What She Saw, page 14
The truck’s back windows had been covered with interior curtains. Kevin said that was because he often took the truck camping, and he liked his privacy. The truck’s bed would have been big enough to transport four bodies. But Taggart had searched Kevin’s freshly washed truck. Kevin said he liked a super-clean truck and detailed it a couple of times a week. The sheriff had had a state forensic team comb the cab and bed for evidence. There’d been no signs of the victims’ blood, hair, or clothing.
Even the best detail job didn’t clean the cracks and crevices, where bodily fluids could drip, trickle, and slide. Even single hair fibers could attach to the underside of a seat or a floor mat.
My gaze scanned the tall grass in the field. I’d have to double-check Taggart’s notes, but I was certain this area had not been combed extensively.
Many of the 1994 searches had focused on the land north of the festival. The primary tipster had been Hazel Miller. She’d been in her eighties. She’d called after Taggart’s press conference. She’d sworn she’d seen a shadowy figure digging a hole in her fallow field. She was certain that had to be bodies.
Taggart and his group of growing volunteers had searched the north side of the mountain as Ms. Miller had indicated. They’d found graves, but they’d been for the remains of two deer poached out of season. When Taggart had explained to Ms. Miller what he’d found, she’d not been convinced. And when the crowds and attention drifted away from her, she’d called Taggart again. At least a dozen more times. A second, smaller crew was dispatched, but this time they found nothing.
Despite Ms. Miller’s mistakes, her calls had biased everyone. All eyes tended to look north. No one had searched this far south.
Nothing in the barn caught my attention. Maybe Kevin had just stopped to stretch his shoulders or scratch his balls. Or maybe he was savoring handiwork that had gone unnoticed for thirty-one years.
Chapter Nineteen
CJ Taggart
Saturday, May 21, 1994, 6:00 a.m.
Sunrise
Taggart stared at the scorched edges of the field. It had taken him fifteen minutes to stomp out the blaze.
The concertgoers were trickling out of the muddy, ruined field. The line of cars and vans stretched at least a mile. Those who’d secured parking spots down the mountain and left had gotten out. But the rest at the top were trapped in a bottleneck that would take hours to unwind.
He looked toward the food tent. Buddy was packing up what little supplies remained. There was still no sign of Patty.
“Buddy, have you seen Patty?” Taggart asked.
“No. I think she’s flaked on me.”
Taggart glanced at overturned tables. The griddle that had run cold when the propane went dry hours ago. The cashbox lay on the ground, now dented and muddy. A few scattered coins lay beside it, but all the bills were gone. “Why would she do that?”
“She’s pissed at me.” Dark circles smudged under Buddy’s eyes.
“Are you sure she didn’t have an emergency?”
“Hell if I know. I’ll ask her when she shows up at work on Monday. Then I’m going to fire her.”
Taggart’s gaze lingered on the carnage inside the tent. A square shape caught his attention, and he moved toward it. From the muck he pulled out an ID badge. It belonged to Patty Reed. He smoothed the dirt from her smiling face. “You’re not worried about her? She could be hurt.”
“She’s not hurt. She’s a scrapper. She decided she needed a break. I bet she thinks she’s teaching me a lesson.”
“Why would she do that?”
“We had an argument yesterday morning. She wanted a raise, and I said no. I tried to tell her the diner is barely getting by, but she didn’t believe me.”
“You sound pretty sure about her.”
“I know her well, if you know what I mean. She’s been moody. Always going out of her way to pick a fight with me.”
“Why is that?”
“Who knows? Chicks, right?”
“Are you sleeping with her?”
Buddy’s face flushed. “How does that matter?”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“It’s not like that. I asked her to marry me.”
“And you had a fight.”
“I love her, man.”
Taggart knew how thin the line between love and rage could be. “Buddy, tell Patty to give me a call when she shows up.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Taggart surveyed the field littered with beer cans, trash, and discarded clothes. Under the oak tree, two young men were slumped forward. Their eyes were closed and their mouths open. He walked up to the teenagers and nudged each with his muddied boot. When neither responded, he kicked them in the feet. The first was a redhead with a sunburned face. The other was covered in mud.
“Boys, get up. Time to go home. Party is over.”
The young men looked up at him. Each blinked slowly and yawned. The redhead sniffed and stood. He swayed and reached for the tree for balance.
The second kid stood. He looked at his body. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” the redhead said.
“Start moving toward the exit,” Taggart said. “Time to return to the real world.”
Taggart watched them stumble toward the mountain road. He’d made a few dumb moves when he was that age. Shit. He was lucky to be alive.
A loud bang pulled his attention toward the stage. A boom that held the lights had fallen and hit the stage hard. He hurried toward the crash. He didn’t release his breath until he confirmed no one had been crushed. He wanted to think that no one had been hurt all night. But he couldn’t claim that until everyone had left and he’d searched the property and the woods around it.
Colton stood by the stage. He didn’t look upset, stressed, or tired as the crew dismantled the boom. He looked relaxed, given the carnage around him.
Taggart walked up to Colton. “The rest of your security team never arrived.”
