hint of concern. “I do hope you can get some answers. This tragedy has plagued that town for far too long.”
“Was that as weird for you as it was for me?” Reese asked as Brantley drove back to his house.
“There was definitely somethin’ up with that guy.”
“I can’t help but think we’re stirrin’ up a hornet’s nest.”
Brantley was inclined to agree.
William Dugan was the last of the people they’d talked to this week, with more lined up for next week. Friends, family, teachers, neighbors. Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, those who’d been closest to Lauren remembered that day clearly. At least what they were doing after she went missing. Interesting how people tended to notice what was going on around them after something horrific happened rather than before.
But one thing that stood out, no one remembered seeing Lauren leave the school that day. Not even Rachel Conway, formerly Jenkins, the English teacher Dugan had referred to. Because Brantley had already spoken with her, he gave her a call to confirm what Dugan had said. And though Mrs. Conway wouldn’t swear to it, she was almost positive whatever project Lauren had been working on hadn’t pertained to her class because she very rarely kept kids after school. Dugan hadn’t specified that it had, but he’d certainly alluded to it, which was why Brantley had inquired.
“At least for the rest of the night, we won’t be talkin’ about this case,” Reese said, pulling Brantley from his thoughts.
He glanced over. “We won’t?”
“No.”
“You have somethin’ better to do?”
“I’m takin’ you out, remember?”
Brantley’s eyes cut back to the road. “Oh, shit. It’s Friday.”
“It’s Friday.”
“Where’re you takin’ me?”
“It’s true, I haven’t been on a date in a while, and I’ve never been on a date with a man, but I know how to seduce with the best of ’em, Navy boy. Tonight’s not for you to worry about.”
He smiled as he pulled into his driveway. “Well, heavens to Betsy, what ever will I wear if I don’t know where we’re goin’?”
Reese laughed, as Brantley’d meant for him to.
“Nothin’ too fancy but not too casual,” Reese said. “Jeans and a T-shirt’ll do.”
Brantley frowned, feigning indignation. “Jeans and a T-shirt? That’s what I’ve got to look forward to for our first date?” He glanced over. “More importantly, you consider that not too casual?”
The smile Reese shot at him was filled with promise. “Not all you have to look forward to.”
He pulled the truck to a stop in his driveway beside Reese’s new truck. “You comin’ in?”
“Nope. But I’ll be back to pick you up at seven.”
“I’ll be ready,” he said, grinning. “Bring flowers.”
Reese rolled his eyes, hopped out of the truck. There were no lingering goodbyes, not even a quick peck on the lips before Reese was in his truck and heading out. Brantley wondered if that would ever be something Reese was okay with.
Because he had a couple of hours and required only ten minutes to get ready, Brantley headed for the barn.
Rather than sit at his desk, he marched to the bank of monitors he’d had originally, keyed in a few things, and pulled up information on William Dugan. There was something about the professor that didn’t sit right with him.
Of course, on paper the guy looked perfect.
Too perfect, in fact.
He was raised by a two-parent household in north Dallas, and both parents were dead, having been married for fifty-eight years. Dugan fast-tracked it through his secondary education, finishing high school early at the age of sixteen with a GPA of 4.1. Went on to the University of Texas. Bachelor’s degree in education with a minor in English. Worked as a tenth grade English teacher at two Austin high schools while getting his master’s degree in school administration. Hired as principal at Coyote Ridge High School at the below-average age of thirty-eight. Started one year before Lauren Tyler went missing, stayed on for another four years. Transitioned to English professor at UT, where he was currently employed.
“And where do you live now, Professor Dugan?” Brantley muttered as he keyed in a few more commands.
Hmm.
Seemed as though Dugan wasn’t a fan of staying in one place for too long. He’d bought and sold six houses in the past nine years. Looked as though he waited a little more than the required eighteen months to avoid paying capital gains taxes at each residence. Now lived in a historic home in Taylor, just a few miles northeast of Coyote Ridge.
Perhaps they should pay Professor Dugan a visit at