“Yeah. How about two coffees to go?”
“Sure,” she said. “I’ll make a fresh pot. Just passing through?”
“Yeah. My wife’s an amateur photographer, and she thought there might be some old buildings to photograph around here.”
The woman laughed. “Ain’t nothing special to see in Slocum. You should try Woburn. Where you from?”
“Potsdam, New York. We’re on our way home from Atlantic City. Where is everyone?”
The woman busied herself making coffee. “Gone to work. Most people who live here now work in Boston or Salem. The only ones in town at this time of day are people like me, the school teacher, and them foreign nannies looking after the little ones. George, the mechanic, is around somewhere, but he could be on a call at the farm.” She gestured in the vague direction of the park Faye had noticed. “Heck, those women don’t even speak the same language.” She poured the brewed coffee into Styrofoam cups. “Cream or sugar?”
“No, black’s fine. I don’t suppose you get many tourists here.”
“Nary a one,” she answered. He couldn’t place her accent, but it wasn’t the one usually heard in this part of Massachusetts.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Two bucks.”
Rob handed her three dollars. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks.”
He returned to the car and handed Faye a cup. “If there’s anything weird going on here, I don’t see it.”
Faye frowned. “Neither do I, but the place is kind of creepy. I mean, look at those women. Who dresses like that to take their kids to the park? I didn’t even think you could buy housedresses like those these days. And look at them—not one is talking to another. No one’s reading, there isn’t an iPod to be seen, nor a cell phone. We’ve lost the GPS, and my phone has no service. It’s as if we’ve stepped into The Twilight Zone.”
“The waitress was friendly and helpful. She claims most of Slocum’s citizens are at work at this time of day, and as for the ladies, apparently they’re foreign nannies who don’t speak English. Since they’re all Caucasian, they must come from Eastern Europe or someplace, and I don’t think modern American couture has made it to some of those countries yet. As far as cell phones and the GPS, Mary did say there was no Wi-Fi here.” He started the car.
Faye sipped her coffee and winced. “My God, that’s the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever had. It’s strong enough to shellac floors.”
“She made it fresh.”
“Then she needs to learn to make coffee. No wonder the place is empty. Let’s drive up and down a few of the side streets before we go.”
Ten minutes later, Rob headed back out of town, retracing his route. Without GPS, he didn’t have much choice, but as soon as he picked up a signal again, he drove in the opposite direction to the way they’d come. They’d go home through New Hampshire and Vermont. If anyone had noticed them that would seem more logical than backtracking.
“Whoever maintains the lawns and yards in that place must have a hell of a green thumb,” Faye said. “For a minute, I felt like I was in Mayberry and expected Aunt Bea to come running down the steps looking for Opie.”
“I’m sorry. I know you thought we’d find something here, but I think Mary did have car trouble and George—that’s the name of the town mechanic—must have found her and given her a lift in.”
“It’s not your fault. I guess I’d built up the idea we’d find signs of a cult here and everything would fall into place.”
They drove by two vehicles parked on the side of the road on a ridge overlooking the town. Two men stood looking down into the village.
“Get past them and then pull over,” Faye said. “They’re the only people we’ve seen, and I want to know what they’re looking at.”
Rob drove a couple hundred yards down the road and pulled over. Faye undid her seat belt.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Back there to see what they’re looking at.”
“Over my dead body. You aren’t going anywhere alone.”
He was about to get out of the vehicle when the sound of an approaching engine stopped him.
“Duck!” Rob yelled, grabbing and opening the roadmap they’d picked up in case the GPS did fail. The vehicle slowed but didn’t stop. “Slouch down and pretend you’re asleep, and keep your face hidden. Can you grab the pencil and write this down?” He rattled off the license-plate number for the car.
Rob stayed that way, pretending to look at the map a few more minutes. “Whatever you do, don’t sit up.”
