Page 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

D im light filtered through the gauzy curtains. Aspen stretched on the narrow twin bed, then flinched at the pain. Her body had taken a beating the night before, and everything ached. She thanked God for the aches.

It could have been so much worse.

It’d been a strange night. Thoughts of Garrett and memories of the evening they’d shared had lulled her to sleep quickly.

He liked her, liked her enough to ask her to stay in Coventry, to suggest they see what could happen between them. At the time, she’d felt so secure in his presence, so confident that, as long as he was beside her, she could conquer anything.

Grace had texted a little before ten o’clock that she was home, and Garrett had grabbed Aspen’s things from his truck and walked her to Grace’s door. It wasn’t a long walk—Garrett lived in the next building on the opposite side of the narrow parking area. When they reached Grace’s stoop, the air between them suddenly felt charged. Thinking of awkward moments after the few dates she’d had in high school, she giggled, and he laughed.

And then his expression had shifted to something much different.

He set her packages on the porch and wrapped her in his arms, chasing off the chill of the cold night. He lowered his head. And waited.

But not for long before she closed the distance between them and pressed her lips against his. The kiss didn’t start tentatively like it had a few nights before, but tenderly. The tenderness shifted as the events of the night, the memories, the fears intruded. She clung to him as if he were her only link to sanity, to safety. As if, in his arms, nothing could touch her.

He responded, backing her against the front door, shielding her body with his, diving in for more.

More. She’d wanted more.

Nobody had ever kissed her like that.

Nobody had ever stirred such desire inside her.

It felt like an instant, or an eternity, had passed when he moved his lips off hers, only to skim over her neck. He trailed kisses to her ear, and she felt his sigh.

Everything in her wanted to tell him not to stop. The cold, the wind, the fact that they were within viewing distance of no fewer than twenty windows—she didn’t care.

She only wanted more of this. More of him.

A car drove by, its engine seeming too loud in the sacred moment.

Garrett’s breath tickled the hair over her ear. “Do I need to apologize?”

For stopping . “Do I?”

His chuckle rumbled through her, plucking cords of desire that he’d already set to humming.

He stayed there another moment, then backed away to meet her gaze. She’d expected amusement, but his expression held none. Only desire and…and something darker.

And then she’d remembered the rest.

Because Garrett’s kiss might have been the most amazing thing that had happened to her that day, some could argue even the most momentous. But it hadn’t been the only thing.

There’d also been those headlights rushing up behind her.

That car forcing her off the road. The snow. The tree. The cliff.

“You’ll come with me to your house tomorrow morning,” he said. “If we stay together?—”

“There are things I need to do.”

“Then I’ll come with you.”

She would like that. She would love that. But…

But.

“Whoever ran me off the road… He’s not going to come after me in broad daylight in the middle of town.”

“You don’t have a car.”

“I could borrow your truck.” She tossed the words out, adding a flirty tone that sounded foreign to her ears.

His grimace told her he wasn’t impressed. “I can’t tell you what to do, but I’m not going to help you put yourself in danger. Either I come with you, or?—”

“There are deliveries coming to the house tomorrow. One of us needs to be there.”

“Or both of us could be there.”

Was he right? Was she foolish to keep trying to dig up information alone? Maybe.

Though the police chief hadn’t said so, she’d had the feeling he wanted to tell her something. But he hadn’t, and she assumed that he’d held back because Garrett had been there.

“If I leave Grace’s, I’ll get a ride, or I’ll use a ride-sharing app. I’ll always be with somebody. Okay?”

Based on the set of Garrett’s lips and his narrowed eyes, it wasn’t okay.

But he didn’t argue. After another kiss, this one too brief, he knocked on the door behind her. Only after Grace had ushered Aspen inside did Garrett make the short, cold walk home.

She’d fallen asleep with the memory of his lips on hers.

And then she’d had nightmares about the rest.

A strange night indeed. She checked the time on her phone, not shocked to see she’d slept until after nine. She wasn’t an early riser anyway, and years in the restaurant business had trained her to stay up late and sleep in.

The night before, when they’d chatted a few minutes before bed, Grace had told her she had to work this morning and would be leaving early, so Aspen wasn’t surprised when she heard no noises coming from within the condo.

She showered, changed into something warm, and helped herself to coffee and breakfast, thankful that Grace had insisted she make herself at home. It wasn’t hard to do. Unlike the giant house on the mountain, Grace’s condo felt cozy. It was compact, nestled between other homes. She heard car doors slamming, voices, children’s laughter. She wasn’t alone here.

She liked it.

Beautiful as the house on the mountain was, she wasn’t sure she’d ever feel comfortable living in a place like that. She needed to be part of a community, and this little condo development felt like it might be just that.

After she finished her toast, she pulled out the list she’d made the night before and started working through it, beginning with a call to the insurance company. They assured her an adjuster would be looking at the car that afternoon. She should get a call back by the following day or Monday. Next, she called the rental car company, secured a sedan, and arranged to pick it up on Friday. Grace had already offered to drive her if Garrett couldn’t.

Next, she located the business card Chief Cote had given her the day before and dialed.

He answered on the second ring with, “How you holding up?” The older man’s voice was somehow both gruff and comforting.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“I’m a detective, Miss Kincaid. I have years of investigative experience under my belt.” There was a short pause. “Plus, you’re the only person I know with a Hawaii area code.” Humor filled his voice.

