Page 34 of Still Missing You

Dylan’s dark brows lift and disappear behind his messy hair flopped over his forehead. “Maine? What was he doing in Vermont?”

I shrug. “That’s the big question, isn’t it? He graduated from film school two years ago.”

“Which ties into what Kirkland told us.” He leans back against the dresser. “But why in the hell would he make a movie about Coldwater? There’s nothing interesting here.”

“He was raised by an aunt,” I say, “after his parents disappeared when he was a kid.”

Dylan’s narrowed gaze meets mine. “Disappeared?”

I nod. “When he was eight. They went on vacation and just never came back, and no one ever saw them again. After all these years, they’re presumed dead.”

“So his parents vanished,” Dylan begins.

“His mother and stepfather,” I interject.

His frown deepens. “How do you know that?”

“There was an article from a local newspaper a few months after the disappearances, noting Matthew’s mother’s string of bad luck. First, her husband dies in a car accident when her son is just a toddler, then she and her second husband vanish without a trace less than a decade later. Honestly, the article’s author dropped some less than subtle hints that Matthew’s mother was some kind of black widow.”

Dylan lifts his coffee cup and hesitates before drinking. “Was she?”

“Unlikely. Her first husband died driving on an icy road when a car in the opposite direction lost control and sent him into a tree. And if she killed her second husband, she didn’t get much out of it. They were hardly rich, and what little they did have went to her son, Robert.”

“Matthew,” Dylan corrects automatically, rubbing his chin with the back of his hand. His brows are tight with consternation. “So Matthew’s parents disappear, then he comes to this town to make a movie where there’s been a string of disappearances, and he disappears.”

“That about sums it up.”

“That’s a lot of coincidences.”

I nod slowly. “Yes, it is.”

“And you don’t believe in coincidences.”

“No, I don’t.”

***

It’s pouring when we pull into the General Store’s parking lot. There are a few other cars, but not many. Most people probably had the good sense to stay home and out of the torrential downpour.

While staying back at the inn and spending a rainy day alone with Dylan in bed held a hell of a lot more appeal than trying to shake answers out of Matthew’s previous coworkers, the latter would be a hell of a lot safer, at least for me. Besides, I have a job to do, and I need to focus.

Together, Dylan and I hurry across the parking lot. I tuck my chin to my chest and jog to the store’s doors, but the effort does little to keep me from getting soaked.

By the time we reach the entrance, my hair is plastered to my scalp. Icy water drips past my collar and down my back. Dylan hasn’t fared much better. The front of his jeans is molded to his legs, and the hair falling across his forehead drips down his face. He wipes his face with his sleeve. Not that it does much. His jacket is wet too, but he hardly seems to notice. Instead, his frown is fixed on me. “Is your knee hurting?”

He’s been watching me more closely than I realized. I’m surprised he noticed. I must be limping more than usual. The truth is, the ibuprofen I took this morning is wearing off, so my knee is throbbing again.

I shrug. “It’s the weather. I’m fine.”

Dylan meets my gaze, shooting me a yeah, right look. “We did a lot yesterday. Maybe we should take it easy today. Give you a chance to rest.”

His consideration is both exasperating and strangely touching. I roll my eyes. “I’m fine. Come on.”

Before he can argue, I pull open the door and hold it for him.

This morning, when we’d been trying to work out our next move and how to expand on what we’d found out about Matthew so far, we decided Kirkland wouldn’t give us much more. Given the delight he took in telling us about Matthew’s documentary and pointing out that we didn’t know his actual first name, if he’d known more, he would have told us just for the sheer pleasure of rubbing our noses in it.

Our next best chance is someone he worked with, and if he hadn’t confided in anyone at the store, maybe they would know if he had other friends besides Kirkland.