What if he had somehow learned the truth?
Barton opened his eyes.
The agent couldn’t know the truth. Barton squared his shoulders, gathered his courage.
There was no way anyone could know.
Not yet.
Barton would be strong for the interview with the federal agent.
But she ... she was a different story.
She was not bound by the same laws as the agent. She could dig and sneak around until she discovered Barton’s secret.
He clasped the bag closer. It was his curse.
He had to make sure she didn’t find out. He had to make her go away.
All of his efforts so far had failed. When she’d gone over that ledge, he’d been certain he’d killed her. He shuddered. Had to be losing his mind. He hadn’t meant to push her ... but the impulse had overwhelmed him.
This was what he had been reduced to!
He had to be brave. Perhaps there was a way without going to such an extreme. Whatever it was, he had to find it. He had to find something that scared her enough to send her running.
No one was immune to fear.
All he had to do was find her one true fear and then he could make her afraid.
Then she would leave.
His burden, his secret, would be safe.
31
Tuesday, March 3, 10:55 a.m.
Sarah stood, arms crossed, on the periphery of the crowd filing into the Main Street Methodist Church for Alicia Appleton’s memorial service. Sarah had observed most of the people on her watch list drift inside.
Clouds threatening snow plotted overhead.
More snow was the last thing they needed.
Trucks, cars, and SUVs lined the parking area, each one dirty from the mixture of snow, ice, sand, and cinders that littered every street and driveway. Welcome to life in Maine.
Sarah had been damned disappointed that Chief Willard hadn’t planned a strategy briefing that morning, at least not one she was invited to attend.
If the investigation had discovered additional evidence or learned new particulars on persons of interest since the midnight briefing, no one was talking.
Memorial services were something Sarah didn’t typically attend. But she was here for more than paying her respects to the deceased. She was here to analyze the others paying their respects. Not exactly a laudable reason to put in an appearance, but necessary nonetheless.
She was beginning to think she should have brought two little black dresses. But since she only owned one, it would have to do. Aswould the less-than-sophisticated Converses that were the mainstay of her everyday wardrobe.
Her editor, Don, had called demanding an update she couldn’t really give him. Primarily because she couldn’t explain why she was still here. There was no logical reason. The story she’d come here to follow was basically nonexistent at this point. Sure, there were myths and legends and tales all over this rocky coast. And no doubt many believed those things were as real as any angel or demon or biblical fable. But the truth was out in the open now. Valerie Gerard and Alicia Appleton had been murdered by someone as human as they were. Likely someone they had known, possibly well, or all their lives.
End of story.
Except something wasn’t right.
