Maybe I was getting too far ahead of things. The fallcouldhave been an accident, though right now the chances of that seemed slim, especially if the laptop was missing. Regardless, Alice had found a detail online that had alarmed her, a clue about the case, and I needed to know what it was. If I had any hope of figuring it out—and then determining who had murdered her—I was going to have to follow her digital footprints as best as I could.
The soup arrived, and I managed only a couple of bites. It tasted weirdly smoky to me, like it had been flavored with bits of charred firewood. Even the wine seemed off.
I ordered the bill and a coffee to go. As I dug out my wallet, I overheard someone at the far end of the bar utter the name “Alice.” I jerked my head in that direction. A middle-aged man, his expression stricken, was speaking to the bartender as she clasped her hands to her face in unhappy surprise.
It looked like word of Alice’s death might be starting to spread. Had her son been informed yet? I wondered. The thought of him hearing the news was unbearably sad.
I had little interest in being alone at the Breezy Point with my thoughts, but I was eager to start my own online search.The four-mile drive seemed even more forlorn tonight, with so many darkened motels and shops along the route. The office light was burning when I pulled into the motel lot, and so was a lamp in the jogger’s unit, though her Camry was without its BMW sidekick tonight.
As soon as I was inside, I tore off my jacket, grabbed my laptop, and set to work at the desk. My plan was to use the same approach Alice had—starting not far from the area and working my way out. I found state police sites listing missing persons in New York State and Vermont and began making note of any cases involving young and youngish women within a radius of two hundred miles. I turned up ten or so, and though I knew most were probably runaways, I tracked down local news coverage of each case just to be sure. None of the cases seemed to bear any relation to the ones here.
Around midnight, I peeled off my clothes, set the alarm on my phone for six thirty, and crawled into bed, torn up inside. Part of me wanted to keep working, but tomorrow was going to require all the energy I could muster. I briefly wondered if I should email Jessie, canceling lunch—it would take time from my research—but I decided not to. I was in desperate need of a friend right now.
I dozed off quickly from sheer exhaustion, but moments later my ringtone roused me with a start. I shot a hand out in the darkness and fumbled for the phone on the bedside table. My heart skipped as I brought it close enough to read the screen.
Sheriff Killian.
“Did I wake you?” he asked as I used my free elbow to help me scoot up in bed.
“Um, yeah, but that’s okay.”
“There’s no sign of Alice’s laptop. She definitely told you she was working at home?”
“Yes. God, somebody’s taken it then.”
“We didn’t come across any notes or files about the case, either, so those must have been grabbed as well. And though I can’t go into detail at this time—and this has to stay between you and me—there were indications at the scene that Alice’s death was not an accident.”
“Have you managed to reach her son yet?”
“Yes, he’s been notified. He’s planning to arrive tomorrow.”
“Would it be possible for me to get his cell number from you?”
“You know I can’t give out that kind of information.”
“Okay.”
“But I’m very appreciative of your cooperation. Is there anything more you can tell us? Any hint that Ms. Hatfield might have dropped about what she’d been researching?”
I wondered if I should reveal what Alice knew about the stigmata, but I’d given my word that I’d protect her source, and it didn’t seem to be the line of inquiry she’d been pursuing over the weekend, anyway.
“No, nothing more. I’ve started to search myself. If I find anything at all, I’ll let you know.”
A pause. Hard to tell if he was weighing my words or winding up for a comment.
“Ms. Weggins,” Killian said finally. “The person whocalled you the other day was most likely the killer. And it’s possible he thinks Alice shared what she knew with you. You need to be extremely cautious.”
I swallowed hard.
“I will be.”
After hanging up, I considered Killian’s warning. I knew he was right, that I might indeed be in danger now. The killer was surely reading myCrime Beatposts, keeping tabs, and so he knew that Alice was with me at Sunset Bay, that I must have told her about the phone call before bringing her along to the retreat center. And he might assume we’d swapped additional information over the next few days. In his eyes, therefore, I was no longer a harmless messenger for him. I was a potential threat.
Would he call me again? Killian probably hoped he would, because it might prove fruitful. Yet I was growing doubtful. He’d wanted his handiwork discovered, that much was clear, but Alice’s murder proved he had no interest in being apprehended. It seemed unlikely he’d take the risk of phoning me another time.
I realized suddenly how utterly silent the room was. There weren’t any sounds from outside either, no cars whizzing down Route 9N, not even the muted whoosh of the wind.
I threw back the duvet, jumped from the bed, and dragged the old wooden dresser against the door. It would hardly offer much protection, but it made me feel better.
