with her sister, Clay squelched that before it moved forward. I wished I’d been privy to the sisters’ conversation outside. I always felt better to confirm information firsthand.

In the rearview mirror, I noted a dark-colored, possibly black or deep green, truck on my tail for the past several miles. Adrenaline pumped excitement into my body. I’d chosen to take back roads to Valleysburg for this very purpose.

I swung right at the next county road, and the truck followed. . . . The truck that ran Shelby off the road matched this color. Not sure I could be this lucky. I turned left. Sure enough, the truck stayed about a quarter mile behind me.

I phoned Sheriff Wendall and gave him my location.

“Not my jurisdiction,” he said. “I’ll contact the highway patrol.”

“It’s no coincidence the driver’s tailing me. I thought I spotted a pickup keeping tabs on me when Shelby and I left Sharp’s Creek, but then I lost it well before meeting up for the transfer. Until now.”

“Stay connected till the highway patrol arrives.”

With one eye on the rearview mirror, I gave the sheriff an overview of the trip to see Shelby’s mother. “I have the suicide note in my pocket. I’ll let you know when I’m home and walking to her cabin.” A question bolted into my mind about the relationship between Travis Stover and Clay Pearce, a matter I’d look into later.

I drove down the same road for another two miles. The truck, which I determined was black, inched closer. At a stop sign, with nothing in sight but fields of new planting, the truck sped up within feet of my tailgate. Front license plate removed.

He bumped me.

I cursed and raced ahead.

“This guy isn’t playing around.” I pulled my Glock from under the seat.

A second crash shoved my head into the steering wheel. My truck lunged right at a speed reserved for racetracks. I quickly attempted to straighten it without stomping on the brake and flipping the truck.