“You are good at your job,” she said.

“The best. You’re at Grace’s?” Aspen had texted him the night before, telling him where she’d be staying.

“I am. I was hoping you could make some time for me today. I’d like to ask what you know about the lumber company bombing and my mother’s involvement in it.”

“That’s a good idea.” His tone no longer held amusement. “I have a meeting this morning that’ll probably go through lunch. Could you come by the station late this afternoon?”

They set a time and ended the call.

She consulted her list, which she’d updated that morning with the to-dos that had occurred to her overnight, and moved on to the next item.

She dialed Jeff Christiansen.

After their greetings, she asked the question that had occurred to her at some point in the middle of the night, when sleep had been elusive, the fears and theories fresh.

“You told me you knew my father when he lived here.”

“I did,” Jeff said. “Our families had known each other for years.”

“Do you remember where he worked back then? Someone told me he was in construction.” And hadn’t Mr. Barnett, her house’s former owner, told her they’d had work done on their house that spring? Maybe that was the connection.

“I don’t think it was construction,” Jeff said. “I don’t remember exactly, but I could swear he had to get a special license for the job.”

“Like a certificate, or?—?”

“No. A license to drive a truck. What do they call it? CDL. A commercial driver’s license.”

“He drove a truck?”

“Not an eighteen-wheeler. A construction vehicle, I guess. A dump truck or something.”

“Huh. Do you have any idea what kinds of construction projects?—?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t. I remember he made decent money, enough that he was able to rent the house where you guys lived.”

“Where was that?”

“I don’t remember exactly. It was in town, a couple blocks off Main Street. Little—maybe two beds, one bath, but your dad was proud of it. I might be able to find the address here somewhere in my files.”

How could he have it in his files, unless… “Did you act as Dad’s attorney back then?” She couldn’t imagine why her father would have needed an attorney. He hadn’t owned property or a business. And then a thought occurred that had her heart beating fast. “Was he planning to divorce my mother? Was that why?—?”

“I’m not a family law attorney, so even if he were—and he never shared plans to do that with me—I wouldn’t have represented him. There was another matter he needed my help with.”

“What matter?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

The cliché rolled off his tongue as if he’d spoken it a thousand times in his life. And maybe he had. But it didn’t seem to apply. “Jeff, my father is gone. Surely attorney-client privilege doesn’t still apply.”

“I’m afraid it does. Unless there’s some compelling reason for me to violate that confidence, it holds.”

She chewed on those words a moment. “Are you saying there’s no connection between his dealings with you and what my mother did?”

Jeff cleared his throat. “I’m saying attorney-client privilege applies, regardless.”

“Is it something that would help me find out what happened to my mother?”

“Aspen, I’m not playing a game with you.” His tone had taken on that of a disappointed tutor. “This isn’t twenty questions, and there’s no way of phrasing your inquiry that will result in any information from me. This is not a wink-wink-nudge-nudge situation. Your father entrusted me with his legal needs, and I take that very seriously. I won’t betray that trust, even after his death. Not with hints. Not with anything.”

She quelled a rise of irritation. Jeff Christiansen had ethics, and she admired that. She just wished she could compel him to see things a little differently. “Someone tried to run me off the road yesterday.”

A beat of silence was followed by, “What do you mean? You were in an accident?”

“I mean someone followed me up Rattlesnake Road and rammed into my car, twice.”

The attorney gasped, but Aspen wasn’t finished.

“I nearly crashed into a tree, then hit a weird incline. My SUV ended up on its side. I got out moments before it slid over a cliff.”

“Were you hurt?” He sounded genuinely concerned.

“The point is, it wasn’t an accident. Somebody did that to me, on purpose.”

“I’m so sorry that?—”

“I’m not looking for your sympathy. I’m saying… Look, I know you’re trying to fulfill your obligations to my father, but could you at least consider something for me?”

After a moment, he said, “I will, if you’ll consider something for me.”

She hadn’t expected that. “Fine. Me first. Maybe the dealings you had with my father have nothing to do with any of this. But if they do, then don’t you think my father would want you to elevate my safety over your confidentiality agreement?”

“Ah. But it’s not like you think it is. And now it’s my turn. Do you remember when you first told me about your plan to come here?”

Back in November, the first time she’d spoken to him. She’d found his name in her father’s paperwork related to the house. “I remember you tried to talk me out of it.”

“Because that’s what he would have wanted. What happened to you last night, that’s what your father was trying to avoid. That’s why he moved to Hawaii. That’s why he never told you all the things you’re bound and determined to dig up now.”

“But he told me to come here. He told me?—”

“Either you misunderstood what he was asking, or he was out of his mind.”

He’d been lucid. She also knew he hadn’t said everything he’d wanted to say before a coughing fit summoned the doctors.

Had she misunderstood?

“He told me to find her, to do right by her.”

“I wasn’t there for that conversation,” Jeff said. “And it’s not that I don’t believe you, but I don’t believe that’s what your father wanted for you. For himself, perhaps. But not for you.”

“You don’t know what he said or what he wanted. You hadn’t known him for years.”

Jeff didn’t argue her points. His voice was low and steady. “I believe your father wanted you to be safe above all. In fact, I know that’s what he wanted. He told me more than once, and not just when you were a baby. I helped him purchase the house here a couple of years ago, if you remember. He told me then as well.”

