The list was a manageable. Going back ten years, there had been five brown minivans registered in the county. One was totaled in an accident a couple of years ago, leaving four to hunt down. Farmers around here bordered on ‘hoarder’ – they were more than likely parked in a tree row along with out-dated farm machinery. A search warrant would take forever to get and would likely be a stretch – but it wasn’t a problem that binoculars shouldn’t solve.
Maybe it wasn’t strictly legal, but I didn’t strictly care today.
As I’d thought, the tree rows took two of them out of the equation – there was no way they’d gone anywhere in years. The Westover place had a van sitting in the farmyard near the shop, and I didn’t see the other on the Smythe farm at all. A van wasn’t enough for a search warrant, so I wrote down the makes in my notebook and tuned back to town.
I anticipated trouble getting information out of the school. Becky Larson didn’t ask for a warrant, and I didn’t offer one. At least so far, the Smythe’s only had a set of twin girls in the Junior class. There wasn’t any record of a Westover in the school system.
But there was a minivan.
They were homeschooled. The Westover place was in the Southeast corner of the county – more than a ways away from everything. The decision to homeschool might have been as easy as deciding to avoid having their kids on a school bus for three hours a day.
It’d still be touch and go for a warrant – maybe it was time for social media.