Cut & Run (A Rachel Scott Adventure) - By Traci Hohenstein Page 0,13

else.”

Keith fingered the card before putting it in his wallet. “I’ve been watching the news. Do you think he killed his wife and kids?”

“We don’t know yet. He may be suffering from memory problems.” Rachel finished her iced tea and put a twenty-dollar bill on top of the check.

“I’d tend to believe that. He looked really lost. Sort of dazed and confused. I hope everything works out and y’all find his family.” Keith stood up to leave. “It was nice to meet you.”

Rachel waited until Keith was out of earshot. “Well, that was a total loss.”

“Not completely,” Red said. “We have established somewhat of a time line. Matt and his family went missing sometime Wednesday evening between six and seven. Keith ran into him in the truck stop parking lot on Thursday evening at eight thirty.”

“What I want to know is how Matt got to Baton Rouge from New Orleans. We’ll head to New Orleans in the morning and start at where Matt’s truck was found.” Rachel looked at her watch. “I need to catch up on my sleep,” she said. “Since we don’t need to go back to the truck stop in the morning now, we can leave around nine tomorrow?”

“I’ll be ready.”

As they pulled into the hotel parking lot, they spotted Agents Krapek and Phipps putting their luggage into a dark sedan. She checked the time. It was almost midnight.

“Leaving already?” Rachel said, surprised.

A quick look passed between both agents. Rachel immediately knew something was wrong. A knot settled in her stomach.

“They’ve found a woman’s body in Houma. No identification yet, but we’re going to check it out,” Phipps said.

“Where is Houma?” Rachel asked.

“It’s about an hour southwest of New Orleans,” Phipps said as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “A lot of swamp. We’ll let you know what we find out.”

Rachel watched as they pulled out of the parking lot. She put her hand on her stomach, regretting the blackened alligator appetizer she’d eaten earlier. “I hope that doesn’t turn out to be Matt O’Malley’s wife.”

“Yeah, me too.” Red took her by the elbow as they walked into the lobby. “Me too.”

CHAPTER 7

Rachel and Red left the hotel early the next morning, when the sunny mid-September air still felt cool. The road to New Orleans was crowded, but they still made good time. An hour and a half later, Red and Rachel pulled into the parking lot where the O’Malley truck was last seen. Red shifted the car into park. As Rachel stepped out, she noticed the heat of the day was already picking up.

She followed Red over to a patch of asphalt. “According to the police report, this is where Matt stopped to check his tire,” he said. “The truck was found with the back hatch opened, a flat rear tire, and a tire iron with specks of blood. His wife Erin’s purse was on the passenger floorboard. The kids’ backpacks, soccer equipment, and a cooler were all in the back. The backseat DVD player was still running.”

Rachel looked up, wishing she could know what Matt O’Malley had seen that evening. Now, in the bright morning sunshine, this place seemed completely ordinary. It was a parking lot bordered by the Mississippi River to the south and a hotel chain to the right. Nearby was another parking lot with an attendant station and signs for a paddleboat river ride. She observed several people walking around the riverfront and coming in and out of the hotel.

“It’s hard to believe that nobody saw anything. Anywhere around the riverfront in New Orleans is always jumping with tourists.” Rachel had observed a casino, the aquarium, paddleboat operators, several hotels, and the convention center within minutes of the lot. “When the O’Malley family pulled in here around six thirty or seven o’clock in the evening, the sun would just be setting. Plenty of light.” Rachel looked again at the hotel entrance. “Any chance of security cameras?”

“Yeah,” Red answered. “The detective in charge of the case said they checked it out and found nothing in range of the parking lot.”

“Between here and the city park, Matt stopped for gas. Do we know which gas station?” Rachel asked.

“The police traced his credit card, which was used at a local Chevron located a few blocks away on Poydras Street. About a five-minute drive from here.”

“Police talked to the people at the gas station?” Rachel asked, guessing the answer. Red’s experience as a police detective made him a very thorough investigator, and he would have looked