“But maybe I’ll be safer if you tell me?—”

“Because of that”—he spoke over her—“I will tell you nothing. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Your father trusted me, and I won’t betray that trust. If you want my counsel, here it is: Leave town. Sell the house, get out of New Hampshire, and don’t look back.”

The conversation with Jeff was still ringing in her ears an hour after she ended the call and checked that task off her list.

Could he be right? Could she have misunderstood? Dad hadn’t been able to finish what he’d wanted to say, but he told her to find her mother.

Hadn’t he?

She was beginning to question everything. The thing that wrecked her, the thing that broke her heart into a thousand little pieces, was that she’d never know. She’d never be able to ask him to clarify. Dad was gone. And it seemed his last task had been to send her on a journey that put her life in danger.

Which didn’t make sense at all.

Aspen’s father would never have risked her safety. Never.

Maybe Christiansen was right. Maybe she should leave Coventry and not look back.

But she wasn’t going to do that. Because she needed to know what happened to her mother. She needed to know what her father thought she might uncover.

And now there was Garrett.

She put in a call to the Barnetts, but the phone in their little room at the nursing home rang and rang. She tried the front desk, and though they answered and were friendly enough, they wouldn’t give Aspen any idea where the Barnetts had gone or when they would be back to their room.

Frustrated, she left a message for Mr. Barnett to call her when he returned home.

She spent the rest of the morning setting up her new computer and downloading files from the cloud, thankful she’d stored almost everything there. She searched the county records for her father’s name and found the record of his purchase of the Rattlesnake Road property and how much he paid.

Wow.

Seeing the sum in black and white paused her fingers on the keyboard.

He’d bought the house for over four hundred thousand—in cash.

He must have been saving for years and years. Which meant he’d been planning to buy the property for a long time. Why?

The obvious answer didn’t make sense. Maybe Jane Kincaid was there, buried somewhere on the property. But if that were the case…

The coffee inside her gurgled and churned.

The only way Dad could have known where Jane Kincaid was buried was if he’d buried her himself.

And if he had…

No. No, her father was not a killer. He was a kind, gentle, tender man. He would never have hurt Aspen’s mother. Never.

There had to be an explanation that didn’t implicate her father in her mother’s death.

She snapped the laptop closed.

It was after lunchtime—not that she’d had the stomach to eat—when she pulled up her ride-sharing app and called for a car. Twenty minutes later, she stepped into the library, spotting Deborah behind the circulation desk.

Aspen approached Garrett’s aunt, smiling when the older woman caught sight of her.

She rounded the desk and met Aspen in the lobby. “Garrett told us what happened last night.” She took Aspen’s hands and squeezed. “I’m glad to see you’re okay.”

“I am. Thank you.”

Deborah’s lips pinched tightly. “You don’t have any idea who it was?”

“I wish I did.”

Deborah shook her head. “Probably just a couple of drugged-up teenagers. We have our share of those in town, I’m afraid.”

Aspen didn’t dare believe the attack had been random, but she didn’t say so. “I was hoping you could answer a couple of questions for me.”

“How can I help you?” she asked, leading Aspen toward a deserted area.

“I have two questions. First, do you remember where my parents lived after they had me?”

Deborah stopped at the end of a row of shelves. “Not exactly. I lived in Plymouth, so I didn’t go there much. Sorry.”

Aspen was disappointed, but she moved to her second question. “Do you remember where my father worked or, if not, at least what he did for a living?”

“He laid concrete.”

“Oh. Jeff Christiansen said he needed to get a special license, but I thought it was a driver’s license. Why would he need that?”

“You’ve seen cement trucks, haven’t you? I’m sure it’s no picnic driving those things.”

So he had worked in the construction industry, but he hadn’t been a builder.

She’d been thinking that perhaps the construction work the Barnetts had done that winter might have brought Aspen’s dad to their house, but their house had already been built. Why would they have needed concrete?

Every answer she got led to more questions. Would she never get to the bottom of this?

Deborah’s hand slid over Aspen’s. “I don’t think I helped you very much.”

“You did. I just don’t understand…so many things.”

“Well, I might not be able to give you the answers you need, but I can offer you a friendly dinner. How about you and Garrett come tonight?”

“Oh. I’d like that.” The thought of spending time with people who’d known and loved her mother was irresistible. “If it’s all right with Garrett.”

“I don’t know how to get in touch with him, but you were able to the other day. Why don’t you check with him?”

“Sure, and as long as Garrett agrees, I’ll see you tonight.”

Deborah went back to the circulation desk, and Aspen followed as far as the lobby, pulling her phone from her pocket. She made a Wi-Fi call to Garrett.

“I’m glad you called,” he said by way of answer. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

She glanced at the time. “It’s two o’clock.”

“I know. I just thought maybe you had a rough night’s sleep.”

She had, but she didn’t say so. “I’m at the library. Your aunt invited us to dinner.”

“Oh, good. That’s great. Will you still be there, or?—?”

“I’m going to the police station at four to meet with Chief Cote. Maybe you could pick me up there when you’re finished. I’m happy to hang around until it’s convenient for you to come get me.”

They made a plan, and she hung up, then found Deborah to confirm their evening plans and offer to bring dessert. Deborah seemed delighted at the prospect.

