“How many years back?” Dale whispered as an afterthought.
Walter stopped to think. “Must be…thirteen or fourteen years now. They come around the station periodically to ask…I know them. They go to my church. My wife’s church, that is.”
“This one hasn’t been in the water any fourteen years,” said the doctor abruptly.
“Excuse me,” said Alice Emery. “Oh, Detective Ference.”
“Hello, Mrs. Emery,” he said. “Mr. Emery.”
Jack Emery mumbled a greeting but did not look up. He was a wan, frail-looking man with rheumy eyes. His fingers continued to work the keys on their ring as if they were rosary beads.
“We heard you found a girl,” said Alice. There was a quaver in her voice, but her tone was matter-of-fact.
“Detective Ference tells me you have a daughter missing,” said Dale solicitously.
“Yes, our Linda. Of course it’s been quite a while,” she admitted.
“This isn’t Linda,” Walter said bluntly.
“How can you be sure?” Alice pleaded. “What was she wearing?”
Walter grimaced. “It’s hard to tell anymore. But, the doc here says this girl hasn’t been in the water that long.”
“It’s not her, Alice,” said Jack Emery gruffly. “Let’s go.”
“Do we have all the information about your daughter on file at the station?” Dale interjected.
“Yes, we do,” said Walter automatically.
“Let’s go, Alice,” Jack repeated.
“We’ll be sure and let you know if there is any indication that it might be your daughter,” the chief said soothingly.
Alice struggled to regain her dignity. “It’s just that it’s been very hard on us. All these years. Especially on my husband.”
Dale placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We understand,” he said.
“Thank you,” Alice whispered, and turned away, now the reluctant follower as her husband headed toward the car. The female reporter and her photographer pounced on the Emerys as they reached their Ford.
Dale shook his head in disgust. “That Hodges girl is a pest, isn’t she?”
Walter smiled and nodded. “Would you believe her dad used to be on the force? I remember her growing up. She was always one of those irritating kids that none of the other kids wanted to play with. She’ll probably win the Pulitzer Prize someday.”
Dale nodded. He did not like ambitious women. There was something unnatural about them, although he did his best to disguise that feeling. You had to, these days.
Dr. Jansen watched the Emerys extricate themselves from Phyllis Hodges and her cohort and lock themselves in their car. He shuddered. “Nothing more terrible than not knowing if your child is dead or alive. It’s easier just to deal with their death than to live in limbo like those people.”
Dale felt suddenly irritated at the old doctor. It had been a long time, but surely he knew about Walter’s loss. He’d been in this town his whole life. The chief glanced furtively at Walter. As usual his expression was impassive, but Dale suspected that a loss like that did not get much easier to bear with time. There was no need to rub it in.
A redheaded officer in waders emerged from one of the nature trails into the parking lot, and the chief welcomed the opportunity to change the subject.
“Larry,” he called out to the young cop, who was availing himself of the makeshift coffee wagon that had been set out for the searchers. “Anything?”
“Nothing, Chief,” the young officer called back.
Chief Matthews looked at his watch. He had a meeting at City Hall with the town councilmen in twenty minutes. “I’d better get going. Walter, stay on top of this until dark?”
Walter nodded. “Sure will.”
“We really aren’t going to be able to do much about finding the killer until we know who the victim is,” said the chief. Homicide was definitely not an ordinary occurrence in a town like Bayland. The truth was that he didn’t have much hands-on experience with a murder investigation, and it was daunting to start out with so little in the way of information. But the people in this town were going to be panicked by the thought of a murderer in their midst. Someone who had killed a young girl and dumped her off in this desolate place. Dale sincerely hoped it was a family member. Even the most inexperienced cop knew that that was usually the case. All they had to do was put a name to these bones and they’d be halfway home. “We’ll get him,” he said, as much to convince himself as anyone else. “Just find out who she was, Doc.”
Doctor Jansen sighed. “Easier said than done,” he said.
Walter gazed thoughtfully back in the direction of the dunes and relentless rushing tides beyond. “The sea doesn’t leave you a lot to go on,” he said.
Chapter One
May
“Which tie do you think?”
Karen Newhall, huddled in her bathrobe on the edge of the tub, turned to look at her husband, Greg, who had opened the door and was holding a red club tie in one hand and a green-striped tie in the other. He was dressed in a blue blazer, chino slacks, and a crisp, white shirt. “You look nice,” she said.
“Hey,” he said gently. “You better have your shower. Our reservation is for one o’clock.”
Karen nodded absently and smoothed out the lap of her robe.
“Honey, do you feel all right? Why are you sitting there?”
“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “I was just resting a minute.” The grave look in his eyes made her feel guilty. “I’m perfectly all right,” she said. “I like the green tie.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Well,” she said lightly, “the red is nice, too “
“You know what I mean.”
“Go put your tie on. I’ll be ready in no time.”
“Okay.” Greg went back down the hall to their bedroom, and Karen closed the door and slowly untied the sash on her robe and hung the robe on a hook beside the shower.
Every Mother’s Day for the last six years or so, Greg always took Karen and Jenny, their daughter, to the Bayland Inn for lunch. In this family they joked that anything you did more than twice was a tradition, and the Bayland Inn on Mother’s Day definitely qualified.