He put down the map and pulled onto the road. Less than a quarter mile later, the second vehicle they’d passed caught up to them. Faye jotted down the license-plate number he gave her. Her hand trembled. She was afraid. Hell, so was he. Rob turned north, the direction indicated for New Hampshire, watching the vehicle in the rearview mirror. He breathed a sigh of relief when it turned off at the entrance to Paradise Acres, what seemed to be a prosperous horse farm.
“How are you doing?” he asked, but he didn’t need an answer. The terror on Faye’s face said it all. “Hang in there. No one’s following us now, but I want to make sure we don’t pick up another tail. Once we hit the interstate, we’ll be fine.”
They stopped in Concord, New Hampshire, for something to eat and a bathroom break and had a burger in Burlington, Vermont. It was after eight when they returned to the cabin. Faye hadn’t spoken since leaving Slocum, and he wasn’t sure if it was out of disappointment or nerves.
“I’m going to call Clark and send him the scan of the postcard. Why don’t you go up and take a bath?”
“I was stupid to go up there, Rob,” she said. “When that car was behind us, I was more frightened than I’ve ever been. I thought he was going to force us off the road. You were right. I should’ve let Clark do the investigating.”
“I know we didn’t find what you thought we would, but I enjoyed the ride and the company. Go up and have a bath. I’ll find a movie we’ll both enjoy. Let’s just take it easy.”
“Okay. I won’t be long.”
Since it wasn’t dark out yet, he knew Faye would be alright on her own. After considerable thought, he decided not to mention their trip to Clark. He doubted the FBI agents sent to Slocum would turn up anything different, and he wasn’t in the mood to have his superior tear him a new one for possibly endangering Faye.
He heard Faye running the water and booted up the computer. He checked his email, downloaded the information on cults Clark’s Homeland Security liaison had sent, and scanned and sent the postcard, asking Clark to have someone check Slocum out as soon as possible. The information on the cults would keep Faye occupied for a while. The fact that her theory on Slocum hadn’t panned out dismayed her. He hoped these sheets wouldn’t bring more disappointment.
• • •
Rob stood in front of the window watching the wild turkeys attack the corn cobs Faye had put out earlier.
“Here,” Faye said, handing him a cup of coffee.
“Thanks. Those guys would look a hell of a lot better stuffed and on a plate at Thanksgiving.”
“They are kind of ugly but a lot smarter than I thought they were. And who knew something that big and clumsy-looking could fly? I’m surprised they came this close to the cabin. I was hoping the doe and the fawn would find the corn, but there won’t be any left by the time those vultures are done.”
“If you like, we can pick up a bag of dry corn and an apple-cider salt lick when we’re in town. Deer love it.”
“I didn’t know you were such an expert on wildlife.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, just like I’m sure there are things about you I still don’t know.”
“Name one.”
“What’s the most disgusting thing you’ve ever eaten?”
“You mean aside from those chocolate-covered ants you fed me? I’d say it was this bean dish my mom made once that smelled like dirt
y feet. I’ll bet even those birds would turn their beaks up at it.”
“Probably. Mine was creamed spinach on toast. Picture it in your mind, and the taste is too awful for words.”
Faye took a sip of her own coffee. He was right. They’d been lovers, engaged to be married, but they’d never taken the time to be friends. In some ways, it was nice getting to know one another this way now. “It doesn’t sound too appetizing, so I’ll pass, but I like the idea of a salt lick. I’d better finish sorting that information Clark sent.”
Rob turned away from the window and wandered over to the table where she’d just set out the files. “Do you think any of it will help?”
“Not really. None of the cult information they’ve sent identifies a man charismatic enough to be the Harvester. I was wrong about Slocum; maybe I’m wrong about this, too.”
“I disagree. You said this cult would keep a low profile. It makes sense they wouldn’t be on the radar. Homeland hasn’t finished looking and neither have the FBI.”