That task finished, Aspen returned to the computer and searched for a list of concrete companies in town. There were a number of construction companies that did foundation and other concrete work.

Dad could have worked for any one of them. Or one that no longer existed. Or one that didn’t have a website.

Even if she found where he used to work, would they tell her the jobs they’d worked on thirty years earlier? Would they even have records going back that far?

Probably not.

Giving up on that, she tried the Barnetts’ number again. Still no answer.

With nothing else to do before her appointment, and with last night’s conversation with Garrett fresh on her mind, she searched local schools to find where she might earn a teaching degree.

There was Plymouth State, her parents’ alma mater, just thirty minutes or so from Coventry. There were also a whole host of online options. She’d initially discarded that idea, believing she’d need in-person classes, not for the learning but to meet people. But if she stayed in Coventry, she already knew people. Maybe she could earn her degree from one of the online universities.

Did she want to be a teacher? She’d loved working with the kids at the church, but was that something she’d want to do forty hours a week—or more, if what she heard about teachers held true?

Really, what she loved was teaching kids about God. She loved volunteering for the church.

Maybe… She did another internet search and discovered there were degrees in church ministry. Maybe she could go that direction. The thought of running a children or student ministry program at a church made her heart thump with excitement.

Did Garrett’s church need somebody in that position?

Whoa, she was getting ahead of herself.

But the way her whole being sizzled with the idea… Maybe she was finally figuring out God’s plan, which would use not only her skills but her passions as well.

She researched possibilities until it was almost time to meet the chief, new ideas pinging in her mind. She didn’t have to settle for a job she hated in a place where she didn’t know a soul. Coventry might be cold, but she already had friends here. Her parents had been from here. Maybe she could handle the winters if the other seasons were as lovely as Garrett claimed.

She realized as she waved goodbye to Deborah that she really wanted to find out.

Aspen stepped out the front doors into the chilly late afternoon. The clouds hung low and heavy. The forecast had promised more snow—a dusting, the weatherman had said. Just three inches. She’d never seen dust that thick .

Living here would take some getting used to. And good snow tires.

The library was situated in the center of town, next door to the town offices and two doors down from the police station. Though she’d promised Garrett she wouldn’t go anywhere by herself, she felt confident she could manage the fifty-yard walk without incident, especially with so many people out and about. People walked from shop to shop as if it weren’t freezing cold. As if it were a lovely afternoon for a stroll.

New Hampshireites were made of sturdy stuff.

Maybe if she stayed, she’d become as accustomed to the weather as all these folks were. Assuming, that was, that the locals quit shooting her dirty looks. And whispering behind hands as she walked by.

And trying to kill her.

Having survived the short walk with zero attempts on her life, Aspen pushed into the police station and asked for Chief Cote. A moment later, he ushered her back to his office.

“I’m glad you came by.” He rounded his desk and settled on the far side. “How you holding up?”

She was in very good spirits, buoyed by the prospects of staying in Coventry, going to college to study a subject she’d actually love to learn, and Garrett. “I’m good,” she said. “I’d be better if I knew who ran me off the road yesterday.” She slid into the chair she’d occupied the night before.

“Our search didn’t turn up any useful information. We saw where we think Garrett turned around and where you went over, but that was it. There were no signs of another car parking along the shoulder.”

“Someone was following me.” Irritation and fear rose so fast, it was a struggle to keep her voice level. “Someone with a flashlight was looking?—”

“I believe you.” He added a smile to accompany the words. “We found the footprints, just not any sign of what they were driving. I’m guessing they parked in the street, out of the snow.”

He didn’t think she was lying, or crazy. She took a breath to recenter herself. “Did the footprints turn up anything?”

He slipped on reading glasses and consulted a notebook. “Snow boot, man’s size ten or thereabouts, my guys tell me.”

“Let me guess—that’s a pretty common shoe size for a man?”

“Unfortunately. We’ve asked the body shops in the area to alert us if anybody brings in a car with right-side damage. Patrol guys are on the lookout for the same.”

“Feels like a needle-in-the-haystack situation.”

“Coventry’s a small haystack, but if the driver has any brains at all, he won’t take his car to a body shop anywhere near here. We’ve expanded the search as far south as Concord. I’m hopeful.”

“Do you have any guesses about who it might’ve been? Any suspects?”

He slipped the readers lower on his nose and looked at her for a long time. She wasn’t sure what he was hoping to find there, or what he saw. After a moment, he leaned back. “Can I trust you to keep what I say between us?”

The thought of not telling Garrett what she learned didn’t sit well, but she said, “Yes.”

“I interviewed five people. I’ve got detectives looking into their alibis and checking their vehicles as we speak. I won’t be surprised if one of them was driving that car.”

“Who are they?”

“I spoke to both Bart Bradley, the father-in-law of?—”

“Rachel, the woman who died,” she said. “And?”

“He was home alone, which isn’t unusual for Bart at night. He never leaves his house after dark. His car had no damage. Same was true for Rhonda Patterson.”

“Rachel’s sister.”

His eyebrows lifted, and she got the sense he was impressed.

“She sort of introduced herself to me the other day,” Aspen said.

“Knowing Rhonda, it wasn’t a friendly introduction.”

She pictured the woman at the coffee shop, the fury and hatred in her expression. “Not so much.”

“She was home with her family. They ordered pizza, and the delivery guy confirmed seeing her and her husband at her house. Didn’t figure she’d done it—she wouldn’t wear a man’s boot, but her husband… Anyway, wasn’t him.”

