“Through you,” Frank said. “Because one thing I’m certain of—Desmond invited you and accepted me as necessary excess baggage. Of course, he couldn’t have known a crime was going to be committed at his house the night a law enforcement officer was sleeping under his roof.”
Penny put her head on Frank’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’s regretted that invitation every day since Caitlin’s body was found.”
THE TOP ITEM ON FRANK’S agenda the next morning was a trip to the county jail to talk to Blaine. But on his way into the office, he reconsidered his approach. True, he had a glimmer of the information Blaine hoped to trade in a deal. But did he truly have any more leverage to get the kid to talk? Would this be another wasted visit full of idle threats and stubborn silence?
Frank lived by the maxim that doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results was the definition of insanity. What he needed on this visit to Blaine was a new ally.
Not Meyerson.
Blaine’s mom.
As soon as Frank entered the town office, he stood in front of Doris’s desk until she ended her endless conversation with someone seeking a building permit. When she finally hung up, he launched into his request.
“I need to talk to Blaine’s parents. Should I go see them at their house this evening, or can you get them to come here?”
Doris’s eyelids blinked a semaphore of hope and anxiety. “Is it good news?” she croaked.
“It’s neither good nor bad. I need them on my side if I’m going to succeed in moving Blaine’s...situation...forward.”
Doris grabbed her phone. “I’ll have them over here in an hour.”
Frank continued into the police department office, where he found Earl filling out an incident report. “Did I miss something big on my day off?” he asked.
“Nah. I got called out on a noise complaint. The neighbors didn’t call when the party was actually happening because they didn’t want to bother us late at night.” Earl looked up from the paperwork and grinned. “But they asked me if I’d come out and talk to the group that’s renting the house and remind them that Mountain Glade is a quiet family neighborhood.”
Frank chuckled. Mountain Glade was a development of pricey vacation homes where owners who rented out their houses to tourists were in never-ending conflict with those who didn’t. “And how did that work out?”
“I went over there after the morning patrol and banged on the front door for ten minutes before someone finally crawled out of bed to answer me. I could see empty vodka bottles and a pile of red Solo cups around a fire pit in the backyard, so they couldn’t deny there had been a party. I told them we’d be cruising by for the next few nights, so they’d better keep it down.”
“Good job. Did they look like troublemakers?”
Earl glanced at the ceiling. “Guess that depends on your vision. The driveway was full of luxury cars that all had fancy college stickers in their rear windows. A Yale, two Princeton and what’s that one where all the Wall Street sharks go?”
“Wharton?”
“Yeah, that.” Earl returned to completing the form. “So they looked like trouble to me.”
Frank grinned. Earl’s genuine good nature made his rare jabs of sarcasm more potent. “Did you make sure the people who called in the complaint knew that you stopped by?”
“Yeah. They were nice—kept apologizing for calling. They said that house has been full of partiers all summer, and they finally couldn’t take it anymore. I told them they shouldn’t hesitate to call late—that’s what we’re here for.”
Frank felt a glow of satisfaction—Earl had handled everything just right. Which is more than he could say for his own conduct yesterday. He lifted the phone to fill in Meyerson on how he’d discovered the land route to The Balsams and the ATV stolen by Blaine. He and Lew spent some time discussing the significance of this—or to be more accurate, Frank spent time insisting that Caitlin or even Regis Kendall could have come to The Balsams by this route and Lew spent time finding fault with his theories. Finally, however, Lew agreed to send a team to retrieve the ATV.
By the time Frank got off the phone, Earl had departed on the morning patrol, and Doris ushered her in-laws into the office.
Mr. and Mrs. Timmons were the dictionary definition of salt-of-the-earth. He wore a green John Deere cap which he removed after shaking Frank’s hand with a callused grip. His work shirt bore the insignia of the Essex County road department and his steel-toed boots tracked in some dried mud that Frank could tell his wife was itching to sweep up. Mrs. Timmons—short and thick-set, dressed in plain, serviceable beige—looked like she hadn’t spent a penny on herself since she bought a Madonna t-shirt in high school.
