September Doves

Copyright © 2023 by Emmerson Hoyt All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including, photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination. All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Emmerson Hoyt is not associated with any product or vender in this book ISBN: 979-8-9872887-0-2 (ebook) ISBN: 979-8-9872887-1-9 (paperback) Editor: The Editor and The Quill Cover Design: ©Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations For my husband. CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Epilogue Acknowledgments About the Author Also by Emmerson Hoyt CHAPTER ONE I’m not sure what I was expecting when I agreed to meet North Carolina’s top-ranked private investigator at a dive bar, but it definitely wasn’t the stern-faced man with a comb-over and polyester polo sitting across from me. Pulling his collar away from his neck, he slides a thin, manila folder across the sticky bar-top table. “I’m sorry, Ms. Adder, but I was unable to locate your sister.” Icy shock streaks up my spine. For how much this guy charges, it never occurred to me that not finding my sister was even an option. I stare at the near-empty folder, my limbs numb with disbelief. “What do you mean you couldn’t find Holly?” The P.I. adjusts his too-tight belt and wipes the sweat from his forehead. After a quick look over his shoulder, he leans forward. “Listen, kid, I’ve been doing this for over thirty years. When I tell you I’ve never seen anything like this before, you have to believe me. There is absolutely no digital record of your sister since her arrest seven years ago. Not even a traffic violation. Every time I thought I found something, the files disappeared before I could access them.” My legs bounce under the table. “That can’t be right. I’ve talked to her. She was at our mom’s funeral five years ago. We had plans to meet up last summer. She sent me a text last month, for God’s sake.” I grab my phone and bring up the text thread to show him. Unknown Number: Rylee, I need you. Jeremy is missing. -H Me: Where are you? How can I help? That was over four weeks ago and still no response. The investigator takes a peek at my screen before sliding my phone back across the table. “Like I said in my email, the text was a dead end. She used an untraceable virtual private network and likely a burner phone to send it.” He purses his lips and gives me a commiserating sigh that only makes me want to smack the pitying expression right off his face. “Sometimes people don’t want to be found. Maybe she already reconnected with this Jeremy guy—” “Her husband. Jeremy is her husband,” I correct, unable to hide the annoyance slipping into my tone. He waves me off. “Right. Well, someone who’s trying that hard not to be found either has a good reason to stay hidden or has powerful friends. Sometimes both. It might be best to just let her go.” He pushes back his stool and signals to the bartender for another beer. “I can’t offer you a refund, but this round is on me. Good luck, kid.” Ripping a twenty from his worn, leather wallet, he tosses it on the table and heads out the door. I don’t bother watching him go. I can’t. I can’t do anything but bite my cheek and stare at the dove logo on my empty beer bottle while trying not to scream. A few minutes later, the bartender whisks away the cash and replaces it with a fresh beer. Without looking up, I snatch the bottle off the table. My grip tightens around the neck until my knuckles turn white and my shock and annoyance bleed into something hot and volatile. No wonder he had me pay before he gave me the results. Two thousand dollars. For nothing. I never should have listened to Logan. It was his stupid-ass idea to hire the investigator in the first place. I tried to explain to him that my sister has always been secretive. That she’d pop back up whenever she was ready, like she always has, but Logan disagreed. He made me feel like I was a bad sister for not looking harder for Holly and in the end, even though I knew she wouldn’t be found unless she wanted to be, I’d bitten my tongue and done it. Now I’m out the two grand I’d saved for tuition and I still don’t know where she is. I slam my fist on the table, making the couple next to me jump. Why did I listen to a boyfriend who couldn’t even bother to show up on time tonight? He knew how important this was to me and he still missed the entire meeting. Glancing at the door, I search for Logan’s head of bleach-blond hair, but he’s nowhere in sight. With a huff, I rip the wings off the dove label and set the bottle aside to shoot him a text. Me: Where are you? I thought you were going to be here an hour ago? When he doesn’t immediately reply, I bring