I just got a call from the owner. He heard about the woman that was found in my car, and thinks he might know who she is.”
“Who does he think she is?”
“One of the grad students who worked for him. She went home for a family wedding in Colorado over the weekend of the first and never came back. Last week he called her parents’ house to find out if she’d quit, but they were under the impression that she was here. The Monday after the wedding, she left home to drive back to the inn. They spoke with her once while she was on the road, but they haven’t heard from her since.”
“And they didn’t miss her until her employer called?”
“She’s twenty-five years old, she’s been living away from home for some time now. I guess she didn’t check in all that often.”
As they walked past Garland, Beck held up his phone, apparently to show the dispatcher that he had it with him.
“Shit. My car…” Beck said when they reached the parking lot and he realized his Jeep was being processed as a crime scene and he’d loaned his cruiser to Hal.
“I’ll drive.” Mia pointed to the black Lexus SUV parked under one of the few trees with a canopy large enough to provide shade.
“Nice wheels,” he said as they walked toward it.
“Thanks.” She unlocked it with the remote, then opened the driver’s side door and slid behind the wheel.
When Beck got in, she said, “So, I guess this story is the big news around town.”
She snapped on her seat belt and turned the key in the ignition, then opened the windows to let out the air that had been cooking inside the closed car despite the fact that the car had been parked in the shade.
“Biggest thing that’s happened in St. Dennis since the British shelled it during the War of 1812.”
She stopped at the entrance to the parking lot to allow a TV news van to enter.
“Keep going,” he told her. “We’re not doing the news thing right now.”
“Which way?” she asked when they reached Charles Street.
“Take a right.”
“I’m going to need to hear the tape he left inside Colleen Preston’s wrappings,” she said as she made the turn. “And I want copies of the photos from both crime scenes.”
“What else?”
“The interviews, I told you that.”
“Anything else?”
“I want to walk your neighborhood at night. The Prestons’, too. I want to see it the way he did.”
“As best we can figure out, he must have been at the Prestons’ between eight and eleven. My place, sometime between one and five.” He glanced over at her. “You go walking around St. Dennis at that hour, I want to know about it.”
“Worried about my safety, Chief?”
“Not funny, Agent Shields.” He turned his face to the window. “Not funny at all.”
“It wasn’t meant to be. For the record, I’m well trained and I’m well armed.”
“Good for you. But you’re also the right age for this wacko to go after. Don’t put yourself in harm’s way.”
“I never do.”
“Make the next right,” he told her.
Sinclair’s Cove was marked by a white sign bearing the name of the inn and adorned with a painted great blue heron that was life-size and expertly done. The drive was tree-lined and reminiscent of the old South. It wound through a forest of azaleas to a clearing, at the far end of which was a house that took Mia’s breath away.
“Wow,” she said. “Take a look at that.”
“It is something,” Beck agreed.
The front of the large white structure was three stories high, with a porch that spanned the entire length, and was adorned with three pillars that went from the porch to the upper roof line. Tall windows graced either side of the front door. The circular drive off to one side of the house left the entire lawn unspoiled, and Adirondack chairs were scattered here and there for the guests to enjoy one of the many views of the bay.
“How old is this place?” she asked.
“Early eighteen hundreds, I think, but you can ask the owner.” Beck
“Who does he think she is?”
“One of the grad students who worked for him. She went home for a family wedding in Colorado over the weekend of the first and never came back. Last week he called her parents’ house to find out if she’d quit, but they were under the impression that she was here. The Monday after the wedding, she left home to drive back to the inn. They spoke with her once while she was on the road, but they haven’t heard from her since.”
“And they didn’t miss her until her employer called?”
“She’s twenty-five years old, she’s been living away from home for some time now. I guess she didn’t check in all that often.”
As they walked past Garland, Beck held up his phone, apparently to show the dispatcher that he had it with him.
“Shit. My car…” Beck said when they reached the parking lot and he realized his Jeep was being processed as a crime scene and he’d loaned his cruiser to Hal.
“I’ll drive.” Mia pointed to the black Lexus SUV parked under one of the few trees with a canopy large enough to provide shade.
“Nice wheels,” he said as they walked toward it.
“Thanks.” She unlocked it with the remote, then opened the driver’s side door and slid behind the wheel.
When Beck got in, she said, “So, I guess this story is the big news around town.”
She snapped on her seat belt and turned the key in the ignition, then opened the windows to let out the air that had been cooking inside the closed car despite the fact that the car had been parked in the shade.
“Biggest thing that’s happened in St. Dennis since the British shelled it during the War of 1812.”
She stopped at the entrance to the parking lot to allow a TV news van to enter.
“Keep going,” he told her. “We’re not doing the news thing right now.”
“Which way?” she asked when they reached Charles Street.
“Take a right.”
“I’m going to need to hear the tape he left inside Colleen Preston’s wrappings,” she said as she made the turn. “And I want copies of the photos from both crime scenes.”
“What else?”
“The interviews, I told you that.”
“Anything else?”
“I want to walk your neighborhood at night. The Prestons’, too. I want to see it the way he did.”
“As best we can figure out, he must have been at the Prestons’ between eight and eleven. My place, sometime between one and five.” He glanced over at her. “You go walking around St. Dennis at that hour, I want to know about it.”
“Worried about my safety, Chief?”
“Not funny, Agent Shields.” He turned his face to the window. “Not funny at all.”
“It wasn’t meant to be. For the record, I’m well trained and I’m well armed.”
“Good for you. But you’re also the right age for this wacko to go after. Don’t put yourself in harm’s way.”
“I never do.”
“Make the next right,” he told her.
Sinclair’s Cove was marked by a white sign bearing the name of the inn and adorned with a painted great blue heron that was life-size and expertly done. The drive was tree-lined and reminiscent of the old South. It wound through a forest of azaleas to a clearing, at the far end of which was a house that took Mia’s breath away.
“Wow,” she said. “Take a look at that.”
“It is something,” Beck agreed.
The front of the large white structure was three stories high, with a porch that spanned the entire length, and was adorned with three pillars that went from the porch to the upper roof line. Tall windows graced either side of the front door. The circular drive off to one side of the house left the entire lawn unspoiled, and Adirondack chairs were scattered here and there for the guests to enjoy one of the many views of the bay.
“How old is this place?” she asked.
“Early eighteen hundreds, I think, but you can ask the owner.” Beck
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