• • •
The drumming of the rain on the cabin’s metal roof filled her ears, drowning out the Neil Diamond CD. Spring in the Adirondacks seemed to be an even mix of sunshine and rain, but today’s drizzle, coupled with a lack of progress even after three weeks on the case, dragged her down. They were still trying to make sense of the information they knew and theorizing about what they didn’t.
Sunny days found them outside enjoying the mountain air, hiking along the forest trails, or visiting some of the local tourist attractions, as well as trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle that was this case—or cases—together. On rainy days, when they weren’t poring over files, they played cards, watched television, read, or drove into the village, but no matter what they did, she couldn’t get rid of that “waiting for the other shoe to drop” feeling.
Clark seemed no closer to finding answers than they were, and that frustrated her even more. The Smiths were still a mystery, as was the identity of the mole. Time was running out for Mary and God knew how many others. Gradually, Faye’s fear of the dark had abated, but perhaps that was because Rob was always with her. Once she returned to Boston, would she be able to stay alone in her loft again? Somehow she doubted it. Maybe it was time to pull up stakes and move on, if she could do it. Where Rob was concerned, her emotions were all over the map. Physically, they were as connected as they’d always been—the sex cathartic, but they had unresolved issues between them. They hadn’t discussed the future, and they’d shelved the past without a satisfactory conclusion. At least when they’d buried the hatchet, it wasn’t in each other’s backs this time. Eventually, it would arise like a phoenix from the ashes, and they’d have to deal with it—all of it. She’d admit her culpability, but would he admit his? The last they’d spoken of it, he’d still declared his innocence.
“So,” she said, jerking her head toward the printed email Rob held. “Has Pierce finally completed his report on Slocum? It must be thorough. It took him long enough. We knew the score after only an hour. What does he have to say?”
Rob sipped the hot coffee and sighed. Bitterness and disappointment seeped into his voice. “Pretty much what we already knew. According to Pierce and the agents, the people living there have quiet, uneventful lives. There’s absolutely nothing to indicate it’s the base of operations for a cult or anything else.”
“The damn place would’ve been perfect—off the beaten path, no cell service … Did he learn anything at all about Mary? My God, Rob, she’s due in August—that’s only nine weeks from now.”
“I know. Pierce confirmed she stayed at the Shady Rest Bed and Breakfast in November, and Boyle’s Garage repaired the water pump on her car. The waitress at the café, probably the same one I spoke with, remembers her and the way she complained about the lousy Internet signals—they have it, but satellite service is sporadic at best.”
Faye blew out a breath filled with frustration and disappointment. “With Mary’s due date, having the Harvester do his thing in Slocum would’ve fit the evidence perfectly.”
“It would’ve, and maybe that’s the problem.”
“I don’t understand.”
He ran his hand through his short hair. “We’re working two disconnected cases simultaneously—the Harvester and Lucy Green’s murder. We’ve connected you and Mary to the Harvester because of the semen, the drugs, and the way Mary’s apartment was cleaned. We think we can link your attack and Lucy’s murder because of the way your apartment was trashed, but we haven’t a shred of proof to link Lucy’s murder to Mary’s disappearance and the Harvester, other than our theory that she knew something. We’re trying to make the evidence fit the case and not the case fit the evidence. We don’t know why her mother was murdered, and without a motive … We’re digging into cults because we think he had help, but even that’s all supposition. He could have bought the damn blankets and nightgowns at a county fair for all we know. A funeral director would know how to fix up the bodies.” He took a mouthful of coffee.
“Rob, none of it is your fault. The idea Slocum might be important was mine. I just didn’t want it to be picture-perfect, small-town America.”
“Funny you should refer to it that way. Clark added a postscript to Pierce’s report. One of the BAU analysts specializing in cults went as an observer. He signed off on Pierce’s report, but he made a few additional notes. According to him, the people were too nice. Imagine considering the fact that someone is polite and helpful to be a problem. Since when did we start seeing evil behind every smile? What the hell’s happened to us?”