Rafe looked shocked. “The company screwed me. I paid for twenty guys. I got three.”
Taggart remembered Kevin. And he’d seen the two other guards from a distance after midnight. “It was chaos last night.”
“Everyone was rocking out and having a great time. Crazy success, wasn’t it?”
Police reports would start rolling in today. He almost didn’t want to return to the office. Colton had better have a good attorney. “And your cleanup crews?”
“On the way, Sheriff. They radioed me about fifteen minutes ago.” Behind him, a truck pulled a white trailer toward the fire road that snaked up the back side of the property.
“Do you have any reported injuries?” Taggart asked.
“Just the usual at the first aid tent. That’s all been shut down, and those people have been shuttled off the mountain. Relax, Sheriff, the festival went off without a hitch.”
Taggart shook his head. “You’ve destroyed the field.”
“The rain was heavier than I expected. Christ, the mud was incredible, wasn’t it?”
Taggart glanced at his own coated boots. His uniform was wet and splashed with muck. “Make sure you answer your phone if I call. It’ll be a miracle if there are no police reports.”
“Hey, I’m easy to find.”
If Taggart found a reason to arrest the man, he’d do it. Festival complaints would be snowballing soon. And given Colton’s background, he was a flight risk.
“Sheriff?”
He turned. An exhausted Deputy Paxton strode toward him. Dark stubble covered his chin.
“We have a problem,” Paxton said.
“What?”
“A girl. In the tent city. She’s beat up pretty good. I’ve cuffed her boyfriend to a tree and called the medics.”
Taggart’s jaw tightened. He glared at Colton. “Like I said, don’t go far.”
“I’m at your disposal.”
Taggart followed Paxton through the sloppy, sucking mire. Most of the tent city was gone. The remaining abandoned shelters reminded him of deflated, crumpled balloons.
They arrived at a blue tent at the edge of the woods. The boyfriend was handcuffed to a tree. He wore no shirt, and a scruffy beard dusted his chin. His jeans were coated with dried, cracked mud. His feet were bare.
“Would you tell Barney Fife to unlock these cuffs!” the man shouted.
Taggart opened the tent flap and peered in. A young woman lay on her side. She wore a Depot T-shirt that looked a lot like the one Patty had worn. Underwear but no pants. “Ma’am?”
Her legs were covered with bruises. Some looked fresh and others older. “What is your name?” Taggart asked.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I just need a minute.”
She wasn’t okay. And she’d need more than sixty seconds. Taggart softened his tone. “Did your boyfriend hurt you?”
She sniffed as she shook her head. “No. I fell.”
Taggart bet she’d told that story to the cops before. “We’re sending in medics.”
Her eyes widened with panic. “No. I’m fine. I don’t need help.” She attempted to sit up but winced and lay back down.
“Okay.” He didn’t know what she’d taken, but she was high. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. What’s your name?”
She relaxed. “Amy.”
“Where did you get that T-shirt, Amy?” he asked.
She glanced at the shirt. Confusion cleared. “I found it in the woods.”
“You found it?”
“I didn’t steal it,” Amy insisted.
“Where in the woods?”
“On a tree branch.”
“Did you see the woman who was wearing it?”
“No. It was just there.”
“Can you let me go?” the boyfriend demanded.
In the military police force, Taggart had seen his share of domestic abuse in the base housing. Those cases left a sour taste in his mouth. A home was supposed to be a safe place.
Taggart straightened and turned to the man handcuffed to the tree. “What’s your name?”
The man rattled the cuffs. “Let me go.”
Taggart shook his head. “You’re in my world now. You answer my questions.”
“Let me go!”
Paxton reached in his pockets. “I can’t find the key.”
Taggart shrugged. “Looks like you’re stuck, pal. Now give me your name.”
The man rattled the cuffs, scraping the metal against the wet bark. “Billy Walton.”
“You have identification?”
“In the tent somewhere or maybe my car.”
“Where’s your car?”
“Parked on the hill, I think.”
“Who is the woman in the tent?” Taggart was exhausted and holding on to his patience was a struggle.
“Amy Wheeler.” Billy rubbed the cuffs against the bark as if they’d somehow break. “She’s my girlfriend. She got drunk, and some guy tried to take advantage. I saved her. I didn’t hurt her.”
Taggart had heard a hundred versions of this story before. “Who tried to take her?”
“I don’t know. Some guy who was creeping around in the woods. I heard her scream, and I went running. I found her like this.”
“And the torn T-shirt?”
“I don’t know.”
Taggart sensed he was lying, and until Amy could tell him more about the mystery man, Billy would wait it out in jail. “Paxton, uncuff him from the tree, but secure his hands behind his back.”
“What the fuck!” Billy shouted.
“I’m arresting you for assault,” Taggart said.
“I didn’t hurt her. I told you I saved her.”
Whatever the truth was, Taggart wasn’t hopeful Amy would file charges against Billy. The couple likely operated in a circle of violence that wouldn’t end until Amy left or died.
The medics arrived at the tent. As the techs spoke to Amy, Paxton led Billy to the waiting police van. It took another half hour to get the young woman out of the tent. She didn’t want to leave, and when they strapped her to a gurney, she screamed.
