The late afternoon sun poured in through the small window above the sink in Pop's kitchen bathing the dark hardwood floors and green countertops in warm yellow-gold light. Royce sat at the small round wooden table that rested in the center of the room, a steaming cup of black coffee clasped loosely in his hands. Having had Pop's coffee before, Royce knew to proceed with caution. It was an extremely strong mixture that could be served not only as a morning pick-me-up but also as an agent to clean small engines or in a pinch to strip the walls of a particularly stubborn paint job.

Royce knew that Pop would be seventy-five on his next birthday. Just watching him, though, as he flitted from the ancient coffee pot on the counter to the cupboards, and then back again with the confidence only afforded to those exceptionally familiar with their surroundings, it was impossible to tell. He appeared to be every bit as agile now as he had been twenty years ago. He was even something of a legend in town as he was often spotted out bringing in hay or herding cattle with the men who worked for him, most of them a good forty years younger. More than once there had been jokes made, sometimes even to the man himself, questioning just what dark entity he had bargained with that allowed him to age backward. Pop for his part seemed unruffled by all the attention and if asked would chalk it up to good genes and country living.

Filling his cup to the brim, Pop crossed the room to the table and took a seat across from the sheriff. Sipping gingerly from his cup he then fixed a hard stare on Royce, his dark eyes unflinching.

"Alright, Sheriff you said this was about Jake. Spit it out. I've still got work to do today and we're burning daylight," he said pulling off his hat and sitting it on the chair beside him revealing a thick head of salt and pepper hair.

After taking another sip of his coffee Pop leaned his chair back balancing on the back two legs as he did so. Crossing his hands solemnly over his stomach he said nothing, waiting for some type of explanation.

Royce had never been good with these types of uncomfortable conversations and now was no exception. Running his finger around the edge of the cup, Royce stared down into his coffee as if he would find the answers to all of life's mysteries there. "Is Jake around?"

"He's down with the boys, working on the barn. Does he need to be here for this?"

"No, I'd actually prefer that he wasn't. I'm here in more of a personal capacity. We've been friends for a long time Jacob, and I couldn't let this pass without speaking to you."

Royce seldom referred to him as Pop in conversation, finding it awkward to do so. He had grown up referring to the older man by his given name. Pop had been Anthony Merrill's affectionate nickname for his father. Pop's son had run with the popular crowd in high school and for years there had been teenagers in and out of the old ranch house. Anthony's friends started using the nickname first, but before long all the kids that came and went began referring to Jacob as Pop. By the time that those kids became adults with jobs, businesses, and kids of their own the nickname had evolved into a full-blown title.

"All right, Royce. You have my attention," Pop said, setting his chair back down and leaning forward placing his elbows on the table.

"I guess Jake told you about the girl he helped yesterday."

Pop said nothing but nodded.

"They're still looking at all the evidence surrounding Emily's disappearance. I've been out to the crime scene, and I need to tell you that Jake's name has come up in connection with the case."

"How so, Royce?" Pop asked his deep drawl dropping a few octaves giving it an intimidating tone.

"They're looking at him as a possible suspect in her abduction," Royce said meeting Pop's hard stare with his own.

The old man's eyebrows shot up. "Royce, you can't possibly believe -" He started slamming his palm down on the table in surprise.

The sheriff held up a hand to stop him. "I don't. At least I don't think so right now. I just don't see what sense it makes. We're still looking into it, but some people are pretty set on the theory. Hence, the reason I'm here. It worries me."

"What exactly worries you?" Pop asked the tenuous tone of his voice relaying his stress.

"Jake hasn't been back here long. In fact, not much longer than Emily's been missing. There's been some talk around town as to what's brought him back after all this time. I know you've heard it too. The timing of her disappearance and his arrival is not going to go unnoticed when they start to dig into his history. And they will. That I can promise you. If there's something I need to know about why Jake's back in town now would be the time to speak up."

Pop looked down at the table, his hands clenched into fists. His already thin lips pressed into an even thinner line of frustration.

"Royce, I don't know all the details but Jake's a good kid."

"I know he is, and I know you two are close." The thing was Royce did know, and so did everyone else in town. There had been a time when Jake had come here every year to spend summers with his grandfather. Several years ago, he had quit coming. No one knew exactly why, and Pop didn't talk about it. Royce had his suspicions though. Jake wasn't the only person who had become scarce around town. Anthony hadn't been back home in a long time either.