She raised her hand and touched his cheek. “Reality happened. We found out the world is full of nasty people hiding behind those smiles we trusted. Appearances can be deceiving. In my line of work and in yours, we’ve seen more monsters than we ever imagined existed. The Harvester may just be one of the worst, but he’s not alone. What else did the BAU observer say?”
“Nothing much really. He saw a couple of cars parked on the hill. I thought that was strange since we’d seen those two, but it turns out there’s no cause for concern there either. One of the vehicles is leased to Dr. Thomas Irving, a semi-retired veterinarian. The other belongs to Hezekiah Easton, the farmer who owns Paradise Acres, that sizeable horse farm we drove past west of town. It was probably a chance meeting along the road. There isn’t anything sinister about the vet talking to one of his clients.” He finished his coffee.
“No, I guess not. Did he mention what you could see from that hill?”
“The middle of town—that park where the kids were, where we were stopped in front of the café. The only other thing the BAU specialist remarked on was the absence of minorities, something unusual in this day and age. Maybe none of them have found the place. It’s a little off the beaten track. He confirmed what Mary said about Wi-Fi. Since Slocum’s in a valley, he figures it’s a dead zone. It looks like the twenty-first century hasn’t made its way there, but neither have the guys we’re looking for.”
“I can’t imagine any town surviving in this day and age without reliable cell phone service,” Faye said, carrying her cup into the kitchen.
“Maybe that’s its appeal,” he commented, following her. “To totally crush your cult theory, they didn’t see any babies or pregnant women, and they watched the place covertly for a week. I guess everyone is too busy with their out-of-town day jobs lately to procreate.” He put his mug in the sink next to hers. “It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop raining anytime soon, and the pounding’s giving me a headache. We might as well leave now. We need groceries, and we should check the mail.”
“Sounds good to me. I need to get out of here, or I’ll go stir-crazy. I’m not used to doing nothing for so long. Despite being relegated to the back pages of the paper, there was always a story to cover, even if it was a dismally boring one.”
Chapter Fifteen
Within ten minutes, they were retracing their usual route into Lake Placid. Rob enjoyed the comfortable silence
only two friends could share. If in time their relationship blossomed into something more than sex, so be it. For now, he was content knowing he could keep her safe. Besides, she still had dragons to slay. He wouldn’t add to the pressure.
After buying groceries and picking up the mail, they opted to see the latest Johnny Depp movie, but he’d barely been aware of the plot, concentrating as he was on all the puzzle pieces that didn’t fit. After the movie, they had an early supper at the deli and then decided to go and see the local little theater company’s presentation of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Faye loved live theater. He’d taken her to New York to see a couple of Broadway shows. While this presentation wouldn’t make a splash in the Big Apple, it was well done, and he enjoyed it.
When the curtain fell around ten, the rain had ended, and the sky was awash with stars. The temperature was mild, and they opted for a drink at an outdoor restaurant before heading back to the cabin.
“In spite of its disappointing morning, I enjoyed today,” Faye said, sipping the glass of chardonnay she’d ordered.
“So did I. The guy who played Bottom did a great job. It isn’t easy for a man to come off that way while making an ass of himself.”
Faye laughed. “He’s not the first man I’ve seen make an ass of himself, but he did it with style. In fact, they were all great. There’s a lot of hidden talent in America. Maybe I should write a story about that when this is over.”
“What? And give up the crime beat?”
“I don’t know. Judging by how well I’m doing on this story, maybe I should move on. I guess we need to look at things in a different way tomorrow. Maybe it’s time I started looking at the information through the eyes of a reporter rather than a victim. Don’t say I haven’t. We both know it’s true, and it’s colored my judgment.”
“What have you got in mind?”
“Let’s go through it all again, separate the cases, and see exactly what we’ve got. We can link the loose ends where we think they fit, but let’s keep them apart as well.”
“At this point, I’m ready to try anything.” He finished his beer as she drained her wine glass. “We’d better get back. If we’re going to start at square one, we have a lot of work ahead of us taking files apart.”
The White Carnation Page 18