“Thank you for coming in,” Frank began. “I’ve had several conversations with your son over at the jail. Blaine asked me to keep some of the things he told me confidential. I didn’t promise him I definitely would, and now I feel I have to share some information with you in hopes that you can help me persuade Blaine to cooperate.”
Mr. Timmons shifted awkwardly. “Do we need to have the lawyer here for this?”
“No, not now.” Frank raised a calming hand. “I’m just laying out the background. The lawyer will definitely need to be there for the final deal.” When Mr. Timmons nodded agreement, Frank launched into an explanation, telling the increasingly incredulous parents the details Blaine had related about his criminal activities. Before Frank got to the stolen ATV, Blaine’s father jumped out of his chair.
“You’re saying Blaine’s life is in danger because he lost a big load of drugs he was supposed to be selling?” His voice reverberated off the walls of Frank’s office.
Mrs. Timmons tried to tug her husband back into his seat. “No, that can’t be right. Blaine would nev—”
Her husband cut her off with one sharp glance and turned his attention to Frank. “And these dealers will come after him even in prison? I thought it was other stuff he had to worry about in there...you know.”
Frank ignored Mr. Timmons’s pointed look. Of course prison rape was a real issue, but heterosexual men blew that fear up greater than all others. Blaine, to his credit, was much more worried about the very real possibility of retribution delivered within the prison community on the command of his former drug associates.
“I think Blaine’s concern for his safety is very rational. That’s why I suggested a deal in which he provided information to the Drug Enforcement Agency in return for serving his sentence in a Federal prison in another state, but—"
Mr. Timmons cut Frank off before he could begin to explain the complicated trade-off, made even more complex by Blaine’s interest in bartering information on Caitlin’s murder instead of his own drug dealings. “I thought Blaine didn’t want to rat on a local friend. This is different. Why aren’t you arresting these guys? Why can’t you protect my son?”
“We don’t know who they are because Blaine is afraid to give up their names, but if you—"
Mrs. Timmons’s brow creased with concern as she weighed something her husband had overlooked. “Another state? You mean like in Vermont?”
“Uh, there are no federal prisons in Vermont, ma’am. I think the closest we could hope for might be Pennsylvania. But he might go to Kentucky or Texas,” Frank explained.
“Kentucky! How would we ever get there to visit him?” Mrs. Timmons, who had first appeared docile, suddenly turned belligerent. “Blaine needs our help and support. He can’t go to prison far away.”
Frank swallowed his irritation like a mouth full of Brussels sprouts. Mrs. Timmons seemed to think she could choose a prison for her son the way tourists chose an Air BnB. “Look, folks—your son is running out of options. I’m trying to lay out a plan here that would be mutually beneficial, and I’d like your help in persuading Blaine. So if I could just finish explaining—”
Mr. Timmons grabbed his wife’s hand. “We’ve heard enough. You’re trying to trick a young kid who don’t know any better. I’m
going to talk to Blaine, all right. I’m tellin’ him to keep his trap shut. We’ll take our chances with a judge and jury right here in Essex County.”
The Timmonses stormed out of Frank’s office, slamming the door behind them.
Frank leaned back in his desk chair, staring at the ever-changing brown stain on his ceiling, which today resembled the head of a fire-breathing dragon. How had he managed to screw up that meeting so royally? Last week, he hadn’t really cared if Blaine cooperated or didn’t. Now, he truly needed the kid’s information, and he’d fixed the situation so he was unlikely to ever get it.
Doris crept into the office, her eyes saucered, her lower lip twitching. Frank had met golden retriever puppies better able to conceal their true emotions. “Oh, Frank—I’m so sorry they blew up like that. I’ll get my husband to talk some sense to them.”
“No, don’t pressure them. Let everyone’s emotions settle down and we’ll try again later.”