“Okay, then. You said you interviewed five people. Who were the other three?”

“I’ll tell you, Aspen. But this really does need to stay between us. You and Garrett McCarthy have gotten close, but this isn’t something he needs to get involved in. Or to know about.”

The mention of Garrett’s name sent a flash of worry through her. Surely Chief Cote didn’t think he’d had anything to do with this? He couldn’t have. He was the one who’d rescued her. “I’ll keep it to myself.”

“I was a rookie detective at the time of the lumber company bombing, but seeing as how we only had two detectives on the force back then, I worked the case.”

She mentally shifted gears. “Okay.”

“How much do you want to know?”

It was a fair question, considering her mother was the number-one suspect. “I need to know everything. Even if it’s hard to hear.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you already know?”

“I know when it happened and where. And I know my mother was the only suspect, and that she disappeared after, though I don’t know when exactly. I know she was mentally unstable and believed the company was harming the environment.”

“Your source?”

“Old newspapers, mostly.”

“You haven’t talked to anybody in town about it?”

“Marion Eaton, Tabby’s mother. She’s the one who told me about the bombing. Brent Salcito and I talked a little about it. Deborah Finley told me about Mom and what she was like back then, but we didn’t discuss the bombing.”

Aspen watched the detective closely as she said the names, but his expression gave nothing away. His chair creaked under his weight as he leaned forward. “What you’ve heard and read in the papers is true. But it’s not the whole truth. There were a number of details we kept from the public.” He paused as if waiting for her to speak.

She wasn’t sure what to say. She certainly didn’t want to say anything that might stop him from sharing. “Is it okay if I ask why?”

“A number of reasons. We had our suspicions, but we didn’t have proof. We didn’t want to scare anybody off or warn them we were onto them.”

“I thought everybody knew my mother did it.”

He nodded slowly. His words were measured when he said, “Despite what the papers say, your mother can’t have acted alone.”

Aspen sat back. “What? I thought… Why do you think that?”

“First and most obvious, she didn’t know how to build a bomb.”

“She could have learned.”

“Bomb-making is not like mixing up cupcake batter. And we uncovered zero evidence that she’d bought the supplies or books on how to do it. And there’s the fact that she wasn’t entirely in her right mind back then. She might have, in her state, attempted to build a bomb. But to have successfully accomplished it?” His skepticism was evident in his shrug. “We didn’t buy it.”

“Who do you…? Wait, first, what other reason? You said, ‘first and obvious.’ Which makes me think there’s a second and?—”

“Less obvious but no less true,” he said. “Your mother was in the midst of what your father called an episode. We don’t know what she suffered from—maybe schizophrenia, maybe something else—but it was debilitating. Your mother’s friends were starting to come to grips with her issues, but your father seemed to understand better. He knew the terminology even then, which meant he’d done his homework. He’d been trying to get her to see a psychiatrist for some time, but she’d refused repeatedly. He even tried to have her committed against her will, claiming he feared she was a danger to herself. According to the records, authorities talked to her friends—this was months before the bombing, mind you—who contradicted his claims. One of her friends claimed your dad was bitter because… Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“I’m sure.”

“She wasn’t exactly the model wife and mother.”

Which went along with what Brent had told her. Mom hadn’t spent a whole lot of time at home with her family, whether she was romantically involved with Brent or not.

All this information, and the chief wasn’t even consulting a notebook. “You must have an exceptional memory.”

He smiled, crinkling his wrinkles. “It was a big case, the first murder I worked as a detective. I took it very seriously. But also, I pulled up all the old reports last night after you left.” Smile fading, he continued. “I know your next question already. You want to know who our other suspects were. We looked at everybody in the college’s environmental club, but our focus narrowed very quickly to four people, the four people closest to her.”

He seemed to be waiting for Aspen to say something, perhaps to guess, but how could she know. She only knew…

Oh.

“You aren’t saying…” She leaned forward. “I only know about a few of my mom’s old friends. I’ve met Deborah Finley, and I know her husband, Dean, knew Mom back then. And Brent Salcito, the mayor. You can’t mean them. They’re still in town. They were never charged with anything, were they? I didn’t see any of their names in the papers.”

“Remember, we kept a lot of stuff back from the press.”

“Why?”

“A number of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that they were kids. I mean, they were all technically adults, but they were twenty. Their parents lived in this town and had for generations.”

“You questioned them this morning?”

“Last night.”

At his nod, she let the truth settle. She’d seen Deborah at the library that afternoon. She’d already known about the incident on the mountain, but she’d claimed she heard it from Garrett.

Not so. She’d heard from Cote when she’d been questioned. Unless she’d already known. Unless she’d been the driver of the car.

Aspen was almost afraid to ask her next question. “You think one of my mother’s old friends ran me off the road? Why, though? What would they have to gain by hurting me?”

Another shrug. “If we knew the motive, it’d be a lot easier to nail down a suspect. I’m guessing somebody doesn’t want you poking the bear, as it were. The people who conspired with your mother to blow up that building have escaped judgment for a long time. They want it to stay that way. Maybe you won’t expose them—maybe you can’t. But you can start everybody asking questions about it again.”

“But you wouldn’t be involved at all if not for the fact that somebody broke into my house and then tried to kill me. Their actions are stirring the story up more than mine are.”

