She fixed her attention back on the passing landscape.
He did the same. Although he had lived here his whole life, for better or worse, he never once took for granted the rugged beauty of the land. Grazing pastures elbowed out the trees in places, sprawling on both sides of the road, the left disappearing into the ocean, the right merging with the treed mountainside.
“Appleton Farm?”
He nodded. “Grandparents of Alicia Appleton.”
That bleak reality settled deep in his gut. That was the real story here. The one that needed everyone’s attention. If this woman, whatever her motives for coming here, could help, that was all that mattered.
Alicia had gone missing four days ago. Less than two days after Valerie Gerard’s body was discovered. Emotion swelled in his throat. It seemed impossible that one of them was dead and the other was missing. So young. So damned young. Alicia was the same age as his little sister.
“You know her?”
Kale kept his focus on the winding road; mostly it was easier to maintain a hold on his emotions that way. “Everybody knows everybody around here.” No matter that the number of year-round folks got smaller each year. “I can’t name a handful of Youngstown residents I didn’t grow up with.”
“With no unknowns or variables, that kind of limits the suspect pool, don’t you think?”
He looked at her then, the instant dislike he worked to ward off filtering in. She was either angling for information on the people he knew and cared about, or, worse, making an outright accusation. “There’s no one here who would ...” He tamped down the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him and his ability to keep his voice firm. “We don’t grow killers in Youngstown, Ms. Newton.”
“And yet,” she countered, “you have one woman heinously murdered and another missing, with few or no newcomers to the area. According to my research, you had basically the same scenario twenty years ago.”
He braked hard for the next turn but didn’t take it, cut to the side of the road instead. “Let’s get something straight right now.” He let her see and hear exactly where he stood on the matter. “We have strangers passing through, just like any other coastal town on Route 1. Three seasons a year we get hundreds if not thousands of tourists from all walks of life and all kinds of places. The man who did this may have been here before, may even somehow know one or both of the victims. But he isn’t one of us.”
“What evidence do you have to suggest the perpetrator is a he? My impression is that it could go either way.”
Was she purposely trying to piss him off? “That the killer is male is the predominant view in the investigation,” he clarified. “Male or female, bottom line, the people in this community are God-fearing, compassionate, and trusting. Maybe that makes us easy targets, but that’s the way we are.”
She shifted her attention to the deserted road that lay before them. “I’ll let you know in a few days just how compassionate your friends and neighbors are.”
Give it up. Don’t argue. She was from New York. Trying to convince her that the world outside the Big Apple was different was a waste of time. Just drive.
The right onto Chapel Trail led them deep into the woods. The canopy of trees blocked the noonday sun, and the dirt road narrowed the farther they traveled. Evergreens far outnumbered the hardwoods, ensuring the thick mass of trees was mostly green, even in the dead of winter. The lesser-numbered hardwoods were tall and broad with age and bare of leaves. A few weeks from now they would bud, heralding the official arrival of spring as marked on the calendar. But New England springs returned a bit more sluggishly than most. Still, when the worst of winter passed, life changed dramatically in Maine. It was like a resurrection. Of both activity and spirit.
“Any houses back here?”
“Only one on this road. It’s at the other end.” Kale gestured straight ahead. “Through the woods in that direction”—he hitched his thumb left—“is Beauchamp Road. It runs parallel to this one but doesn’t connect. There are seven or eight houses along that private road.” He shot her a knowing glance. “The big houses next to the water.”
“Rich folks,” she offered.
“Very rich.”
As he caught sight of the crime-scene tape ahead, his foot touched the brake. The tape fluttered in the cold wind, waving its too-familiarcolors like a caution light between the trees. That tightening sensation he suffered each morning on awakening and remembering the ugliness that had descended upon his hometown took hold of his chest now.
Who would have done such a thing? Couldn’t be any of the people he had grown up with. Not possible. He didn’t care what anyone thought or said. Unlike some of the older folks he’d heard talking, he didn’t really believe in curses or legends. This wasn’t the work of the devil. The person responsible for this was out there somewhere. All they had to do was find the bastard.
Whatever he believed to be the truth, he wasn’t about to disrespect those who believed otherwise—as his passenger made her living doing. However the facts lined up, folks had a right to their own spiritual viewpoint, religious or otherwise.
The path that led up to the chapel was too narrow and steep for a vehicle. He parked in the designated area along the side of the road and was about to explain the reason when Newton hopped out and headed up the path.
Stay calm and focused, he reminded himself as he emerged from the Jeep. Do the job. Keep the peace. The less controversy, the less likely the media was to latch on to Newton’s presence here. He knew all too well what a circus this tragedy would turn into if that happened.
Problem was, he didn’t see how keeping this quiet was possible, considering the lady’s reputation. She appeared to piss off just about everybody she met wherever she went. There was an arrogance about her. He hadn’t decided yet if it was real or just a defense mechanism. Didn’t really matter. The end result was the same.
He followed the route she’d taken. As brisk as the air was today, he could still smell the death permeating the area. He understood that it was his imagination, but his gut seized just the same.
“Stay between the lines of tape,” he called after Newton.
“I’ve done this before, Mr. Conner,” she tossed back over her shoulder without slowing her progress. That big black shoulder bag bounced against her hip.
