Free Sinister by Lisa Jackson, Nancy Bush, Rosalind Noonan

Sacramento.” The name and address matched the information that had come up when he ran the license plate back at the precinct.
    “That’s good, right?”
    “Not good or bad, just consistent.”
    Bart, the owner of the bar and grill on the outskirts of Prairie Creek, had called the sheriff’s department about the car and Sam was checking it out. The wind had died down, leaving a vista of white snow and blue sky from the wide-open stretch of land that hooked off the interstate. It was so clear today that the purple and black shale fingers of the mountains seemed to rise up from the field beyond Bart’s parking lot. On days like this, you just had to take a breath and appreciate the fact that you were in God’s country.
    “You say the car’s been here a week?” Sam asked again.
    “More or less.” Bart shifted from left foot to right, his belly zipped so tight into a red jacket that it seemed a small pin might pop it. “I figured it was just a flat that happened during the bad snow. You know how people walk away from a vehicle and come back with friends when the storm clears. But no one’s claimed it.”
    “There’s no stolen vehicle report for this Honda.” Sam jotted down the girl’s name on a piece of paper. “And this Amber Barstow didn’t leave a message with any of your staff that she’d be back to pick it up?”
    “Not a word.”
    Sam handed Bart the slip of paper. “If we’re lucky, she bought something at your place and used a credit card. Can you check your receipts for the day that you noticed the car left here, maybe a day or two before, see if you find her name?”
    “That might take a while, Sam.”
    “It’d help us pinpoint the time when the car was abandoned.”
    “I’ll get Shelly on it.” Bart started toward the building, then turned back. “What you gonna do with the car, Sam?”
    “Probably get Bud to tow it into town. Unless you want to add it to that rust heap out at your place?”
    Bart waved him off. “My wife says one more old junker and she’s divorcing me for sure. But I’d like it out of here. With holiday travel, the lot fills up sometimes.”
    “I’ll take care of it.”
    An abandoned vehicle was generally not cause for alarm, but something about this one tickled the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck. He gloved up and checked out the car, leaving things where he found them.
    It appeared that Amber Barstow was on a road trip. There were two spent coffee cups in the holder, an empty pack of cigarettes on the passenger seat, and—most telling—a suitcase full of clothes and toiletries in the trunk. No purse, but the blister pack of birth control pills in the travel case showed that the last pill had been taken on a Friday.
    Today was Thursday. That would place the girl here Friday or Saturday, depending on what time of day she took her pill. The makeup case had been so full, Sam had found it hard to stuff everything back in. All the tan-colored lotions and creams. Plastic packs of eye shadow and blush. Lipsticks and a bunch of pencils in red and brown for God knew what. As he replaced the pill pack and tucked the shiny silver cosmetic bag away, he felt like a voyeur. Even after eleven years of police work, it felt wrong going through a strange woman’s possessions. A violation of privacy, and Sam valued privacy. Still, gathering evidence and putting it all together—assembling the puzzle—that was what kept his head in the job.
    So. No purse or cell phone, but a fat suitcase of women’s clothes and a good stock of makeup. Most women wouldn’t go too far without their belongings, say if a friend had picked her up here. Clearly Amber Barstow intended to reclaim her car. So where the hell was she?
    Sam checked up on Amber, and by the time he was walking into the restaurant, he had learned that Amber Barstow had not been reported missing, and he had the photo from her driver’s license on his iPad, ready to show around.
    The lunch rush was winding down in the