“I love irony.”

She wasn’t a fan at the moment.

She couldn’t imagine Deborah trying to hurt her. The woman seemed so kind and open. Maybe Garrett’s uncle, though. Or Brent, the man who’d bought her coffee and pastries a few days earlier.

Cote was patient as she processed everything he’d told her. She was ready to hear the rest. “Go on.”

Instead, he said, “I could use a cup of coffee. It was a late night. Are you up for a walk, or is it too cold for a Hawaii girl outside?”

Getting out of that small, stuffy room sounded good to her. “I’ve got my coat and gloves. I’ll be fine.”

Aspen zipped her jacket and was pulling on her gloves by the time Cote opened the back door of the police station for her. They stepped outside into a parking lot. The air was chilly, and the sun had already disappeared behind the tall trees all around them. It would be dark by the time they walked back, but she felt safe with the police chief at her side.

He led her across the lot, then up a narrow alley away from the main road.

“Let’s go back to what we know.” Cote’s pace was quick despite his girth. “My partner and I looked at the closest people to your mother. Deborah Davis—now Finley—was her best friend and involved with the environmental club on campus. The night of the bombing, she was at work. Seven people corroborated her alibi.”

“And Dean?”

“He was in his dorm room that night. His roommate can put him there.”

“So he wasn’t involved.”

Cote’s lips quirked at the corner. “Assuming his roommate can be believed, he wasn’t present when the bomb went off.”

Which wasn’t exactly the same thing. “Do you not believe the roommate?”

Cote shrugged. “Sometimes people lie. Not saying he did, but…” He walked a few steps before continuing. “Brent Salcito, who was, by all accounts, your mother’s…” His words faded, and he glanced her way. “Your mother was, uh…”

“Brent believed they were in love,” Aspen said. “Deborah said they weren’t even dating.”

Cote seemed relieved that Aspen already knew that. “I suspect the truth is somewhere in the middle of those two extremes. Brent was in love with your mother. How your mother felt about him—that I don’t know. But, based on all the information we got, they were together. Dating.” He seemed to cringe at the word. “Sorry. I’m sure that’s?—”

“Finding out my mother wasn’t faithful to my father ranks lower on the worst-news-ever scale than finding out she was a killer.” Aspen tried to keep her tone light even if the words twisted in her heart. “Keep going.”

“Brent was with his father in Boston. Or so they claim.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“The Salcitos had an apartment in the city, and they say they drove down Thursday afternoon. Nobody saw them in the city that night, so we only have Brent’s word and his father’s. They did have an appointment at Boston College the next day, though, which they’d made weeks before. Brent transferred to BC the next semester. Martin, Brent’s father, claimed he and Brent planned the father-son weekend because his wife and daughters were at some cheerleading competition in Massachusetts.”

“Do you believe them?”

He shrugged. “Good police work is ninety percent guessing.” He smiled to show he was kidding. “Martin Salcito’s a good man who loves his kids. He’d never been in any scrapes with the law, and neither had Brent. We had no good reason not to believe him.”

“But you don’t,” she guessed.

“We couldn’t prove they were lying. We couldn’t put Brent with your mother at the lumber company or anywhere else in Coventry or in Plymouth the night of the bombing. And, honestly, nobody thought the kid was a killer.”

“Maybe everybody was wrong about him.”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“My mother was a killer?”

“Your mother was mentally ill and, by all accounts, not thinking straight. I’d like to believe that, if she’d been thinking straight, she would have seen the car in the parking lot that night and decided not to detonate that bomb.”

They reached the end of the alley, and he turned right. They passed an attorney’s office and an insurance agency. Beyond those was the coffee shop she’d been to twice already. It must be a local favorite.

“Somebody died,” Aspen said. “I know you think Mom did it, but you also think somebody else was involved. It seems to me it might’ve been worth the effort to dig a little deeper into their alibis. Maybe put a little more pressure on them.”

“You’re not wrong. The lead detective was a local. He knew all the families. He was happy to be able to strike those kids off the list of suspects.”

“Even if they were guilty?”

Cote didn’t respond to that.

“If you’d been in charge…?”

“I might have done things differently, but I wasn’t in charge. Truth is, they were good kids. They were A-students. Smart and hard-working. They’d never gotten into any trouble. They obeyed their fathers and kissed their mothers and went to church. They weren’t bad kids.”

“But my mom was, I guess. Her family was new to town, so that detective didn’t have any problem pinning the whole thing on her.”

“Your mother wasn’t in her right mind, Aspen. Witnesses saw her car—she drove a red hatchback—turning off the road that led to the lumber company. They saw a woman driving. Her car was found abandoned up on Rattlesnake Road.”

“Rattlesnake? My road?”

How had she not known that?

“Ayuh. At the top, though, a mile or so past your place. There’re houses up there now, but back then they were just starting to clear the land. Your mother’s involvement was never in question.” Cote continued in a gentle tone. “Your mother needed to be hospitalized. Your father was right about that. Unfortunately, until she did something to harm herself or others, nobody could force it.”

They entered the coffee shop. Cote ordered a drink and offered to get hers as well.

“I need more than just coffee. You go ahead.” After he paid, she ordered a caramel macchiato from Josie, the woman who’d been there before. “I need to bring dessert to dinner tonight.”

