As the crowd dispersed, with reporters hurrying back to their vans to prep for their stand-ups in front of the cameras, I studied the players around the podium. I could see Cody now, speaking in what looked like hushed tones to Hank Coulter and still appearing very much like a husband who was worried sick.
The priest seemed to be murmuring something to Shannon’s mother, words of comfort that surely wouldn’t be able to soothe her at all. From what I’d seen over the years, people whose loved ones are found murdered are never the same, though many of them manage to regain a degree of normalcy down the road. But if a loved one vanishes, never to be seen again, life is never, ever normal or good again. The family and friends left behind are unable to stop wondering and agonizing.
The mother nodded dully a few times. The priest gave her arm a squeeze and moved off in the direction of a burgundy SUV. I hurried toward him.
“Father, may I have a word?” I asked. “I’m a reporter withan online publication calledCrime Beat, and I’d love to ask you about Shannon. Does she belong to your parish?”
“I’m not actually a priest,” he said pleasantly enough. “I’m a deacon. Tom Nolan. And yes, Shannon’s a parishioner.”
“Oh, sorry for the misunderstanding. Can I ask the name of the church?”
“St. Timothy’s. The Catholic church here in Lake George.”
Up close, I realized that he was a near doppelgänger for one of my brother Cam’s college friends, a charming Irish-Catholic guy who’d had Kennedy-thick hair and big white teeth that seemed to be jockeying for room in his mouth.
“I’d love to give our readers a fuller sense of Shannon as a person. Do you have a moment now?”
“Unfortunately, I have to be back for a meeting at the parish center.” He hesitated. “But if you want to stop by in an hour or so, I could probably spare a few minutes. As long as you’re aware I’m not interested in gossip or anything of that nature.”
That seemed to be code for “FYI, I won’t be throwing any shade at Cody Blaine.”
“Totally understood. Shall I meet you there?”
“Yes, it’s right next to the church.”
As he drove off, I glanced back at the action. Though the sheriff had announced he wasn’t going to respond to additional questions, a cluster of TV reporters were trailing him to his vehicle, launching useless queries his way—I guess mainly so that their camera crews could catch them strutting their stuff.
Cody, I noticed, had slipped inside Dot’s, but the red-haired woman I’d seen him speak to earlier was still hanging outside, waiting, it seemed.
Okay, I thought. Let’s figure out who she is.
“I’m so sorry for everything you’re going through,” I said as I approached her. “Are you family?”
“No, I’m Mr. Blaine’s assistant,” she said. “Can I help you with something?”
I gave her my spiel and said I’d love her impressions of Shannon.
She smiled sadly as the breeze whipped a few strands of her hair around her face. “Shannon’s wonderful—in every way. We have to find her and bring her home.”
“Have you spent much time with her?”
“Not a lot, but she does come to the office a few days a week now.” She swiveled her head in order to see into the interior of Dot’s, and Cody, catching the movement, motioned for her to come inside. She nodded agreeably.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I’m needed inside.”
“Of course. And would you mind telling me your name?”
“Riley,” she said. “Riley Hickok.”
I had to find a way to have a longer conversation with her, though my hunch was that she was fiercely loyal to her boss. Was that loyalty based on more than a regular boss/assistant relationship? I watched as she hurried into the building and strode quickly toward Blaine. Though Riley was attractive, she wasn’t in the same league as Shannon, and yet that hardly ruled out the notion of an affair. What’s that old line?Showme a beautiful woman and I’ll show you a man who’s tired of fucking her. So crude but so often true.
Once Riley was inside, Blaine seemed to rattle off a set of instructions to her. Nothing about their body language suggested anything more than a working relationship. But they both had to know that curious eyes were watching.
“Good question about the earbuds.” I heard a woman’s voice coming from behind me, and spun around to find Alice Hatfield standing there.
“Thanks,” I said without cracking a smile.
There had to be a reason she was massaging my ego after offering me a cold shoulder in the bar.
