Just great.
Sarah drove all the way down the block to a small parking area around the corner from Cappy’s Chowder House. She dug aroundunder the front seats until she found her ski cap. Pulling it low over her hair, she wished for her sunglasses. Something else she’d forgotten to bring along.
Being a recognizable figure in cases like this had its downside. The prospect of some field reporter recognizing her and starting a line of questions Sarah couldn’t answer ranked right up there with getting her wisdom teeth pulled out.
Frustrated at her ill-preparedness, she grabbed her bag and slammed the door. She climbed the hill to the sidewalk and scanned the shops. Rite Aid. The chain pharmacy would have sunglasses. Maybe even gloves. She’d frozen her ass, toes, and fingers off today.
Sarah crossed the street and entered the pharmacy. She glanced around, didn’t spot any loitering reporters, and headed for the turnstile rack of sunglasses at the end of the snack aisle. Looking over her options, she checked for the best fit. Too big; too eighties; too ... she made a face ... bizarre. Then she found just the right ones. Slid them into place. Perfect. Black, wrapped around the face. Lots of camouflage. Exactly what she needed.
Now for gloves. She wandered the aisles, found some black woolly mittens with a waterproof outer shell, and headed for the checkout counter.
“Is that all today, ma’am?”
“Yes.” Sarah scrounged for her wallet, then looked to the cashier for a total.
“You’re that reporter woman from that magazine, aren’t you?” The woman eyed her speculatively from behind big pink-framed eyeglasses. She could be someone’s grandmother, silky gray hair, outfitted in a paisley print blouse. But the look she was giving Sarah right now was anything but grandmotherly.
Sarah did a quick sleazeball check around the store, then pasted on a smile for the cashier who looked not at all like a fan. “Yes.”
“I hear you think one of us is responsible for that poor girl’s murder.”
Sarah wasn’t about to go there. “The chief of police is preparing for a press conference right outside.” She gestured to the street. “I’m sure he’ll have the latest news on the case and any possible suspects.”
The cashier’s pale blue eyes narrowed behind the glasses.
“But you’re not working with the police. You’re running around talking to people on your own.”
“I’m looking into the case, yes.” Was it too much to ask to get a total here?
“Well”—the cashier leaned across the counter—“if you’re smart, you’ll talk to the minister over at Living Word Church.”
Anticipation of a new lead spiked. Another check to ensure no one was close by. “What makes you think I should talk to him?”
“Valerie Gerard attended that church her whole life.” The cashier looked around as if she’d decided that what she had to say next shouldn’t be overheard. “Then, last year she up and stopped going. When her folks tried to persuade her to go with ’em at Christmas, she flat-out refused.”
Lots of teenagers ticked church services off their must-do lists as soon as they were old enough to make their own choices. “It’s not unusual for teenagers to decide church isn’t worth their time,” Sarah reminded the older woman. She’d made that decision by the time she was sixteen, but her aunt hadn’t let her off the hook until college.
The lady shook her head. “Valerie wasn’t like that. She was a good girl. Refusing to go to church was not like her at all. Her mama worried about it for a while, but then she figured it was probably the college influence.” The cashier hit the total button. “I don’t believe it, though. Uh-uh. There’s more to it than that. Nineteen forty-eight.”
Sarah handed her a twenty. “What’s this minister’s name?”
“Christopher Mahaney.” She took Sarah’s money. “It was probably his doing—that her folks believed she’d gone off to college and left God behind and all.”
Something else the chief hadn’t mentioned. A new name to add to Sarah’s talk-to list. “Thanks.” She dropped the change into her wallet. Asan afterthought, she pulled a card from her bag and offered it to the cashier. “You call me if you think of anything else that might be helpful.”
The lady nodded. “I’ll be glad to.” She pointed a disgusted look toward the street. “There’s something rotten in this town, and I think it’s that so-called man of God.” She leaned toward Sarah again. “The old devil goes after ministers, too. Sometimes he’s successful.”
Sarah thanked her again and headed for the door. She ripped the tags from her purchases and slid the sunglasses into place, then tugged on the gloves and stepped onto the sidewalk.
More locals awaiting news had gathered at the library. Sarah slipped into the fringes and tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.
Snatches of conversation from the locals filtered through the rumble. Some folks believed that Alicia Appleton’s body had been discovered. Others insisted she had been found alive.
Ah, there was a mention of Sarah.Troublemaker. Had Rachel Appleton in tears. Tried to force a confession out of Bart Harvey’s boy.
Oh, wow. Maybe she was the devil that kid had spoken of.
The cashier’s mention of the devil nudged Sarah.
