At nine that night, my phone rang.
The caller was a woman who said she worked at the auto body shop near the harbor.
“I think I know whose pickup you’re looking for,” she whispered.
Before I could ask her name, the call ended.
The caller rang again the following morning from a different number.
She introduced herself as Kira Dalton, an assistant parts manager at Harborline Collision.
I asked how she had gotten my number.
“A girl came to the shop looking for a gray pickup,” she said.
“She showed one of the mechanics a picture of a dented tailgate.”
My stomach tightened.
“What girl?”
“Your daughter, I think.”
Maya had told me she was going to the library after school.
Instead, she had taken a city bus to an industrial lot where she thought Evan’s truck might be repaired.
Kira said the mechanic had recognized the truck but would not answer any questions.
“I can’t talk about a customer’s repairs,” she continued.
“But I called because a man came in later and asked whether a teenage girl had been there.”
“Did he threaten you?” I asked.
“Not in so many words.”
Kira paused.
“He said this town was small and people should remember who paid their salaries.”
I asked her not to send me private customer information.
Instead, I suggested she contact Detective Brooks directly.
Kira had already done so, but she wanted to warn me about Maya.
“Whatever’s happening, keep her away from that shop,” she said.
When Maya came home, I was angrier than she had ever seen me.
“You went to an industrial garage alone,” I said.
“You lied about where you were.”
She looked at her shoes.
“Lena keeps asking whether they found the driver.”
“That does not make it your job to find him.”
Maya looked up, eyes bright with tears.
“Nobody else seems to be doing anything.”
I wanted to tell her everything about the recording.
But I had promised the detective I would protect the investigation, and I knew Maya might confront Gwen if she believed she had proof.
Instead, I told her something I should have said the first night.
“You are not responsible for solving what happened to Lena.”
We sat at the kitchen table until the sun went down.
Maya finally admitted she had been searching online for pickup owners and surveillance footage instead of sleeping.
I asked whether she would let me handle the calls and follow the detective’s instructions.