The thought of sitting at a table with Dean and Deborah after hearing all of this made Aspen’s heart race, but she wanted to meet Dean. She wanted to get to know him and Deborah better, to form her own opinions. They were Garrett’s family, the people who’d taken him in and raised him. How could she suspect them of anything?

But Cote obviously did.

“How many will there be?” Josie asked.

“Four. What do you recommend?”

“The fruit tarts are good for dessert. And everybody loves the chocolate tortes.” Aspen asked her to box up two of each and paid for them. She joined Cote in the room where she’d sat with Brent a few days earlier. Cote had chosen a small table by the window. A fire had flickered when she and Brent were there. Now the little warmth that came from the fireplace emanated from a few burning coals.

Aspen set her box down, slipped off her jacket, and sat. “So maybe Mom acted alone, or maybe?—”

“She didn’t act alone. We covered that.”

“But I mean, the night of the bombing.”

“Maybe.”

“Are you saying…? Do you think Deborah, Dean, and Brent were in on it, even if they weren’t there? Or one of them? Or a couple of them?”

“Do you want to hear what I know , or what I believe ?”

“Both.”

“You know what I know. Your mother, Dean, Deborah, and Brent were good friends who were all involved in the same club on campus. We suspected one or more of them helped her with the bombing, but they all have alibis. Your mother wasn’t capable of building a bomb. From here on out, I’m speculating, and I could be wrong. If I’m right, then the people who worked with your mother are accomplices in a murder, not to mention destruction of property and a whole host of other crimes. They’re terrorists, and they need to be brought to justice. So what I’m telling you needs to stay between us. Okay?”

She nodded.

He leaned across the small table and lowered his voice. “You read about the witnesses who saw your mother driving away from the bombing that night. What we didn’t release…”

His voice trailed, and a moment later the brunette set their coffees on the table between them. “You need anything else?”

“We’re good, Josie,” Cote said. “Thanks.” He waited until she walked away. “What we didn’t release to the papers is that somebody saw the car headed up to the lumber company as well. To get to the headquarters, you had to drive through a neighborhood on the edge of town. One of the residents was having a party that night. It turns out that, when your mother passed, a woman had just arrived. She looked inside the car thinking it was a friend pulling up and saw two people. The witness thought it was a man and a woman.”

Oh. “So one of them was there. Brent or Dean. But you said you had no evidence.”

“We believe there was a man with your mother. Witnesses have been known to get things wrong. It could have been a woman with short hair or hair pulled back. But definitely two people went in.”

“But Deborah and Dean were back at the college, and Brent was in Boston.”

“Deborah’s alibi is rock solid. Maybe Dean was at the college. Maybe his roommate was mistaken or lied. The roommate was also involved in the club, so it’s possible.”

“A woman was dead. Surely the roommate would have told the truth.”

“You’d be surprised what people will do.”

She really didn’t want Garrett’s uncle to have been an accomplice. “It could have been Brent, right? You said nobody could corroborate the story that he was in Boston that night.”

“It’s possible.”

“Or…could it have been somebody else from the club? Or do you have another suspect?”

Cote’s expression turned tender, as if he hated what he had to say. “I told you earlier we looked at the four closest people to your mother. We’ve talked about three. The other is…”

The answer was obvious, and ridiculous. “My father ?” She’d said the word too loud and forced a quieter volume. “You think my father helped her? That’s crazy.”

“I agree.”

“He wouldn’t… You do?”

“I don’t think your father had anything to do with the bombing. I’m just telling you where we looked. If it wasn’t Brent or Dean, your father was the next most likely suspect.”

“Who do you think it was?”

“Remember, we’re talking about what I believe, not what I can prove.” At her nod, he continued. “I believe Brent went with her that night. I believe he planned the whole thing. By all accounts, he’d have done anything for your mother. He was logical where your mother, according to what everybody told us, wasn’t thinking clearly. Brent would have been able to plan the whole thing and cover their tracks. Do I think Brent wanted to blow up that building? Not necessarily. Do I think he would have done it for your mother?” Cote shrugged.

But if Brent was with her at the bombing, then he would have been with her afterward as well. “Do you think he killed her? Or maybe helped her get away or something?”

“He loved her, Aspen. I have no reason to believe he would have hurt her. Hidden her? Maybe, but we kept a close eye on him. I can’t imagine how he could have pulled it off. Not as a twenty-year-old, not without help. And for how long could he have hidden her? How would he have done it with your mother in that mental state?” He shook his head. “No, I never bought that.”

She remembered something else she’d learned. “The witness said only one person drove away.”

“Multiple witnesses at that point. Everybody in about a five-mile radius heard that bomb explode. The people at that party went outside to see what had happened. They were watching the flames through the trees when they saw your mother’s car. And yes, only one person could be seen inside.”

“Maybe he was crouched down in the backseat.”

“Maybe.”

Or maybe… “Is it possible Brent had a wig or something? Maybe he killed my mother in the bombing.”

Cote smiled. “You could be a detective, Miss Kincaid. Very thoughtful question.”

“And?”

His smile faded. “We only uncovered one body, and it belonged to the victim. The property and the forest surrounding it were thoroughly searched.”