This wasn’t Colton’s doing, but he’d set the stage for this disaster. Taggart noticed Colton speaking to a truck driver and jogged over to the vehicle. The driver was Kevin, one of last night’s security guards.
“Where’s he going?” Taggart demanded.
“He’s helping the road crews move the equipment out. I’ll be back.” Colton nodded toward Billy. “What’s the deal with that?”
“Guy says a man tried to hurt his girlfriend.”
Colton shook his head. “Guys like that always blame someone else.” His brow furrowed. “This festival was supposed to be about peace and love and togetherness.”
That would have been the case if he’d had more security. “You didn’t get any other complaints of attempted attacks?”
“Nope. But I’ll ask the crew if they heard about anything like that.” Colton banged the flat of his hand on the top of the truck.
Kevin slipped the gear into first and punched the accelerator. The wheels spun in the mud. He put the truck in reverse, backed up a fraction, and then shifted back into first. He gunned the engine. Tires spun. Mud spit out. He repeated this seesaw back and forth for a couple of minutes until the truck and trailer popped out of the sloppy rut.
Colton stood back, his hands in his pockets. He watched the truck and trailer move toward the fire road. He didn’t take his gaze off it until it vanished down the road.
Colton looked pleased with himself. Despite the chaos surrounding him, he was happy. That happiness wasn’t going to last. If he’d made money on this event, he’d better hang on to it. The lawsuits were going to eat him alive.
Chapter Twenty
Sloane
Sunday, August 17, 2025, 5:00 p.m.
Amy Wheeler lived an hour west, near Staunton. When Taggart had found her in the tent, she’d been disoriented. He’d assumed she was high, but she’d been suffering from a concussion. Later, he’d interviewed her in the hospital. But she didn’t remember what happened or how she’d ended up with the Depot T-shirt that was later confirmed to have been Patty’s.
Amy had broken it off with Billy almost thirty-one years ago. And Billy had died in 2020 of a heart attack. At the time of his death, he’d been high on meth and lying on a lounge chair in his backyard. Bob Marley had been playing on his phone and burgers sizzled on the grill.
Taggart had questioned Amy again about the T-shirt and the man who’d tried to hurt her. She’d never been able to provide specifics. And as other leads had rolled into his office, Amy had been forgotten. No one had interviewed her since.
I hoped thirty-one years had helped Amy’s memory.
I pulled up in front of the garden shop located on a rural route. The entrance had a fantasy kind of vibe, with vines snaking over a tall arch. I drove past water features and potted trees toward the large greenhouse.
Out of the car, I surveyed the lush greenery. I liked plants. But they didn’t like me. They tended to die when they came into my orbit. I could almost hear the last plant I’d owned screaming for help as I carried it out of the plant shop.
Shifting my sunglasses on top of my head, I crossed the graveled lot into the greenhouse. The woman behind the register had long gray hair tied back with a red bandanna. She wore overalls and a black T-shirt covered in small words. I thought I made out the word Peace on one of the sleeves. The last thirty-one years hadn’t been so hard on Amy that I couldn’t recognize her.
I picked up a plant and studied its delicate flowers. “Don’t worry,” I whispered. “I’m not buying you.”
I moved toward the register. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”
The woman looked up and smiled. “Sure.”
“You look like you know plants.”
“I own the place.”
“How long?”
“Twenty years.”
“How delicate is this plant?” I set the plastic pot on the counter.
“Very. It requires watering and the right amount of sun.”
“So, if I ignore it for a week or two . . . ?”
She laughed. “It’ll die.”
I held up my thumbs. “They’re both brown.”
“We do have cactus plants, but they still need care.”
“Do they need water?”
“Sometimes. How about a dream catcher? We have several dozen to choose from.”
“Perfect.”
She came around the counter. “Let me show you.”
I followed her down a narrow path lined with lush, thick foliage. Amy had been an addict and covered in bruises when she’d attended the music festival with Billy. But she’d turned it around.
She stopped at a collection of circular dream catchers hanging from a vine-wrapped pergola. “They’re all made locally. I know the artist, and she has good energy.”
I grabbed the catcher closest to me. “I like this one.”
“We have more if you want to keep looking.”
“No. This one will do the trick.”
“Okay. That was easy. Let me ring you up.”
I followed Amy into the greenhouse and to the register. She rang up the purchase, and I dug my credit card out of my wallet. Fingers crossed it wasn’t maxed out. A bad credit card didn’t help build relationships. The transaction went through.
“Would you like a bag?” Amy asked.
“No. I’ll take it as is.”
“Great.”
When I approached a person cold, it was always tricky. “Can I ask you another question?”
“Sure.”
I ran my finger along the thin rope wrapped around the dream catcher. “This one is about the Mountain Music Festival.”
Her shoulders pulled back. “That happened thirty-one years ago.”
“I know. It hasn’t gotten much attention in the last decade.”
“Why are you asking?”
“My mother was one of the women who vanished. Her name was Patty. She was selling hamburgers that night. Taggart found you wearing her Depot T-shirt.”
