Our salads arrived and we discussed her next assignment,as well as several former colleagues fromBuzzwho were attempting, like us, to navigate the upheaval in the media landscape. It should have been fun to catch up—it had been a few weeks since we’d seen each other—but I could feel my attention constantly being tugged away and my mood turning seriously gloomy. I kept picturing Alice lying dead on her dock, her full, vibrant life wiped out in an instant. And I was thinking about the killer, too, wondering if he’d read my post and convinced himself that I knew more than I was letting on.
“Bailey, are you okay?” Jessie asked.
“Yeah, sorry. I guess I’m pretty shaken up about Alice.”
And I was, I realized. Not only had I felt a connection with her because of our harrowing experience at Sunset Bay but also I’d really grown to like her as a person—her passion for reporting, her wry sense of humor, her down-to-earth, bushy-brows-and-black-beret style. We probably would have stayed in touch.
“I don’t blame you, Bailey. It’s such a loss.”
“And it makes me sick that her killer is out there, probably right in this town. I’ve been going crazy trying to determine what clue Alice stumbled on, but I’m not having any luck.”
“You’ll figure it out. Maybe you have to do that thing you always do, look at it from a totally different angle—backward or sideways or whatever.”
I smiled in spite of my mood.
“I told you I do that?”
“Not in so many words. But I’ve listened to you discuss stories before and that always seems to be your strategy. Youwrite it all down in one of those composition books of yours and then stand it on its head, seeing what it tells you.”
“Well, this time, unfortunately, that isn’t working.”
Following lunch, I walked Jessie to her car and we hugged goodbye. She begged me to keep her posted on developments, how I was faring, and when Beau turned up.
Hurrying back to the hotel, I checked the time. There was a good chance that Ben Hatfield had arrived in town by now. Rather than head upstairs to my room, I decided to swing by Alice’s place in the hope of finding him ensconced there. If the house hadn’t been cleared yet or Ben wasn’t there, I would look for the neighbor who’d told me that his wife had Ben’s number.
As I was reaching for my car key, my phone rang. Cody Blaine returning my call.
“You left a message saying you had something important to talk about,” he said. “About Alice Hatfield.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard that she was killed.”
“The paper’s saying it might be foul play. Do you think that’s true?”
“I do, and I suspect the person responsible murdered Shannon, too. And the campers who went missing.”
“But—if she was murdered, how does that connect with Shannon?” His voice sounded ragged with both concern and frustration.
“I think she figured out a clue to the killer’s identity, and he went after her. Which means it’s definitely someone in our midst, someone you might even be acquainted with.”
“My god.”
“I know I’ve asked you before if anyone’s aroused your suspicions, but let me get more specific. Can you think of anyone who was hanging around the volunteer center, maybe more than he should have, and also knew Alice? And who Shannon might have been familiar with from St. Timothy’s?”
He sighed.
“I only stopped by the center now and then. Mostly I was working with the search teams. And when Iwasthere, I was too much of a zombie to notice anyone hanging around.”
“What about the guy who owns the Lake Shore, at the end of your road? He told Alice he always used to see Shannon run by the motel. Do you know him?”
“I’ve never met the guy, but I’ve seen him around. Wait, are you thinking he could have done this? Do the cops—?”
“I don’t have any specific reason to suspect him other than the fact that he seemed to keep tabs on Shannon, but I’ve told the police and they’re going to talk to him again.”
“You say Hatfield interviewed him. Could he have let something slip at the time?”
“I don’t think that’s what happened. She found something online, probably yesterday morning when she was working at home.”
The call went deadly still.