Karen looked ruefully at herself in the full-length mirror behind the door. At thirty-eight, her body was lean and trim, thanks to years of teaching dance to young children. Of course when she was in her early twenties, trying desperately to conceive a child, the doctors had blamed that lean, disciplined dancer’s body for her failure to ovulate, her inability to become pregnant. Karen had given up dancing for two years, gained twenty pounds, tried every suggested treatment, but nothing worked. Finally, she and Greg had begun the process that led to the adoption of their only child, Jenny.
And then, less than a year ago, a routine brain scan for persistent headaches had revealed a tiny, benign tumor on Karen’s pituitary gland. The drug she took to eradicate the tumor had another, most unforeseen effect. Within a few months Karen was pregnant. The doctor had explained to the astonished parents-to-be that Karen must have had the tumor for years, and that it had probably been the cause of her suppressed ovulation. But in the years when Karen was trying to conceive, they did not have the technology to detect it. Karen and Greg had left the doctor’s office in a happy daze, stunned but elated by this unexpected gift. They had rushed home to gently break the news to Jenny that she was going to have a baby brother or sister.
Karen stepped into the shower and let the hot water rush over her, stinging her. Under its steady beat, the tears that formed in her eyes mingled and fell with the water, dripping off her face. She had quit work immediately, rested each day, taken the prescribed hormones, and eaten every vegetable in sight. And then, just two weeks ago, when it had finally felt almost safe to look at baby clothes, to think of names, she awoke one morning with wrenching cramps and a feeling of terror resting like a boulder on her chest. By nightfall it was over. The wondering, the dreaming, the hope agai
nst hope. Life returned to normal.
She stepped out of the shower, dried herself off, and rubbed a window in the steamy mirror to check her eyes. She did not want Greg to see that she had been crying again. She knew that it was a kind of torture for him, not to be able to fix it for her, a painful reminder of those early years of their marriage when they first learned of Karen’s infertility. And then, when Karen had adjusted to that reality, they began three years of frustration and anguish as would-be adoptive parents. Those years were a nightmarish blur in her mind of frustrating bureaucratic procedures and emotional upheaval as, with one baby after another, their hopes rose and then were dashed. Each disappointment left her more depressed, and time and again Greg bucked her up, prodded her to go on, never dwelling on his own pain. Karen could remember as vividly as if it were yesterday the day when they finally got their baby and brought her home. Karen had cradled her Jenny in her arms, and the sleeping infant’s tiny hand had curled around Karen’s pinky and held on tight. Although Karen and Greg had always dreamed of having a couple of kids, she vowed on that day that she would not try to adopt any more children. She would never forget the anxious, haunted eyes of the other couples who clogged the waiting rooms of the lawyers’ offices and adoption agencies where they had been on their odyssey. It would be greedy to seek another child when so many people were waiting.
That’s what you’re being now, she told herself sternly. Greedy. Greedy and self-indulgent. Stop sorrowing for what you lost, and be thankful for all that you have, she told the wistful woman in the mirror. With Jenny’s adoption, they put the sorrow and the tension behind them. Happiness reentered their lives. It was not fair to put Greg through it again. You are blessed, she reminded herself. Think how lucky you are.
She padded down the hall to their bedroom. Greg had finished with his tie and looked to her, as always, for her approval.
“Very handsome,” she said, smiling. She rarely saw him dressed up this way. He was a contractor by trade, and his normal work clothes were sturdy shirts and rugged boots.
“I’ve got to look good for my girls,” he said cheerily.
For the millionth time the unbidden thought flitted through Karen’s mind. Would it have been a girl or a boy? Greg recognized the look on her face.
“Honey,” he said, “if you don’t feel up to this, we don’t have to go.”
Karen narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to do me out of my lunch date? I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” She took his favorite dress out of the closet and slipped it over her head. “Help me with this zipper, honey.”
Greg drew up the zipper and kissed her neck.
“I’m sorry I’ve been such a drag,” she said.
“You haven’t,” he said.
Karen brushed her hair and glanced at the silver frame on the dresser, the gap-toothed smiling child in the picture. “Besides, Jenny would be disappointed.”
Greg looked at his watch. “We’d better get a move on. I told her to meet us there at one o’clock sharp.”
“Does she need a ride from Peggy’s house?” Their thirteen-year-old daughter had spent the night with Peggy Gilbert, a new friend from school. Greg had driven her over there the night before.
“No. Peggy only lives about two blocks from the inn,” he said.
Karen dabbed on a little blusher to brighten her complexion. Her skin seemed drab to her now that the glow of pregnancy had vanished.
“You look beautiful,” Greg said sincerely.
Karen smiled at him. They had met when she was fifteen years old. Sometimes she thought they were like people suspended in time. It was as if they never noticed the passing of the years. When she looked at her husband she still saw the broad-shouldered boy with sandy-blond hair and liquid brown eyes, so like her own, who had dazzled her eye and made her heart race back in high school. Someday, she thought, when I’m completely gray and wrinkled and the mirror cries out “old lady,” I will still be able to look in his eyes and see myself as a young girl. “I’m ready,” she said.
