“Your daughter stopped there yesterday afternoon.”
“She was alone.”
“What time?”
“Four eighteen.”
The grandfather did the math.
School ended at three.
She had been supposed to pick up her daughter.
Why north?
The sheriff continued.
“Gray pickup entered the station five minutes later.”
“Did they interact?”
“No.”
“Did she see him?”
“Looks like it.”
“What happens?”
“She leaves quickly.”
“He follows.”
The grandfather closed his eyes.
“What then?”
“We lose cameras north of the station.”
The neighbor had walked into the hallway.
She saw his face.
“What?”
He told her.
The girl remained in the kitchen.
The neighbor whispered:
“So he was following her.”
“Yes.”
The sheriff added:
“We’re treating it as stalking and a possible protective-order violation.”
“Search teams will continue.”
The grandfather asked:
“What about cell data?”
“Her phone last connected near the forest turnout.”
“The ex’s phone died or was shut off earlier.”
The grandfather looked toward the kitchen.
“Find her.”
The sheriff’s tone softened.
“That is what we’re doing.”
The call ended.
The girl appeared.
“What happened?”
Adults again.
Choices.
The grandfather said:
“They found video of your mom yesterday.”
“Was she okay?”
“In the video, yes.”
“Where?”
“Gas station north of town.”
The girl frowned.
“She doesn’t go north after work.”
The grandfather crouched.
“Do you know anywhere she does go up there?”
The girl thought.
“No.”
Then:
“Wait.”
The grandfather remained still.
“She took me somewhere last year.”
“Where?”
“Trees.”
The neighbor almost laughed despite herself.
“Northern Arizona has several.”
The girl frowned.
“There was an old tower.”
The grandfather’s head lifted.
“What kind of tower?”
“Fire tower maybe.”
“Wood stairs.”
“Cabin near it.”
“Mom said she went there when she was little.”
The grandfather’s chest tightened.
He knew the place.
An abandoned fire lookout access road near a ridge northeast of Flagstaff.
He had taken his daughter there camping twice.
Once after her mother had surgery and needed quiet at home.
His daughter loved the view.
When she was seven, she called it “the place where you can see tomorrow.”
The grandfather grabbed his phone.
The sheriff answered.
“Tell me this matters.”
“It might.”
He gave the location.
The sheriff was silent.
Then: