Lucy said goodbye to Nick and climbed back into Judith’s van. Soon the staging area was vanishing into a cloud of dust behind them as the van rattled back down the dirt road. Since the staging grounds were on the far western edge of the search area, they were the only people going in this direction; everyone else was headed farther into the wilderness, traveling east, north, or south.
They were maybe halfway back to town when Judith turned up a narrow gravel and dirt lane that led through a stand of beech before winding its way up the mountain. The ascent was gradual, passing meadows that opened out onto southern or western-facing vistas then returning to the thick cover of the trees, a variety of evergreens interspersed with oak and aspen.
But what struck Lucy was how quiet it was. So peaceful. Growing up, their tiny home near the top of a mountain in the Alleghenies had never felt like this—as a kid, she was always thrilling to the next discovery and adventure that the forest brought. What she sensed was probably due to the difference in her age. Now she was old enough to simply lean her elbow out the open window and bask in the light and the sweet scent that changed subtly with every curve they rounded.
“How long have you lived here?” she asked Judith.
“Going on ten years now,” the older woman answered. “But if I live here another ten, I’ll still be considered a newcomer.”
“Have you been coroner all that time?”
“For the past eight years. It’s one of those jobs no one really wants—the pay won’t even cover your gas, the hours are definitely not convenient, and there’s no budget, so you have to get creative with what tests you run. Guy before me was a EMT, but he joined the Army and left, so Judge Carson asked me—and here I am.”
“Is it hard? I mean, since you’re not a medical doctor?”
“At first I was worried I’d miss something. I bought a whole slew of reference books and subscribed to all the journals. But turns out what kills people is a whole lot like what kills animals. Doing stupid shit, eating stupid shit, fighting over stupid shit. Kinda ironic, if you ask me.”
Lucy glanced at Judith, taken aback by her vulgarity. But then she realized that the other woman was finally letting her guard down and relaxing. “Guess we’re not as evolved as we’d like to think.”
“I’m sure you figured that out pretty fast with the cases you handled with the FBI. Bill said you caught serial killers and child predators.” Judith’s face wrinkled with disgust. “We have our share of trouble up here—too much drinking, not enough work to pay the bills—but nothing like that.” They rounded one last curve, a sweeping meadow of wild flowers below them and a large log cabin with a wide veranda coming in sight at the end of the drive. There were more flowers lining the front walk—native wild flowers interspersed with cultivated plants like hydrangea and floribunda roses. Vines of sweet pea released a heavenly scent as they curled up the porch columns.
Judith and Lucy climbed out of the van, Lucy clutching her now useless daypack, feeling awkward and hesitant. A woman appeared at the screen door, peered out at them, then vanished. About the same age as Deena and same dark hair—her sister?
Judith didn’t hesitate. She bounded up the steps and through the screen door, almost as if she owned the place. Lucy wondered about that, but then Deena appeared from the far side of the veranda, a shawl wrapped tight around her despite the heat. “Lucy, you’re here.”
Deena was fifteen years older than Lucy but somehow always managed to appear younger with her long, dark hair, ballerina-straight carriage, and the way her face was always in motion, expressing emotion and interest in everything. But not now. Now her face revealed every moment of her fifty-five years, her shoulders slumped with fatigue and worry. Lucy dropped her pack to the porch floor and rushed to her friend, pulling her into a hug.
“I’m so glad you came,” Deena finally said as they separated. She shed no tears, yet her voice sounded as if she’d been crying. “If anyone can find him, it’s you.”
Lucy had no idea what to say to that—after all, she wasn’t out searching for Bill, unlike Nick. “I’m so sorry—” she started.
Deena cut her off with a wave of her shawl. “No. I’ve had enough babying and mothering and awkward platitudes from everyone else. They’re doing the best they can, and if he’s just lost in the woods, they’ll find him. But,” she eyed Lucy, “you said he called you. Three times.”
“Yes, something about a cold case? Or an old case? Wait. Here.” Lucy grabbed her phone and replayed the voicemails for Deena.
Deena held the phone in both her hands, cradling it. Then she played the messages a second time. “He sounds so excited. When you first told me it was about an old case, I thought it was something back in Denver. He had one go wrong recently. In fact—” She shook her head, waving off her own words as if they trespassed into a forbidden area. “I wonder if this is anything to do with…” She turned and Lucy followed her around to the side of the house.
The cabin was built with its main door facing west, the north side backed up to the side of the mountain, so Lucy had missed its main feature until Deena led her around to the house’s southern exposure. Here the deck was open and wider, circling all the way across to the eastern wall to make the most of the stunning scenery. The windows climbed from floor to roof, revealing an open-ceilinged great room inside. “Deena, this is gorgeous.”
“Bill’s dad built it back when he came home from the Second World War. Took him almost a decade, but he refused to propose to his girl until he had a home worthy of her. Bill was born a year after they married, but then his mom died less than a year after that—rheumatic fever. They could have been together so much longer… his dad never got over that. He was such a sad and angry man.”
