"Then what's the deal with his truck?"

"I think his grandson uses it more than he does."

He could see Bruenner perk up, by the way she pulled her feet to the floor. "How old is he?"

"Early twenties, I think," Lance replied.

What he didn't want to say was that Devin very probably matched the description given by Mrs. Beasley. On top of all that, he remembered how Mooney had held Devin's tennis scholarship in disdain. Old Zeb thought that if the boy was going to go to college, he should have gotten in by his smarts, not some "namby pamby" sport like tennis.

"Let me get my boots and we'll go," Bruenner said, finishing the last of her bagel.

Lance hunted around in the cabinets as she tugged on socks and rugged hiking boots. After a few tries, he found what he was looking for. Nice of the hotel to supply leak-resistant coffee cups. He poured them both a cup as Bruenner turned off the TV and its blaring rock music and grabbed a black leather motorcycle jacket. With coffee in hand, they walked out to the waiting Jeep. Bruenner smirked as she climbed in.

"Hope it doesn't rain," she remarked.

Lance looked up into the clear, bright blue sky. "Doubt it. Too dry."

A few moments later, they were on the highway headed west into the mountains. It really was a perfect day for a drive up into the mountains. The temperature was just a shade over seventy degrees and would probably drop a bit when they hit the shade of the forest on the way up to Mooney's trailer. The only thing ruining it was the fact that little Sarah Knightly was still missing and Johnson's killer might have taken her.