“I’m not researching your land. Not specifically, anyway. I’m low-key looking into a missing person. Possibly a murder.”
“A murder?” Rob and Brian repeated at the same time, and Stella sat up, cocking her head.
“You’re investigating a possible murder in our campground? What does low-key even mean?” Brian continued. “Are you a detective? Why would you get a seasonal site? Don’t you need a warrant? Wouldn’t the real estate agent have to disclose that? Or do you think it happened since we bought it, because—”
“It was in 1872,” Hannah interrupted, holding up her hands.
“Oh.” Rob sagged back against his chair and reached out to scratch Stella’s ears so she’d relax, too.
Brian shook his head. “I’m still not sure how a murder and this campground are related, but if it happened over a hundred and fifty years ago, I guess it’s not something we need to add to the never-ending list of things we lose sleep over.”
“To be fair, it might not be a murder,” Hannah said. “She was a missing person. The research that’s been done on the case over the last century and a half included the location and description of the home, and as of about sixty years ago, the remnants of the stone foundation were still there.”
“And you want to find it...why?” Brian asked.
She shrugged. “Why not? I have an interest in historical true crime, and Elizabeth Whaley’s story was one of the first to capture my attention. I guess spending three months in New Hampshire is like going back to my roots.”
“This state can’t bethatinteresting for historical true crime,” Rob mused.
“The only famous murderer I can think of off the top of my head is Lizzie Borden,” Brian agreed. “But that was in Massachusetts.”
Hannah laughed. “The man many consider to be the first known serial killer in the country was born in New Hampshire, you know. Then you have the Isle of Shoals murders in 1873. And a New Hampshire man who might actually be more awful than Jack the Ripper was executed in 1874 for crimes I don’t even like to think about.”
“So if Elizabeth was killed in 1872, do you think that guy did it?” Brian asked.
“No, I don’t. I’ve never seen anything to substantiate he was this far north, and I think if she’d been one of his victims, they would have found evidence. His MO was pretty brutal.”
“I’m still confused,” Rob said. “You drove all the way across the country to spend three months here—alone—to find a few old stones? You could have emailed and asked us to send you a photo.”
Hannah was amused by the bizarre conversation that had ended with the guys still being confused. What were the chances she’d end up in a campground owned by people who wouldn’t stop talking about serial killers? As fun as it was to wind them up and watch them go in circles, though, she also knew they were tired and under some stress, so she shouldn’t toy with them too much.
“I’m from California, but I’ve been in the area before,” she said. “I was obsessed with Boston but didn’t want to actually live there, so I got my degree in history from UNH. It was a nice central location for trips not only to Boston, but into Maine and the rest of New Hampshire. That’s when I first read about Elizabeth Whaley as well as some of the other women who’ve just disappeared from history.”
“Okay, so you chose this campground on purpose,” Rob said.
“Yes and no. I had a list of campgrounds that my dad had vetted as good enough for his daughter to be alone in.”
“We’re flattered,” Brian said.
“Oh, you weren’t on it,” she said, and they all laughed. “All the Dad-approved ones had waiting lists, so I started casting a wider net. And when I pulled Birch Brook Campground up and saw the location—especially the satellite view—it pinged in my memory and yes, from that moment on, I chose this place on purpose.”
“I think this calls for ice cream,” Brian said. “You want one?”
“I never turn down ice cream,” Hannah said, and when Brian tossed her a chocolate-and-vanilla ice cream cup, she caught it easily, and then the small wooden spoon in plastic wrap.
Rob caught his and then scowled at his brother. “Write them down.”
“I am right now. Get off my back.”
Rob looked at Hannah before opening his ice cream. “We’re supposed to write down anything we use or consume from the store.”
“It’s one of the reasons we got the superspy doorbell,” Brian added. “If we can spend more time in the house, we can eat more of the food we bought for us and less of the food we bought to resell to you guys for a profit.”
“Asmallprofit,” Rob said after giving his brother a look, and Hannah chuckled.
She didn’t bother pointing out that they had the doorbell now but she’d found them both sitting in the store. It worked for her because she got companyandfree ice cream.
“I’ve always wanted to come back to New England when I didn’t have classes and finals and everything hanging over my head. I have some big decisions to make in the near future and I wanted some time away to think. Coming back to New Hampshire, where a lot of things started for me, felt right, so I borrowed my parents’ truck and camper, and here I am.”