THAT EVENING, FRANK slipped into the back row of chairs in the library reading room and stared out over a sea of balding and graying heads. The place was packed, every seat occupied by Trout Run citizens in their sixties, seventies and even eighties, but there were quite a few middle-aged people, too. Their presence made Frank suspect that lots of people had fallen prey to online scams and didn’t want to admit it.
At the front of the room, Earl futzed with connecting his laptop to the library’s projector. He wore his uniform, tan pants sharply creased, badge shiny on his chest.
In front of Frank, two ladies put their heads together. “Hasn’t that Earl Davis grown up to be a handsome young man!”
“He used to mow my lawn when he was a little boy. Always so polite.”
At the stroke of seven, Penny came up to the lectern to welcome everyone and introduce Earl. Frank smiled as his wife’s effusive intro made Earl sound like a cybersecurity expert from the Pentagon instead of a kid who’d taken a class at the police academy. Earl pushed at his hair as Penny sang his praises. Although it wasn’t long enough to be in his eyes, Frank recognized this nervous tic left over from Earl’s teenage years.
“How’s your great-grandma?” a guy in the front row called out as Earl stepped up to the lectern. “How come she’s not here?”
Great-grandma Gert was either 101 or 103, depending on the day you asked her. Frank was quite sure Earl had explicitly forbidden her attendance, as the old gal was known to be rowdy in support of her family.
Earl struggled to maintain his authoritative role. “She’s good, Mr. Fisk. Thanks for asking.” The lights dimmed, and Earl started the lecture sounding a little shaky. Frank felt thrown back to the sidelines of his daughter’s soccer games, worried that someone he cared about might screw up. It was pretty easy to put a dark room full of senior citizens to sleep after dinner.
But once Earl got to his third slide, on phishing scams, his natural enthusiasm for the subject came through. Showing an image of a scam email that had ostensibly come from a bank, he quizzed the audience. “Can anyone tell me where to look to see if this is fake?”
Frank enjoyed seeing loudmouth Fisk get the answer wrong.
The next slide pinpointed three problematic areas in the email, and Earl ended with a warning to never click any links.
Next, he moved onto romance scams, and Frank watched as some of the men in the audience squirmed. The old gals in front of Frank compared notes on how many Facebook friend requests they’d received from unknown men in military uniforms with strange sounding names.
Half an hour into the presentation, Frank no longer worried about anyone snoozing. The audience members waved their hands to ask questions and shared sorry tales of people they knew who’d been duped.
Earl was a star!
As the clock ticked toward eight, Earl reined in the crowd. “I’d like to end tonight’s presentation with some warnings about online gambling, especially poker and blackjack.” The last slide filled the screen. Frank scanned the bullet points as Earl’s voice reviewed the dangers.
Lose track of time. Online play is faster than in-person card games
More addictive than in-person gambling
Forget that you’re betting real money as it comes from your credit card
Can easily destroy your credit rating
Gambling site can be fake and not pay out winnings
Makes you more vulnerable to other scams. Your name will be sold to others who seek to reach gamblers
Frank leaned back in his chair. The room buzzed around him, but the PowerPoint presentation on the screen had been replaced in his mind’s eye. He saw the dinner conversation among the three Hale men. He saw Penny recounting the scene when Keith and Desmond visited the library. He saw Desmond’s grandfather losing The Balsams on one bad poker hand.
Gambling.
Is that what Keith meant when he said luck wasn’t work? Had Justin won money gambling online? Is that why only Keith was permitted to use the library computers?
Desmond’s grandfather had lost The Balsams in a card game. Naturally, the man would be terrified of online gambling.
Chapter 35
The next morning, Frank sat at his desk reviewing the plans for the upcoming Labor Day community picnic. Younger parents had finally wrested control of the entertainment committee from the old guard, and the hayride had been replaced by an inflatable bounce house. Less picturesque, but at least it didn’t leave piles of steaming manure in its wake. Through his closed office door, Frank could hear a woman’s low murmur followed by Doris’s loud response. “Oh, you don’t need an appointment to see Frank. He’s not busy. He’ll be happy to talk to you.”
