FRIDAY, AUGUST 25, PRESENT DAY
Clare wondered if anyone at the table knew Langevoort had wanted Joni to take over the company in his place. Was his anger because she had come out as a woman? Or because she had decisively dumped the future he had planned out for her? When Clare had told her parents she was giving up her military career to become a priest, they had been deeply concerned. Well, deeply concerned on her father’s side. Her mother had been appalled, in part because she envisioned Clare in a life of poverty, and in part because she thought it spelled doom for her daughter’s chances of ever getting married and producing grandchildren.
“Clare?”
She had zoned out of the conversation. The recycling advocate was looking at her. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I was wondering how the investigation was going?”
Investigation into what? She could feel her cheeks start to redden. “It’s going very well. Lots of development.” That ought to cover almost anything.
“Good. It’s terrifying to think there might be a predator out there stalking young women. I won’t let my daughter go out without a friend—and they have to check in several times during the evening.”
A man farther down the table who was with the international affairs department laughed. “I bet she loves that!”
“I don’t care. Until the police have someone in custody, I’m making sure she’s keeping safe. At that age, it’s not like they think of it themselves.”
“Are they close to finding out who did it?” The man across the table from Clare addressed her. In fact, the entire company was looking at her.
“Obviously, I can’t reveal any information the police department hasn’t already made public. But I think it’s common knowledge they’re waiting on DNA and toxicology tests from the state crime lab, and it’s been my experience as someone, um, adjacent to investigations that once that information is in, the case will be closed very quickly.” She pasted what she hoped was a deeply confident expression on her face.
“And, of course, it wouldn’t look good for the local cops to have an unsolved murder leading into a referendum on their very existence,” International Affairs said.
Clare leaned back to let the waiter take her salad plate. “It wouldn’t, no. But I can honestly assure you Chief Van Alstyne would be putting the same effort into closing the case even if the towns had just voted to preserve the department and give everybody raises. He’s a pretty driven guy.” She tried to control the dopey smile she got when she talked about Russ.
“How long have you two been married?” the recycling woman asked.
“Ten months.” There was a chorus of Aww, newlyweds, and the conversation thankfully switched to marriage and weddings.
The caterers were coming out with the main course. Clare pulled her phone from her clutch and held it in her lap. “Just want to check in with the sitter,” she said to Langevoort.
Instead, she texted Russ. Better open w how well the u/x death investigation is going. Everyone at my table is v concerned.
A few seconds later, she felt her phone buzz in response. Will close dept myself if we can get out of here sooner.
Breastfeeding makes a great excuse, she texted. Just thinking about Ethan gave her a little pre-nursing tingle. She had her portable hand pump in its bag in the truck, just in case.
Good. Keep it up next 4 years.
She smiled and leaned into the table, focusing on being a good listener while sending supportive thoughts Russ’s way. It was a lively group, in part because it was well lubricated. The waiters came around like clockwork, filling Bors’s glass to her left and Kent’s glass to her right. After the second time she had waved the wine away, they didn’t offer, but she was aware of every pour and every drink. She tried to console herself with the thought that at least she wasn’t getting red-faced and sweaty or pale and glassy-eyed, like her dinner companions.
Dessert and coffee were rolling out when Audrey Langevoort stood and tapped her knife against her glass. As the various conversations settled down, she said, “Thank you all so much for coming out to honor Barkley and Eaton’s new leader. It’s an exhausting, challenging, life-changing job, as I know almost better than anyone—” She paused, and her audience obliged by laughing. “—but Kent and I know he’ll be brilliant. Bors, stand up and take a bow.”
Saunderson scraped his chair back and stood, raising his hand to the assembly. He looked less like a man taking a victory lap than a boy being called on to perform at a recital. He sat down quickly.
“Now. We’re going to get our other guest of honor to speak for us about the change—the drastic change—the town is proposing. Police Chief Russ Van Alstyne.”
Russ stood up and nodded toward his hostess. “Thanks, Audrey.” He raised his voice to be heard throughout the tent. “Folks, first let me assure you the Millers Kill Police Department is working round the clock to find the person responsible for the recent death of the young woman found on McEachron Hill Road. We know her identity, although we’re waiting on finding her next of kin to release it. We’ve had a steady stream of information coming in on our hotline, and a great deal of physical evidence that’s being examined by the state crime lab. I know some of you may remember a similar unexplained death back in ’72. I know I do.” He rubbed the back of his neck and—there was no other word for it—chuckled. Clare was impressed. Apparently, his speaking improved in inverse proportion to the presence of reporters.
