“That seems ridiculously low for a family to live on. I don’t have kids but I remember how much I ate. I would think it would be damn hard to make ends meet on double that.”
“It is, but that’s the law. And the extra federal funds doled out during the pandemic have dried up. With those dollars, the income level was waived and all kids could eat for free. Not anymore. And a hungry kid has a difficult time learning. That’s why I give them something before the class. Near the end of the school day they start to run out of gas. I wish they let me teach the class earlier, but art is sort of an afterthought. I guess I’m lucky they offer it at all.”
He opened the passenger door for her, took her knapsack, and put it in the back seat.
“It’s a really good thing that you’re doing, Alex.”
“Most days it doesn’t seem like much,” she said. “Throwing a pebble at a tidal wave.”
“Every little bit helps. And you connected with those kids.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I know so. I saw it for myself. Hell, if you’d been my art teacher I would have been a lot more interested in painting. And it’s not just because you’re so... What I mean to say is... I...”
Shit.
She put a hand on his arm as he put the SUV in gear. “Thank you,” she said simply.
On the drive back, Devine said, “Not to unduly alarm you, but someone took a shot at me earlier today.”
“What! Where?” She ran her gaze frantically over his person. “Are you... did it...?”
“No, it missed, but it was a little closer than I would have wanted.”
“Please tell me they got whoever did it!”
“No, they didn’t.”
“First Jenny and now you? This sort of stuff does not happen in Putnam.”
“Violent things can happen anywhere, Alex. Even in Putnam. Look at Alberta Palmer. Her death was very violent. And the person got away.”
He looked at her to gauge her reaction to this.
She was sitting there staring straight out the windshield, her body trembling and spasming like she had been doused with ice water.
“I heard that Alberta taught you art?”
Alex stopped trembling, closed her eyes, and drew a long, composing breath as she said some words that Devine tried to lip-read or hear but couldn’t. She opened her eyes and seemed back to normal. “She was a wonderful artist in her own right. And the kindest person I ever met.”
“You must have been devastated when she was killed.”
“I’m not sure that’s a strong enough word, actually. I’m embarrassed to say that my sister’s death didn’t affect me as much as Bertie’s did.” She glanced at him. “I guess you think I’m an awful person for saying that.”
“Your feelings are your feelings. And there’s no law that says you have to love your family above all others. Everyone has their own experiences in that regard.”
Alex nodded appreciatively and said, “She was actually the reason I started teaching at the school. Bertie had done it for decades. But then her eyesight started to fail and her fingers weren’t as nimble and she... It was just time for her to let someone else do it. And that someone else was me.”
“I’m sure she was pleased.”
“She was, very much so. Which made me incredibly happy.”
They drove on in silence for a few moments.
“Last chance on joining us for dinner tonight,” said Devine.
She hesitated but then shook her head. “I have some work to catch up on, and then I think I’ll go to bed early. But thanks.”
He dropped Alex off and watched her walk into her home. Then he turned the car around. He had some things to do before meeting Dak tonight.
But in light of recent events, his primary objective right now was to stay alive.
Chapter 24
He stopped by a hardware store and bought some duct tape. When he got to his room at the inn, he checked his booby traps, then he duct-taped over the hole in the window and closed the curtains. He eyed the opposite wall where the round had embedded itself, and he wondered if the locals had made any progress on finding out who had fired it.
Devine then emailed Campbell with his report, recounting everything he had learned since his last communication to his boss.
A minute later his phone buzzed. It was Campbell.
“You’ve clearly stirred the hornet’s nest,” he said.
“Seems like it.”
“We have been monitoring chatter from the regions where Jenny operated.”
“And?”
“It’s an interesting silence,” replied Campbell. “We would have expected more after an event like that.”
“As in trying too hard not to say something?”
“Exactly.”
“So are we leaning toward her murder being related to her job?”
“Not yet. The silence may be genuine.”
“Well, the crime scene was staged.”
“Explain.”
Devine went over the points and concluded with, “I think she was brought there after she was shot and her body was dumped on the rocks. The bullet entry angle alone blows up the official theory.”
“I agree with you.”
“The casing could have just been dropped at that spot easily enough. But whoever put that scheme together didn’t take into account the entry angle, or the fact that the shooter would be lying prone on the ground.”
Campbell said, “So no spot there where he could have rested the stock on a tree limb and fired pretty much at eye level? Or maybe a full-size tripod that would make for the same angle?”
“All the limbs on the trees around there were well off the ground. And a full-size tripod and a shot from three hundred yards away to make it a level entry into her head? What would have been the point? Why not just fire from a prone position? You’re still going to hit the target.”
“Okay, she was killed elsewhere and dumped where she was found, and the scene was doctored to suggest otherwise. Why?”
“Obviously to cover up where she was really killed, and by whom. The time-of-death window allowed plenty of wiggle room on alibis, so I don’t think that will help us.”
“The environmental elements did a number on the body, I was told.”
“But her body had to be transported there, probably in a vehicle. If we could find it, there might be some trace of her still there. And now we come to the man who found her. Everyone up here seems to think it’s just a coincidence that Earl Palmer happened upon that stretch of coast and looked down and saw her. Me? I think it’s the same odds as winning the lottery.”
“Well, people do win the lottery, Devine.”
“Yeah, but millions of people play the lottery. He was the only one playing this game.”
“You think he was told to lie, then?”
“I think a lot of odd things are occurring in a town filled with odd people. But I don’t know what it all means. Yet. Did you find out anything on Dak Silkwell’s OTH?”
“It’s buried deep. I really sense the hand of his father on this one, Devine. As I told you before, Curt never talked about his son’s service, other than to tell me that he joined up. So what’s your preliminary assessment? Local or global source for her murder?”
“But for one thing I’d say global.”
“What’s that?”
“She told her mother that she had unfinished business up here.”
The call ended a few moments later, and Devine set the phone down. Then he heard a knock on his door.
His hand on the Glock, Devine peered around the corner to see a bespectacled man in his fifties with a gray beard standing there.
“Yeah?” said Devine, from a distance.
The man seemed startled and looked around. “Mr. Devine? Harvey Watkins, I’m a local reporter. I’d like to ask you a few questions if I could.”