“So why do you think she never did that?” asked Devine.
The man shrugged. “Like I said, she’s different. I don’t think she cares about money and shit like that.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Maybe six months ago, when she rode her bike into town.”
“Motorbike?”
“No, a pedal bike.”
“You speak to her?”
“No, she don’t like to... interact with folks. Keeps to herself. Don’t mess with nobody.”
“Okay. What do you know about Earl Palmer? He found the body.”
They all looked at one another. Again, the man he’d accused of being an informant answered. “Good man, old-school, but he’s hurting bad. Just lost his wife. Then to find Jenny. Shit, man, talk about bad luck.”
“Where exactly does he live? I’ll just need to get his statement.”
The man told him and added, “Little cottage way off the road. White with green shutters. Can’t miss it. Only place around there.”
“I understand he was a lobsterman.”
“One of the best,” said the same man. “And I should know. I’m one, too. Damn hard work for not much money. And the lobsters? They’re going AWOL. Say it’s climate change, warming water, and they’re heading north. All I know is my money got cut in half. Had to get a second job. Most days I come off the boat all tired as hell and go right to work at another gig.”
“Then you needed that beer in The Hop,” observed Devine.
The man grinned. “Damn sure did.”
Devine looked at the other men. “And just so you know, I made up the stuff about him working with the feds.”
“Why the hell did you do that?” barked the man he’d accused.
“Because I could sense you three might want to do me physical harm. And I didn’t want to pull my gun on you and start shooting, so I used that to defuse the situation. What do you think? Did I make the right call?”
“Yeah, you did.” The man now looked sheepish. “We’re pretty much just being drunk and stupid.”
Devine said, “Any particular reason why you decided to have a beef with me? Other than the drunk-and-stupid part?”
The men looked at one another again. The first man said, “Nope, that’s about it.”
“Uh-huh,” said Devine, who didn’t believe this. “Well, I appreciate the help. If you think of anything else.” He handed each of them his card with his cell phone number.
Then the man who had gone to school with Jenny said, “I can’t think of no reason why somebody’d want to hurt her.”
“Well, it’s my job to find out. And I’m pretty good at my job.”
I hope.
Chapter 12
Devine headed back to the inn but then decided to take a detour. Following the directions he’d been given, he had no difficulty in finding the turnoff and mailbox with the name PALMER.
He didn’t pull up directly to the house, but got out and walked along the winding gravel drive until he reached the cottage, which seemed to sit orphaned from the rest of Putnam. There was a cluster of denuded serviceberry trees next to the small cottage. Devine could see no lights on in the house, but the same ancient station wagon he had seen when first heading into town was parked in front, next to a rugged old Ford F150 with a rear winch.
He tried to recall the details of the man in the vehicle from earlier.
Fine snowy white hair, leathery skin, deep-set eyes, jowly features, and a pained expression mixed with disinterest.
Now that Devine knew of the man’s loss, he decided that Palmer had looked like a bereaved person, aimless, disconnected. He could see such a man wandering late at night. But to wander through a forest path all the way over to the exact spot where Jenny Silkwell’s body lay? Devine was not buying it. And the police seemed to be going to great pains to throw off any suspicion of Palmer. And Dak and the fellow lobsterman from the bar had sung the man’s praises and voiced sympathy for his personal loss without questioning the veracity of the man’s account of finding Jenny Silkwell’s body.
The two vehicles were unlocked. He saw right away that in the station wagon the gas and brake pedals had been modified to allow them both to be worked via hand controls mounted on the steering column. Why, he didn’t know. Then he saw extra hand grips that had been bolted to the car’s interior just above the window frame and another one mounted on the dash.
He turned around, walked back to the Tahoe, and drove past Jocelyn Point once more. As he did so, he spotted a Harley with a helmetless Dak astride it pull into the drive and head up to the house.
That was interesting, because Dak should have been home a while ago. Unless he had stopped somewhere first. And maybe his conversation with Devine had prompted that detour?
The questions kept piling up, and Devine hadn’t been here even half a day.
He parked in front of the inn and walked into the reception area, where Kingman was tidying up the front counter. She gave him a piercing, unfriendly look. “You should have told me who you were,” she admonished.
“You’re probably right,” he said in a disarming tone. “Now that you know, is there anything you can tell me?”
“I already told Chief Harper all that I know.”
“I’d appreciate if you could take a minute and tell me. That way there’s no buffer between accounts, and you might remember something else. I’m just trying to find out what happened to Jenny.”
She sighed as her frostiness melted away. “Would you like some hot chocolate?”
“I sure would. I’m not used to the cold yet.”
She put a hand on her hip and smirked. “Young man, this isn’t cold. This is mildly chilly. Come with me.”
She led him through the curtain, and Devine found himself in a comfortable apartment setup. While Kingman busied herself with cups, cocoa, and a new-looking electric hot water kettle, he looked around.
Some logs sat unburned in a stone hearth. While the furniture was clearly old, it all looked comfortable. Knickknacks abounded on tables and shelves, and the vast array of photos on one wall seemed to indicate that Kingman had a great many grandchildren.
“Nice-looking crew,” he said.
She looked up to see what he was referring to and smiled. “Eight and counting. Oldest one is ten. Wish my Wilbur could be around to see them.”
“I didn’t know you were a widow.”
“Wilbur was a lobsterman. There was an accident out at sea, and the boat went down and took Wilbur with it.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“Thank you. It was just horribly bad luck.”
“Sometimes there is nothing you can do despite the best of intentions. And no one’s perfect. Lord knows I’m not.”
“You’re messing up all my preconceived notions of federal folks.”
He smiled. “You met many?”
“Just on TV. Well, there was Jenny, but she was one of us, no matter where she moved to or what she did.”
They sat in rocking chairs in front of the fireplace and drank their hot chocolate.
“It really is so sad,” said Kingman, suddenly tearing up. “I never thought... Jenny would be the last person I thought this would happen to.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. She stared over at Devine. “She was such a good person.”
“Seems to be the consensus of everyone I spoke with.”
“Do you think it has to do with the work she was doing?”
“What do you know about that?”
“Just dribs and drabs I heard over the years. And I had a cousin who worked doing something for the Department of Defense. Whenever I asked him what he did he said, ‘It’s better if you don’t know. You’d never sleep again.’ Scary.”
“In answer to your question, I don’t know who killed her or why. Just because she died here does not mean that anybody local had anything to do with it.”