The Sheriff's department stretched over an entire block on the edge of downtown. It was a narrow single-story building with tinted windows, a flat roof, and more parking space than square footage.
The facade was the sort of grey that didn't go well with anything. The tattered flag fluttering on the flagpole out front had seen more winters than me. Were it not for the massive Bruler County Sheriff sign affixed above the main entrance, the building could have passed for a bank or a library.
Deputy Johnson pulled up in one of the reserved spots flanking the double door. He killed the engine and keyed a few words into the terminal, which was mounted onto the dashboard. The computer beeped in response.
Eager to be let out, Victor and I watched wearily, foreheads pressed against the partition, breaths fogging the plexiglass, but he took his time.
Being cooped up in the back of a cruiser was nothing like catching a ride in a friend's car. There was no goofing around or singing with the radio, no fidgeting with the AC or rolling down the windows.
The bars on the back doors were a constant reminder that we were trapped. The hard plastic seats were uncomfortable, the space cramped. The crown of Victor's head was literally rubbing against the ceiling. Not being able to get out made it impossible to think of anything else.
Eventually, the deputy unclipped his seatbelt, put on his hat, and stepped outside. He opened the door for us and we scrambled out.
Victor stretched and bounced on his tippy toes a few times to get the blood pumping. I spread my arms, savoring the feel of the afternoon breeze on my skin.
"Let's go," said Deputy Johnson now suddenly in a rush.
As he led us into the station, I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the windows and flinched.
My face was grimy, my hair a mess. Dragged through a bush backward, my mom would have said, if she saw me.
The toothy woman behind the reception looked familiar. Not the mother of a friend, not a neighbor either, but I was pretty sure I've seen her before. I knew it would come to me. This was one of the hallmarks of the Bruler experience - you knew who people were even if you didn't know their names. But of course, she was on the organizing committee for the Bigfoot parade.
Each year on the third Saturday in September, people from near and far descended on Bruler to watch grownups strut down Main Street dressed in furry outfits. There were food stands and craft sales, horseshoe throwing and tug-of-war competitions.
In Sienna's words, Bigfoot day was the most fun you could have in Bruler with your clothes on.
Busy barking into the phone, the woman nodded at the deputy and stared at us as if we had just stepped out of a WANTED poster.
Some people were born looking judgemental but there was more to her scowl. She had been trained to intimidate; appearing fearsome was part of her job description.
I felt her eyes on my back as we walked past her, single file, and down a carpeted corridor adorned with portraits of past sheriffs.
Deputy Johnson installed us in a windowless room and went to call my mom. I was glad to let him run interference. At this point, nothing I could say to her would make a difference. No explanation would suffice.
While we were riding into town my phone had started convulsing with messages. Some were from schoolmates wanting to know if it was true that we had found Sienna but most were from my mom. I was in no state to chat nor could I come up with the right words to text her, so I had put my phone on mute and shoved it deep down my back pocket.
I knew I was in a world of trouble. Maybe if I had been kidnapped by aliens, experimented on, and dropped into the woods, she would have mercy on me but that's not what happened.
The truth was, I had skipped school. I had chosen to go to the abandoned cabin without telling a single adult. I hadn't turned back after finding Sienna's car. I had missed lunch. I was driven back into town in the back of a cruiser, looking like a cavewoman.
The list of my transgressions was endless. There would be consequences.
I went to the restroom and washed up the best that I could. I dried my face with paper towels and put my hair up in a bun. I looked almost presentable. One thing less to worry about.
Next, I found a water fountain and drank until my belly hurt. The Cerberus at the front desk spotted me walking around and gave me the evil eye, probably wondering whether I was about to bolt.
When I got back into the room Victor handed me a candy bar.
"That's the best the vending machine had to offer," he said and peeled off the wrapper of his.
He took a bite off and motioned for me to follow but the very thought of putting something in my mouth made my stomach cramp.
"Thanks but I'm not hungry," I said and sat down. The front of my t-shirt was wet. I crossed my arms.
"You have to eat something, Zoe. You need the energy."
I watched him chew.
"It'll help," he said, his mouth full. "We must be on our best game. For Sienna."
Hesitantly, I accepted the bar, thinking what my mom would say if she saw me.
Empty calories, rotten teeth.
I tore open the wrapper and took a tentative bite, then another. The chocolate melted on my tongue. Victor was right. I felt better. Not good but good enough to be able to sit up in my chair and think clearly.
"Any news?" I asked and gestured at Victor's phone which was laying belly up on the table between us. "Did your dad say something?"
"My dad?" Victor smiled ruefully. "Never. If it's related to a case, it's off-limits. He wouldn't cross the line. Not even with me."
Pity. What's the point of having an inside man if you were going to be kept in the dark like the rest of us, mere mortals?
Victor interpreted my disappointment wrongly.
"Don't worry, my dad is good at his job. He'll catch the guy."
"Not if it's a stranger," I countered.
"What do you mean?"
"Violent acts committed by strangers are notoriously hard to solve because there is no connection between the perpetrator and the victim." I had heard this on one of my true crime podcasts which I probably shouldn't have been listening to in the first place.
"Is that what you think happened?" asked Victor, perplexed. "Wrong place, wrong time, kind of deal?"
"A chance encounter, yeah."
That was my best theory, only it wasn't much of a theory, but more of a guess.
"I think Sienna snuck out for a romantic rendezvous and crossed paths with the wrong person. Someone camping nearby or a drifter crashing at the cabin, I don't know."
"A stranger," repeated Victor thoughtfully. "What are the odds?"
I licked my fingers clean and pocketed the wrapper. All evidence of dietary my slip-up, gone. My mom didn't need an extra reason to be upset.
"Small."
"Try minuscule." He wasn't convinced. Neither was I but allowing that it could be one of us was harder than blaming the boogeyman.
"If it wasn't a stranger, Victor, then it must be someone we know. And I can't think of anyone capable of such violence. Can you?"
Victor shook his head.
"No, but you're assuming we are dealing with a cold-blooded killer. I think that this was a crime of passion. Whoever she was meeting at the cabin didn't go up there with murder on his mind. He wasn't armed to kill. A stone is a weapon of opportunity."
That much was true. Sienna was bludgeoned with something that was already lying there.
"He lost it," I said. "Something set him off. But what?"
"Let's say, he wanted more but she wasn't game. Things got out of hand."
"Oh, I get it. If the girl's not into you, you grab the first thing you see and bash her head in. Does that sound logical to you?"
He pursed his lips.
"Some people are wired differently. There is no reason and no excuse. Just wickedness."
His words made my skin crawl. Could evil put on a human face and hide in plain sight?
"No, Victor. There would have been warning signs and for the life of me, I can't think of anyone who has made my spidey sense tingle."
He knew better than to challenge a girl's intuition. Victor pointed at his phone.
"Some online creep could have lured her out there."
"Not Sienna," I said firmly. "She wouldn't go into the woods in the middle of the night to meet someone for the first time. She knew better."
"That's true," agreed Victor.
We were running out of ideas and nothing we had come up with so far was making sense.
I buried my face in my hands.
Victor drummed his fingers on the table.
"If you ask me, my dad should start with Arlo," he said finally.
I looked up, surprised.
"You think Arlo did this?"
"I think he knows more than he's saying."
I couldn't argue with that. Arlo was the one who pointed us at the cabin.
By telling us where to look for her, he had made himself a person of interest. It was just a matter of time until he found himself in the sheriff's crosshairs.