“That’s when Brent contacted the authorities. We didn’t have much to go on, and you can imagine how angry and scared we were. At the time, we didn’t even know which mountains or in which state. On Monday, the sheriff in Walden, Colorado, got a report that her Subaru was reported at a trailhead across the border in Wyoming. That’s when things finally started to happen. Search-and-rescue teams, helicopters, news alerts, all of it.”
Joe nodded. “I was on the search team.”
“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “A lot of good men and women spent days trying to find her. But by that time, she’d been gone over a week. All I could think about was that she’d fallen and broken her leg and was waiting for help that never came. I was terrified she was suffering up there somewhere. I was horrified that she wouldn’t be found at all or that her body would be found. I can’t even tell you how awful that week was. Or how everything is coming back now.”
Joe said, “About Justin . . .”
She waved her hand. “I know what you’re probably thinking—that maybe he had something to do with it. We did, too, eventually. Especially when he just stopped caring and calling. But according to the police, his alibi was airtight. He was training all Tuesday and Wednesday with his coaches. The note she left him was in her handwriting. When my husband hired Bobby to investigate, the first thing we asked him to do was to check out Justin’s alibi. But Bobby said there was no doubt Justin’s story held. In fact, Justin found a girl—another runner—who testified Justin was with her from Tuesday through Thursday. He was cheating on my daughter, Mr. Pickett.”
She looked at her hands. “I no longer suspect Justin, even though I despise him. He just didn’t care. And as tough as it was for me to accept, I realized he didn’t care enough about Diane to hurt her. She really meant nothing to him. He’s got a new girlfriend now, and he’s moved from Colorado. We haven’t heard anything from him in months, although I still follow his races on the Internet. When Bobby told us about your statement, Brent called him on his cell phone and left a message that there might be some new information. Justin hasn’t returned the call.”
Joe sighed. Her pain gave him a knot in his stomach. That his report had given her a glimmer of hope made his palms cold.
She looked up. “I hope you can forgive my husband for the way he acted earlier. If there is such a thing as being obsessed to the point of insanity, that pretty much describes Brent now. I’m watching him fall apart in front of my eyes. Sometimes, I think it would be better if some hunter found her bones. At least then it would be over. If the news didn’t kill him, he might finally be able to recover. But this not knowing . . .” She let the sentence trail off.
“It’s been so hard on Brent,” she said suddenly. “He worshipped his daughter, even though she distanced herself from him in the end.”
Joe thought about that.
Suddenly, the front door burst open and Sheridan flew inside the house, running straight for her bedroom. Joe looked outside and saw her pickup truck in the driveway with the door open and the motor running.
“Crap!” Sheridan said, seeing Joe and Jenna Shober. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were there.”
“What’s up?” Joe asked.
“I forgot my basketball shoes,” she said. “I’ve got to get them and go. Practice starts in ten minutes. Sorry.”
With that, she ran into her room and ran out with the shoes. “Sorry to interrupt,” she called out over her shoulder. “See you later, Dad.”
“See you later,” Joe said, even though Sheridan had shut the door and jumped back into her truck.
“She’s pretty,” Jenna said.
“Thank you,” Joe said, distracted.
Jenna reached out and squeezed Joe’s hand. “Hold on to her tight,” she said. “Don’t let her go.”
Joe knew what she was thinking. The same thing he was thinking.
SHE TOOK out a large envelope from her purse. “We meant to show you these things earlier,” she said. “But things got heated and Brent forgot. These days, he gets so wrapped up in the how that he forgets about the why. He just assumed you’d jump up and go find our daughter. When you didn’t, he lost it and forgot about the envelope. When we got to the motel, I slipped it into my purse and lied about going shopping. Brent would never have approved of me coming here myself to talk with you.”
Joe nodded, still dumbstruck from seeing Sheridan and imagining what it would be like if she left one day and never came back. He paid polite attention to a postcard she handed to him.
“This was sent to our Michigan address a year ago,” she said.
The card was a generic COLORFUL COLORADO postcard with faded images of Pikes Peak, the Maroon Bells, a skier turning down a slope, and the Denver skyline. He flipped it over. It was postmarked from Walden, Colorado, but over the border.
The handwriting was crimped and severe, as if the author had struggled with the words. He guessed the sender was male.
Jenna:
I’m sending this to you on behalf of your daughter Diane. I saw her and she is fine. She says not to worry about her. She asks that you not share this message with her Dad.
It was signed, A Friend.
Joe handed the card back. “Any idea who sent it?”
“No. But it gives me hope.”
He kept his voice soft. “Her disappearance wasn’t a secret. I mean, anyone could have sent this to you. It could be a cruel hoax, or it could be someone well-meaning trying to ease your pain.”
She looked down. “I know that. But I want to think it’s real.”
A moment went by as Joe tried to form his question as diplomatically as possible. “So, did you show it to Brent?”
She shook her head quickly but didn’t look up.
He sat back. “Why not?”
She looked away. He could see moisture in her eyes.
“You didn’t want him to know,” Joe said.
She whispered, “It’s tough.”
Joe was confused. He knew he was on thin ice. Finally, he said, “Jenna, is it possible the relationship between your husband and your daughter was, you know, a little too close when she was growing up?”
Jenna refused to answer, which was an answer in itself, Joe thought.
Minutes passed. Joe didn’t press. And he tried not to stare at her while she sat silently, looking away.
At last, she said, “Would you like to look at some photos?”
“Sure,” he said. Anything to move past his last question, he thought.
He’d seen most of them before in the initial briefing before he’d struck out with the search-and-rescue team, and others on fliers the Shobers had posted, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings by not looking at them. He did look at them to try to find what it was about the unknown woman he’d seen that made him think of Diane Shober. Maybe a profile or an expression? But thus far, none of the photos made a direct connection.
Most of the shots were of Diane running in competitions. She had a determined set to her face, and her blond hair flew back like frozen flames. Her fists were clenched, her arms pumping, the muscles in her arms, thighs, and calves taut as ropes.
“Here,” Jenna said, “this is the one we wanted you to see.”
Joe took it. The photo was not from a track meet, but from training. In it, Diane wore tight running clothes but she looked happy and relaxed and she had a nice open-faced smile. The right front fender of her Subaru poked out from the bottom left corner of the photo, and behind her were lodgepole pine trees and a glimpse of a cobalt blue sky between openings in the branches. Joe wondered if the shot had been taken at the same trailhead where her car had been found.
“Justin sent us that picture,” Jenna said. “He said he took it a week or so before she disappeared but he’d forgotten it was in his camera. He sent it to us almost a year after she’d been gone.”