Apparently, Doris thought he spent his days playing solitaire. Frank fixed a scowl on his face on the off chance that Doris would take note of his irritation.
It didn’t work. Doris flung open his door without knocking and sang out her announcement. “Fra-ank, it’s Mrs. Lupton to see you.”
Frank quickly realigned his expression. Denise Lupton! Meyerson hadn’t even told him what he’d learned from talking to the Luptons. For once, Doris was right—he definitely wanted to see this visitor.
A slender, pretty woman in her fifties entered the office. She stood uncertainly by the door and spoke in a hushed voice. “I understand you’re the one who found my daughter.”
Frank jumped up to usher her in. “Yes, ma’am. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“The state police told me you helped track us down. Otherwise, we might never have known what happened to Caitlin. So I wanted to thank you.” Her lip trembled, but she remained dry-eyed.
Frank could have said, “just doing my job,” but that would trivialize her pain. So he said, “You’re welcome. She was a talented young woman.”
Denise Lupton nodded, her eyes focused somewhere in the past.
They faced each other awkwardly, uncertain what to say next, but Frank felt Denise Lupton wasn’t in a rush to leave. And he did have his questions. “Have a seat, Mrs. Lupton. Would you like a drink?”
She gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t suppose you meant a martini.”
“I’m afraid all I’ve got is bad coffee and good water.”
“Then I’ll take the water.” As she accepted the glass from him, Mrs. Lupton searched Frank’s face with her gaze. “I understand you identified our family through a fragment of a photo in that old camera. Amazing.”
“Yes. Rachel’s picture at the string festival. Caitlin talked about her sister to the little girl whose parents own the Mountain Vista,” Frank explained.
Denise Lupton tilted her head back and briefly closed her eyes. “Caitlin and Rachel—they were the best of friends and the greatest rivals. Rachel is on a roller coaster of emotions right now. Last week, on top of the world from her success on the tour and all the exotic places we visited. This week, overwhelmed by grief and guilt.”
“Where is Rachel now, ma’am?” Frank asked.
“At home with my husband, Jack. I decided to come up here on my
own. I wanted to get Caitlin’s drawings from the motel. And I wanted to talk to you.” She straightened up and leaned toward Frank. “We need to understand Caitlin’s last days. The state police won’t tell me how she ended up in that lake.”
“I’m sure you went over this with the state police, but did Caitlin know anyone in the Hale or Etheridge families?” Frank asked.
“Not that we are aware of. She definitely didn’t go to school with either of the Hale brothers. We gave the state police the names of some of Caitlin’s old friends, in case they know of a connection.” Mrs. Lupton blew out a long breath. “Of course, Caitlin burned a lot of bridges with her old friends. And these addicts she associated with recently—well, we don’t know anything about them.”
Frank supposed it was too much to hope that the Luptons would immediately provide a link between Caitlin and The Balsams when the daughter had become a mystery to the parents.
Mrs. Lupton’s gaze met Frank’s. “Do you have theories you’re willing to share?”
Although Frank understood Mrs. Lupton’s need to know, he wanted to gather more information than he gave up. He started with a noncommittal statement. “I’m not certain she was searching for drugs. The toxicology report came back clean—nothing in her system.”
Denise blew a puff of air through her pursed lips. “That doesn’t mean she wasn’t out looking for drugs. She just hadn’t found them yet.”
Frank noted how closely the mother’s words matched Meyerson’s. “But she’d been doing very well at the Mountain Vista—hiking, drawing, reading. She’d been clean for weeks.”
“You wouldn’t understand unless you’ve lived with an addict.” Denise sipped from her water glass. “One time Caitlin came back from rehab and went six months without any drugs. She had a part-time job teaching arts and crafts at a summer day camp. She went out to dinner with us...helped around the house.” Denise offered a rueful smile. “We thought our nightmare was finally over. And then one day, she came home an hour late from work. Said she’d been to the mall. At dinnertime, I found her nodding out in the bathroom.”
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