"Is Jake in some kind of trouble?" Royce asked quietly.

Pop lifted his eyes to meet the sheriff's and then dropped them back to the table. "Like I said, Royce, I don't know all the details. Anthony sent him. All he told me was that Jake needed somewhere to lay low for a little while."

This new revelation left Royce speechless. He had come here to warn Pop and get to the bottom of Jake's mysterious reappearance in Hart's Ridge. He had foolishly thought that once he and Pop talked that it would clear up any misunderstanding there was about Jake and maybe remove his name from the suspect list. Instead, Royce was starting to have a very bad feeling about where this was headed.

"Alright then," Royce said keeping his voice as even as possible under the circumstances. "You don't have a lot of time before this thing blows up so if I were you, Jacob, I think I would be talking to my grandson and getting to the bottom of what's going on here."

Pop took another long swig from his cup, clinging to it like an alcoholic with a bottle of his favorite liquor draining the remaining black liquid before placing the cup back on the table with a trembling hand. He seemed to have aged fifteen years since Royce had arrived and the sheriff found himself wondering if he had done the right thing by coming here. Pop ran a time-worn callused hand over his face and leaned forward, bowing his head.

"How bad is it, Royce?"

"It's bad enough. I'll do what I can but, Jacob, if he's done something, I'm not going to cover for him. Right now, what I need you to do is get to the bottom of whatever happened before he got here and be ready, because if they stick to this line of thinking, they'll have questions for you and Jake both."

Pop nodded but the person sitting at the table with Royce no longer looked like the spry youthful man from just a few moments ago. If anyone in town had seen him like this, they would have had no doubt about Pop's mortality. The silence in the room seemed to stretch on forever. Royce tried to refrain from being the first to speak, wanting to give his friend a few moments to gather his thoughts and his composure. Even so, he had begun to worry that this had all been too much for Pop when, from across the table, the old man drew a long shaky breath. He straightened, running a hand across the table as he did so.

"Look at me. We got so wrapped up in the conversation we were having I didn't even think to ask if you'd like another cup of coffee. Could I get you something else?"

Royce looked warily down at his half-empty cup, already feeling the uncomfortable burn in the pit of his stomach. "Thanks for the offer." Royce answered waving a hand at Pop. "but I really need to get going. I have some things to take care of back at the office."

"Alright then. Maybe some other time. I'll walk you out. I have to run those roofing supplies up there to the barn anyway." He stood, stretching and then ran a hand through his hair before slipping his hat back on and pulling it low over his eyes. It was like a switch had been flipped. Pop looked like himself again. He didn't appear to have a care in the world, but to someone like Royce who had known the man for more years than he hadn't there were subtle signs. Pop couldn't hide the thin worry lines or the clouds that loomed in his dark eyes.

Royce shook his friend's hand and started toward the door Pop following closely behind. Neither were unable to shake the nagging feeling that there was some serious trouble on the horizon.

He listened intently, hanging on their every word as he stalked them from the shadows. When the sheriff stepped out onto the porch with the old man right behind him, he listened briefly as the two men swapped pleasantries before saying their goodbyes. He had overheard a little of their conversation but nowhere near enough. He needed to find out exactly what they knew. The sheriff sniffing around here, sticking his nose in where it didn't belong, was a problem. It just presented one more loose end that would need tying up. First, the girl, though. She would pay for what she had done. This job was supposed to have been an easy one. Take the girl, get the money, and ride off into the sunset with no one the wiser, but since the beginning she had caused him nothing but trouble. He had to finish the job. He longed to finish it. Finish her. Then he would be able to leave this ridiculous little town in his rearview. He would take his cut of the money and find somewhere to have a little fun but first, there was work to do. He couldn't wait to see the look on her face again. The fear in her eyes when she realized it was him. The thought brought a smile to his face as he started toward the house.

Pop stood on the front porch of his home watching the sheriff's SUV disappearing around the curve. He still wasn't sure what to make of the conversation he and Royce had just had. He was still thinking about it when behind him the screen door opened with a small squeak. He turned to see Jake standing in the doorway, watching him.

"I thought you were down at the barn?" Pop asked.

"I was. I came up to see if you had gotten back from the hardware store yet. Was that the sheriff I just saw leaving?"

"It was," Pop answered, looking back up the driveway.

"What did he want? Nothing bad I hope."

"Well, it wasn't exactly a social call. Come on inside. We need to talk."