“It feels weird driving your car,” Greg said as he pulled into the parking lot beside the old brick building. Usually he went everywhere in his van.
“I thought it might be nice to show up for lunch without sawdust all over me,” she teased him.
“Well, excuse me, Mrs. Vanderbilt,” he said, coming around to her side to open the door and bowing as he offered her his hand.
Karen giggled as she climbed out of the car and looked up at the inn. During Revolutionary War times, the Bayland had actually been an inn, housing the guests who had made the arduous fifty-mile trek from Boston. These days the Bayland was just a restaurant, and superhighways made the town of Bayland a long but possible commute from the city. Still, the seaside town retained much of its historic charm, was crowded only in the summer, and the Bayland Inn remained virtually the only place in town to go for a dress-up occasion.
Greg took her arm as they went inside and spoke to the hostess. “We’re meeting our daughter here,” he said. “Her name is Jenny. Dark brown hair, blue eyes, about this tall.”
“She’s not here yet,” the hostess said brightly. “I’ll keep an eye out for her.” She led them to their table. It was by the window, overlooking a little waterfall and a stream. Karen sat down and gazed out at the trees fuzzy with new growth, the pastel blue of the sky, and the daffodils and tulips blooming in disorganized profusion on the stream bank.
“What a beautiful day,” she said.
“We do what we can,” he said.
She made a face at him, picked up her menu and glanced at it, and then put it down again. She looked around the room. It was definitely a family day. Every table boasted a mom in her best, some.with corsages pinned to their dresses, husbands and children encircling them.
A stout, henna-haired waitress came up to their table, but Greg indicated the empty place. “I’ll come back,” she said.
Greg followed Karen’s gaze. “I should have brought you flowers,” he said.
“Don’t be silly,” said Karen, returning to the menu.
“I did get you something, though,” he said, producing a small, flat, gaily wrapped box from inside his jacket.
“Oh, Greg.”
“Open it,” he said.
“Should we wait for Jenny?” she asked uncertainly.
“It’s all right. We’ll show her when she gets here. Go ahead.”
Karen couldn’t help but smile. He was always impatient when he got her a gift. Like a kid itching to open a package, it was all he could do not to unwrap it himself.
“I saw this and I felt like you needed it,” he said.
Karen opened the box and lifted the lid. An antique silver locket engraved with a pattern of leaves and vines rested on the black velvet in the box. “Oh, honey, this is beautiful.”
“Open it up,” he said.
Karen fumbled with the tiny button and pressed it. The locket snapped open. Inside were two pictures, carefully clipped from family snapshots, one on each side. Greg and Karen on the left, Jenny on the right.“You see,” he said. “There’s no room for anyone else. It’s a full heart as it is.”
Karen felt tears rush to her eyes, and she nodded. She knew what he meant to say—that he was happy as they were, just the three of them. He always said so. “It’s true, darling,” she murmured. “We’re very lucky. I was just thinking that earlier today. How lucky I am. Thank you,” She smiled at him, knowing there were tears standing in her eyes, but he seemed satisfied as he squeezed her hand. She did not say what she knew, deep down inside—that in a mother’s heart there would always be room for one more.
“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, pleased with the reception of his gift, “do you know what you’re going to have?”
“I haven’t decided,” she said, turning to look at the door. “Have you?”
“I’m thinking about the baby lamb chops,” he said, glancing at his watch. Then he spoke Karen’s thoughts aloud. “Where is th
at kid? It’s quarter after.”
“Oh, teenagers,” said Karen, forcing herself not to look at the door again. “They lose track of time.”
“I told her one o’clock sharp,” he said irritably.
The waitress returned. “Do you want a drink?” Greg asked Karen. Karen shook her head.
“Just a few more minutes,” Greg said to the waitress.
“Are you sure it was only two blocks?” Karen asked.
“Honey, I took her there last night.”
Karen nodded. She had spoken briefly to Mrs. Gilbert on the phone, just to make sure it was all right for Jenny to spend the night. Jenny, who lately bristled at any questioning of her independence, was angry about the call. “I hate it when you check up on me,” she complained.
“I’m sure Peggy’s mother would have done the same,” Karen had replied calmly. She was not about to mention to Jenny that in fact Mrs. Gilbert had sounded impatient, as if she could not see the need for the call, either.
“You treat me like I’m in the first grade,” Jenny griped.
Karen sighed, recalling the exchange. All their conversations seem to go that way lately. Every decision Karen made met resistance, every suggestion was construed as interfering or dismissed as boring.
“What’s the matter?” asked Greg.
“Oh, you know me and Jenny lately.”
“It’s just a phase.”
“You always say that.”
“No, this one is documented—insufferable adolescence, commonly known as the terrible teens.”
Karen laughed, but then her expression lapsed into a frown. “I don’t know,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Maybe she decided not to come. Maybe she’s mad at me.
“Mad at what?” Greg exclaimed, and then waved the possibility away. “Anyway, she wouldn’t do that.” But he looked grimly at his watch again. It was nearly one-thirty. “Do you want to go ahead and order?”
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