“But he could have buried her or?—”

“They drove up at nine twenty and drove back out at nine thirty-two. The bomb went off at nine twenty-eight. There was no time for him to bury her. We think either your mother left Brent at the lumber company for some reason—maybe they fought. Though I can’t figure out how he would have gotten out of there and home without being seen. More likely, he was crouched down in the passenger seat or the back. He was smart enough to know people would be outside looking, so that’s my theory.”

“You think Brent was her accomplice.”

“One of them. Thing is, Brent didn’t know how to build bombs either. And he was smart enough not to try.”

“Somebody else was involved? Who among them could have built a bomb? I mean, they were twenty, like you said. They didn’t have the Internet. They weren’t exactly criminal master…”

But something Garrett had said, words tossed out as if they didn’t matter at all, floated to Aspen’s memory. “Dean was a chemistry major.”

Cote’s eyebrows lifted. “You ever decide to go into law enforcement, give me a call.”

She tried to smile at his remark, but the expression felt wrong. “That I’m suspecting the uncle of my…” She didn’t know what to call Garrett. He was more than her contractor, but did “boyfriend” fit the bill?

It wouldn’t for long, not if he learned what she was thinking. What she’d just said.

But Cote didn’t look surprised. Of course he’d already known Dean’s major.

Just to be sure, she said, “You think Dean built the bomb.”

“I’m sure of it. But being sure of it and being able to prove it are two very different things.”

“He was never charged?”

“Nope. If he did it, he bought all the supplies with cash and not anywhere local. I have no idea where he put it together or where they stored it. I could never get to the bottom of any of that.”

“Maybe that’s the connection to the house,” Aspen said.

“Huh.” He sat back. “What is your father’s link to the place?”

“I haven’t figured that out.”

Cote stared past her a long moment, then shook his head. “If they used the house back then, your dad could only have known about it if he was involved.”

“Maybe Mom told him?”

“Maybe. But all the evidence must have been cleaned up long ago. When did he buy the house?”

“Two years ago.” So that theory didn’t hold water. “Where do you think my mother went?”

Cote leaned forward and rested his weight on his forearms. “You know as much as I do now. What do you think?”

“Dad said she disappeared. Nobody seems to think she’s still alive. You must have a theory.”

“Nothing I could back up with facts. Unlike my theories about the bombing, all I have regarding your mother is educated guesses. I can’t imagine Brent having hurt her, not as much as he loved her. He claimed your father did it. He made a big stink about how they used to fight, how your father was jealous.”

“Dad would never do that.” The very thought of it was abhorrent. “And anyway, he was home with me, right?”

“He wasn’t, actually. His parents—your grandparents—were there. They stayed with you sometimes. They said your dad got a call from your mom and left about nine o’clock.”

That was suspicious. Even still… “You don’t think my dad had anything to do with the bombing or with my mother’s disappearance.” She said the words with confidence, praying she was right.

“The bombing, no.”

She sat back. “You don’t mean… You don’t think my father hurt her.”

“Your father said Jane called him and asked him to meet her up on Rattlesnake. I guess they’d gone up there a couple of times. He said he went, but when he arrived, she wasn’t there. Then he heard the explosion and went home to make sure you were all right.”

“My grandparents were able to confirm that, right?”

“I’m afraid there’s a pretty decent chunk of time missing.”

Aspen didn’t want to hear the chief’s theories. She wanted to cover her ears to keep any more of his words from entering her mind, to keep the doubts at bay. But she’d come here for answers.

“What do you think happened?”

He started to speak, then closed his mouth. After a moment, he said, “Since you came back, an idea’s been forming…about that house.”

She swallowed but kept quiet.

“You’re an intelligent woman. I’m sure it’s occurred to you as well. Maybe your father bought that house because your mother is buried somewhere on the property. But if that’s the case?—”

“My father didn’t kill my mother.”

“If he found out about the bombing, if he found out about her affair with Salcito? Extreme circumstances can make people do extreme things.” The tone was placating. “Would you be willing to let me get ground-penetrating radar out there? If she’s buried on the property, don’t you want to know?”

Aspen had come to Coventry to find her mother.

But if Jane Kincaid was buried near the house Dad bought, then Dad had known all those years. And if he’d known where she was buried…

He’d killed her.

Was it even possible? Was Cote right?

She couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t.

Cote watched while she wrestled with her thoughts. Wrestled, but there was really only one answer. Because Dad had sent her there to find her mother. To do right by her. And she couldn’t do that until she found her. She had to keep going, no matter how much it hurt.

She swallowed again. “Do it.”

Cote pushed back in his chair. “We’d better head back. I’ll get it set up, but it’ll probably take a couple of weeks to schedule it.”

As she grabbed her box of desserts, she thought of one more question. “I assume you checked on Brent, Deborah, and Dean’s whereabouts last night.”

Cote led the way out of the coffee shop and back to the sidewalk. “The mayor is at a retreat in Maine. We called the hotel, and they confirmed he checked in a couple of days ago. His car’s in the parking lot as well—undamaged. He’s not our guy.”

“And Garrett’s aunt and uncle?”

“They say they were at dinner, but if they were, they paid in cash. The servers who were on last night aren’t on today, so it’s taking some time to confirm their alibi.” He glanced her way, an unreadable—but concerning—expression on his face. “I can tell you that Deborah’s car wasn’t at the house when I went to question them. They tell me it’s in the shop for engine work. I’m waiting to hear back from the mechanic about that.”

“But you think it could have been them?”

“At this point, they’re my only suspects.”