Deena leaned over the railing her gaze searching the horizon. “Bill had a love-hate relationship with both this place and his dad. He loved his work in the city, but after his dad died and we began to think about coming back here to live, when we finally did, it was like a weight was lifted. I swear you wouldn’t recognize him, Lucy. He lost ten pounds just from being outside, walking. He’s off his blood pressure meds; doesn’t need them anymore. And yet, sometimes, there’s still this shadow, like he’s looked in the mirror and sees his father looking back. Winter was bad, but once the sun came back and the snow left, he was back to his old self. But I never heard him excited, not about work, not until those messages.”
“Was he working on anything special? Something to do with a cold case?”
A strange half-chuckle shook Deena. “Come inside, see for yourself.”
She opened one of the sliding doors, and they stepped inside. A river rock fireplace took up most of the wall to Lucy’s left, while to her right was a door leading to another room where the hum of a vacuum could be heard. The kitchen was in the rear of the house, as was the dining room, its Shaker-style table strewn with maps. A radio base station crowded in with candle holders and family photos on the buffet behind it. Judith and Deena’s sister were sitting there, holding cups of steaming tea and making notes on the maps as they listened to the searchers’ chatter.
The floor was heart of pine topped with thick colorful wool rugs; the furniture simple, arranged to face the windows and the vista they displayed. Deena led Lucy to the staircase that rose between the kitchen and dining room, which opened onto a loft and another closed door to a room over the kitchen. With its two large computer monitors and whiteboards covered with sketches, the loft clearly functioned as Deena’s office—she was a graphic designer specializing in logos and branding. Now she paused outside the closed door as if she wanted to knock. But then she opened it.
“Welcome to Bill’s world of wackiness.” Deena stepped aside to let Lucy in. The room was maybe twelve by twelve with a single window covered with newspaper. No, not newspaper—newspaper clippings, haphazardly stuck on by pieces of tape, their tails flapping and shimmying in the breeze of the ceiling fan. One wall acted as a whiteboard for Bill’s notes scrawled in a rainbow of colors, arrows arcing back and forth, a time line of dates across the top, items circled with question marks and stars.
The other two walls held more paper—thumbtacked police reports, printouts of lab results and witness statements, along with a kaleidoscope of sticky notes. In one corner was a desk with an empty area that clearly once held the radio base station that had been moved downstairs. Other than that, the room was empty. No chairs, no knickknacks, none of the official accoutrements that thirty years of law enforcement leaves behind.
“Before he became sheriff, he spent his time hiking, exploring... He was fascinated with an old legend about a cache of hidden gold. But then, after he took the job... all this started.”
Lucy circled the room, following a well-worn path in the carpeting that no amount of vacuuming could erase. Bill’s footsteps, pacing, stalking…what? She glanced at the dates and headlines. Deaths. Going back a decade. All local. None suspicious.
“I don’t understand. What was he looking for?”
Deena shrugged. “Patterns, questions. At first it was just boredom combined with wanting to familiarize himself with the department’s history. So he started talking with the old timers—not just Sheriff Langer, he’s moved to Florida, but Harriet the dispatcher, who pretty much runs things, Gus Holmstead, folks like him who have lived here forever. But then things changed. Bill became…obsessed.”
Lucy nodded. The word fit—and felt familiar. She often plunged into cases the same way. Even Nick sometimes didn’t understand; from the outside it could look a bit manic and out of control. “He saw something. A pattern, something that made him call me.” She stopped in front of the empty desk. There was a dust pattern for other more than the radio. “Did he have a laptop?”
“He took it with him. I don’t know if he left it at the office or had it with him in the Jeep.” Deena turned in a circle and then focused on Lucy once more, her expression anxious. “When I heard those voicemails… I haven’t heard him that excited about something in a long, long time. But, Lucy…maybe it’s not real. Maybe he saw something that wasn’t really there, something he wanted to see because he was bored and needed a challenge?” The hope that sparked her voice when they’d been outside on the deck had vanished, replaced by resignation. “I thought maybe you’d see the same thing. Tell me he wasn’t…”
Lucy said nothing, trying to follow Bill’s mental trail. “Give me a little time.”
Deena nodded, her shoulders sagging once more. She crept backwards out the door.
“Deena,” Lucy called after her. She’d seen rooms like this before—including her own offices, both at the FBI and Beacon Falls, in fact.
“Yes?”
“I have no idea if he was right or not—and I may be wrong. But I think Bill thought, he was trying to see—” She stopped herself, not wanting to give Deena false hope. Plus, the idea was outlandish. But Deena turned to her, eyes gleaming, begging for a lifeline.
Lucy hauled in a breath. “I think maybe he was trying, that he may have found, or thought he found… a serial killer.”