Page 18 of Backwater Justice
“Say what?” Charles’s voice got louder.
“I told you something was fishy. Mill was drinking brandy or something just before he collapsed. He told me the doctors can’t find the cause of the heart attack.”
“And naturally, you and Annie think something is amiss?”
“Of course we do, Charles!” Myra was emphatic.
“I know, love. Just a bant. Tell me what you’re looking for.”
“That’s just it. We don’t know. I guess we should start with the usual suspects: arsenic, digitalis, washer fluid.”
“I’ll check with Fergus. I am sure we can find a place that can handle such a thing. It may take several days.”
“Well, we’ll just have to extend our stay until we get some results.”
“Right-o,” Charles replied.
“Let me speak to him, please,” Annie told Myra. “Charles, I’ve asked Maggie to fly in tomorrow. She’s going to do a follow-up story about the missing girl.”
“Brilliant. We’ll get cracking on our end.”
“Thanks, dear,” Myra said. “We’ll chat in a bit.”
“Tootles.” Charles signed off.
* * *
When they arrived at their suite, Myra switched on the TV, and Annie ordered food to be delivered. There was a story on the news about the most recently missing girl with her photo. She waved at Annie. “Maggie needs to add this one to her list.”
Annie nodded, and Myra took copious notes from what the news commentator had to say:
“Lorraine, Lori George was last seen going to work at the Cascade Inn outside Eugene. She had punched her timecard, showing she arrived at six-thirty in the morning. One of her coworkers said they saw her in the locker room when she changed into her uniform, but she has not been seen since. Lori is twenty years old. Dark complexion, shoulder-length black hair. Her personal belongings were left on the premises. If anyone has any information, please call this special hotline number: 1-800-FIND-HER.”
A photo of a young woman who appeared to have American Indian heritage appeared on the screen above the number.
Annie finished placing their food order and walked over to where Myra was sitting. “Maggie is going to have her hands full. Should we call for some backup?”
Myra blinked several times. “Cascade Inn. That’s one of Milton’s places. There are several of them between Eugene and Vancouver, Canada. It’s for truckers who want to take a break from the road for a good night’s sleep in a real bed.”
Annie twisted her mouth. “Coincidence?”
Myra raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”
“Kathryn!” They both said her name at the same time.
“Let me see where she is.” Myra punched Kathryn’s speed-dial number and the speaker button.
A sleepy voice answered. “Hey, Myra. What’s up?”
“I guessyouare. Now, anyway.” Myra chuckled. “We need you in Oregon.”
“When?” a groggy Kathryn asked.
“Like now,” Annie said.
“Oh, hey, Annie.” They could hear Kathryn rustling. “I’m in Boston. I don’t think I could get there in less than two days.”
“Can you leave your rig there?” Annie asked.