ROB TRILLING LED me into the small parking lot in front of the airport to a classic 1969 Chevy Chevelle Super
Sport. The interior appeared to be original and in pristine condition. The exterior was painted bronze with a white
vinyl roof.
I said, “Where on Earth did you get these wheels?”
Trilling grinned. “One of the advantages of having a car lot is getting to pick a different car to drive every day. My
brother deals with a lot of military members, and they like the old muscle cars. He really appreciates you coming
out and thought you should be driven in classic style.” He even squealed the tires for me on our way out of the
parking lot.
As we drove, Trilling filled me in on everything that had happened, and I gazed out the window. The area around
Bozeman seemed like a nice place to visit. A lot of trendy restaurants and Yellowstone souvenir shops.
I heard the theme to Green Acres and reached into my pocket. It was Juliana calling. I picked up immediately.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
“Yeah. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I was just wondering if you’d landed in Montana and seen Rob yet?”
“He’s chauffeuring me right now in a very classy Chevy Chevelle Super Sport.”
Juliana said, “I’m not exactly sure what a Chevelle Super Sport is, but I assume it’s a car. Since he’s driving, can
you put your phone on speaker?”
Trilling immediately perked up at the sound of Juliana’s voice. They both said hello, but it was guarded, and I
realized it was because I was sitting in the middle of their conversation. Juliana said, “Katie is going on a job
interview at an office in Midtown Manhattan. I told her I’d go with her.
It’s a tech company called Virtual Spaces. She’s being interviewed for some kind of maintenance/houseke eping job.
We practiced a few simple phrases she can use during the interview that show off her English skills.”
After we all spoke for a few more minutes, Juliana said, “I haven’t heard much from you, Rob.”
“I texted.”
“Hmm.”
I recognized that tone and wanted to throw Trilling a lifeline. I knew he was in over his head.
He managed to mumble, “Sorry.”
“I forgive you, but you’d better ke ep in touch.” Juliana also made sure Trilling understood that it would mean a lot
to her if he made if back home in time to see her in the play.
I nodded vigorously, hoping Trilling would catch on.
He did. “I promise I’ll call more often, and I’m looking forward to seeing your show.”
That seemed to satisfy my daughter. As we wrapped up our conversation, Juliana said, “I hope that you two are able
to fix whatever problem is going on with the car lot. But I mainly hope that both of you will be careful.”
I said, “I hope we are too.”
Outside of Bozeman, I noticed the city limits for Palm Island posted on an official D epartment of Transportation
sign at the side of the road.
Apparently, Rob Trilling’s great-grandfather had done everything right to make sure the state acknowledged the
ind ependent nature of the town.
After driving through Bozeman, this place really did seem barren. There was a light-blue water tower in the distance
with a splashy, cursive font saying “Palm Island.” Very few cars moved along the well-maintained roads. There was
an assortment of small businesses, but I could see the fire- damaged car lot almost at the center of the town.
As Trilling took a corner and rumbled into the lot, I noticed a black Humvee with California tags parked by the
ruins of the office.
Trilling said, “That’s Arnold Marks’s car. I figured he’d show up at some point to try and play on my brother’s
doubts. I just didn’t expect him so quickly.”
“Where are the two of them? They can’t be in the office,” I said,
glancing at the ruined building. I turned my head to see the entire lot, which held about forty vehicles, including a
couple of larger vans.
We got out of the Chevelle, and I walked around the remains of the office. On the opposite side was a pen with a
white llama, standing there looking around.
I said, “Your brother has a llama? Why?”
“He says it started as a sales gimmick, but he really loves that thing now.
You should see how he pampers it. He’s named it Fido.”
I reached out to touch Fido’s neck and the llama’s head snapped toward me—and spit. It also made an odd hissing
sound.
I almost shouted, “What the hell!” Luckily it came out as more of a harsh whisper.
Trilling was still looking around the lot. “I’m getting a little nervous. I hope that asshole from LA didn’t do
something stupid.” He started jogging through the lot. I decided to go in the opposite direction to cover more
ground. It felt odd to be looking for danger without having any way to protect myself. I made my way around the
burned-out office, then met up with Trilling on the other side.
I looked at my partner. “Any ideas?”
He shook his head. “No. Gary should be here.”
Now I was feeling anxious. Then I got hold of myself. What kind of kidnapper—or killer—would leave his vehicle
parked at the scene of the crime? On the other hand, as soon as that thought crossed my mind, I also reminded
myself that not everyone thought things through rationally. The owner of this Humvee might’ve snapped. Or he
could be intimidating Gary Trilling at another location.
This wasn’t a good start to my visit.