Page 39 of See How They Hide

“He didn’t talk about his family. I can chatter on and on about mine—I raised four boys, all out of the nest now. My husband passed three years ago—Chris was so kind then. He’d come and help with the horses, but didn’t fill the time with idle chatter. Let me ramble, sure, and didn’t seem to mind. I liked him. I would have had him over all the time, but he wouldn’t have liked that.”

“Because he was private,” Sloane repeated.

“Exactly.”

“Did he have regular visitors? Friends that you’ve met?”

“Not often, but he had a girlfriend—not serious, at least I don’t think so, because she didn’t visit often. Maybe they were just friends. I tend to romanticize everything.”

“Do you have a name?”

Abigail shook her head. “I never talked to her. Saw her a couple of times, but Chris never introduced us. I asked him once about it, and he avoided answering. I was a little irritated—I mean I wasn’t being overly nosy, just asking about a woman I’ve seen at least a half dozen times. But I let it go.”

“Can you describe her?”

“Reddish-brown hair. Very skinny. Too skinny, if you ask me. She would have been pretty if she didn’t have this hardened look about her. Probably in her early thirties.”

“White? Black? Asian? Hispanic?”

“White—her skin was tan from being outdoors. Being an outdoors woman myself, I can tell.”

“And distinguishing characteristics? A tattoo? Her voice?”

“I never met her face-to-face. The closest I ever was...well, I came up once last year to bring Chris a gift basket as a thank-you after he watched the horses. She was here. I saw her through the doorway, but that was as close as I got. Chris didn’t invite me in.”

“Did you see a vehicle here that wasn’t Chris’s?”

“Oh. I didn’t think about that. Yes, actually. A white Ford truck. I don’t know anything else about it, just a Ford. My husband always drove Fords.”

“Was it new? Old?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Not really old. There was a shell on the back, I remember that.”

“You wouldn’t by chance remember what state the plates were from?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t notice.”

“That’s okay,” Sloane said. “You’ve been a big help.”

“You don’t think she killed him, do you?”

“We don’t think anything right now. We’re still retracing his steps. One more question. Other than this woman, did you ever see anyone else here?”

“No. He wasn’t social, like I said. But he was a very kind person.”

Kind. That word again. Robert Benson was kind. Jane Merrifield was nice. Chris Crossman was kind. All quiet. All loners. Benson was the most social with his church, but even he preferred being home alone with his wife.

“Thank you for your time. If I have additional questions, I’ll call.”

“This is such a tragedy,” she said, shaking her head as she mounted her horse with the ease of someone half her age.

It certainly was, Sloane thought as she watched Abigail Schafer ride back down the driveway on her Appaloosa.

14

Fort Collins, Colorado

Donovan Smith didn’t want to go to work; he was still so upset and angry with Andrew. Okay, upset with Andrew for leaving, and angry with Riley for showing up at the house. Deep down he knew that nothing was going to be the same.

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