“That was a long time ago, and we have forensic tools today that would have sounded like science fiction back then. We will find whoever is responsible.” He looked around the room in a way that reminded Clare of the time she’d seen him interrogating a suspect. “Now, is this why you should stand behind keeping an independent police department? Maybe. To be honest, the state police can do just as good a job with major investigations as we can. We use their crime scene technicians and their labs. But I can guarantee you, they don’t care about the three towns the way my officers and I do. This is where we live, and shop and go to church and raise our kids. We know these communities and we’re committed to maintaining the peace and safety of every resident, whether they’re here year-round or seasonally. I could stand here for half an hour listing all the ways we make you and your families and your homes more secure. And yes, that includes writing you a ticket so you don’t get into an accident with someone else who’s up here enjoying our beautiful mountains and lakes.” The audience laughed. “But you’re smart folks. I don’t need to lay out every particular for you. So I’ll finish by thanking you for your support, and saying I hope my officers and I have the privilege of serving you for many years to come.”
He sat down to enthusiastic applause, only some of which was due to his brevity.
“Nicely done,” the grandmother said.
“I’m glad to hear him sound so certain about finding the killer.” The recycling activist looked around the table. “Am I the only one with a daughter here for the summer?”
“There’s Kent,” the man at the far end of the table said. Langevoort gave him a look that should have peeled his skin.
“I think Joni’s a little out of the age range,” Clare said. “The girl who was killed—all the previous girls—were in their very early twenties.”
“Previous girls?” someone said.
“In 1972,” Clare amended.
“That remains unsolved, correct?” Langevoort gestured toward Clare. “The Post-Star said there weren’t any arrests, even though the police had several suspects.”
“Persons of interest. No, they never got any further in the investigation. I know Russ is hoping finding this girl’s killer will shake something loose.”
Langevoort looked skeptical.
“I don’t think anyone expects them to solve a thirty-something-year-old murder,” the recycling woman said. “Just get the nut who’s running around right now.”
Clare smiled. “I have no doubt that will happen.” She pushed her chair back. “Now, if you all will pardon me…”
She touched Russ’s shoulder as she passed. “A word?” He excused himself and followed her to the edge of the tent. “Do you think we need to stay much longer? ’Cause if we do, I’m going to have to—” She lowered her voice as several people brushed past her, evidently also heading for the toilets now the speeches were over. “—get the pump from the car.”
“Oh, babe. You’re turning me on.”
“I could kill you right now and no jury with a woman on it would convict me.”
He laughed quietly. “Apparently, there are going to be fireworks, but we don’t have to stay for those. Just let me check with Mom and Chief—and with Jack and make sure they’re okay with slipping out early.”
“All right. I have got to get to the bathroom right now before I burst. Can you come up to the house and tell me if I need to hook myself up?”
“I’ll grab the pump out of the truck if you do.”
She stretched up and kissed him. “Your execution is stayed.”
“Ma’am, thank you, ma’am.”
There was only one caterer in the kitchen, cleaning and packaging the leftovers. “Bathroom?” Clare said.
“Um. The master bedroom one and the powder room are occupied. You have to go upstairs or down.”
Clare chose up. After she emptied her bladder, her breasts felt even more full. Ten o’clock feeding time was definitely coming up. She checked herself in the mirror. No embarrassing leaks on the front of her dress. Yet.
As she descended the stairs, she heard the caterer say, “Sir, what are you doing? Sir? Oh, my God!”
Clare jumped the last two steps and swiveled toward the kitchen. The caterer was staring, horrified, toward the deck. She spotted Clare and pointed. “He … I…”
Clare ran through the den. There was no one on the deck, but she could hear screams coming from the tent—and then she saw it.
A strip of white—part of a sheet, perhaps?—double-knotted around the railing. The taut line led straight down. Holy mother of God.
“Clare!” Russ was a dark blur pounding up the lawn. “Cut him down! Cut him down!”
She whirled, bolted for the kitchen. “Knife! Knife!”
The caterer’s eyes darted over the enormous island. She grabbed a large chopping blade and thrust it toward Clare, handle reversed.
Clare raced back to the deck. She dropped to her knees, wrapped one hand around the sheet—pulled so tight, oh God—and sliced. The steel was wickedly, blessedly sharp. The fabric parted with a curl of threads. Another slice. Then another.
“We’ve got him!” Russ shouted. “Let him drop!” She severed the rest of the sheet with a final cut, dropped the knife, and bent over the railing. Twenty feet below her, like the mourners at the cross, Russ and Jack Liddle tenderly cradled the sprawled, still body of Bors Saunderson.