Page 17 of The Summer Guests

“Can anyone verify where you went in Augusta?”

“No.”

“What were you doing there?”

He stared at his coffee. “I, uh, checked out some new tractors. Farm equipment.”

“Did you talk to anyone? A salesman?”

“No. I just walked around the lot. Looked at what they had.”

“Did you go anywhere after that?”

“It’s not important.”

“Itisimportant. You know you can trust me. Just tell me where you went.”

At last, he met her gaze. “Right now, Maggie, I’m asking you to trustme. When I left that girl at the boat ramp, she was alive and well. I don’t know what happened after that. All I know is, I didn’t touch her. Not a hair on her head.” He sat up straight. “And that’s the God’s honest truth.”

Chapter 9

When a child goes missing in a small town, rumors fly, parents hug their children a little tighter, and an army of volunteers magically appears to help in the search. Too many volunteers, it seemed to Maggie, as she scanned the crowd milling around the parking lot of the Maiden Pond boat ramp. Most of these people were locals who had never even met Zoe Conover, yet here they all were, summoned overnight by one of the most powerful mobilization tools ever invented: the town’s Facebook page. Maggie spotted familiar faces: Hank from the hardware store, Harold from the PO, and Janine from the Marigold Café. Amateurs all, but ready to help because a missing child was everyone’s worst nightmare.

“Well,thisis a bloody circus,” said Ingrid.

Maggie and her four friends stood at the edge of the parking lot, surveying the disorganized crowd. They, at least, had come equipped for the day’s task, with sun hats and water bottles, sunscreen and DEET. They’d also brought their own evidence bags, should they spot anything worth collecting. To anyone who saw them, they probably looked like five retirees out for a leisurely hike, but these retirees had come prepared to tackle a crime scene.

The same couldn’t be said about the other volunteers. Well intentioned though they were, a crowd this undisciplined could easily destroy clues by trampling shoe prints or dropping litter or dislodging evidence. And there was always the chance that embedded within this group wassomeone who had not come to help, someone who was here instead to watch and listen and divert attention from the truth. Maggie looked at faces, many of them familiar, and she wondered:How well do I really know any of you?

“There’s Jo,” said Ben as a patrol car pulled into the parking lot. “Maybe she knows how to herd cats.”

Jo Thibodeau stepped out of her vehicle, her jaw squared in determination, stray blond hairs spilling from her ponytail. Jo wasn’t a big woman but she moved like one, with the determined stride of a warrior. She put her fingers to her lips, and her whistle was so piercing that everyone turned to look at her.

“Hey, people, I appreciate you being here,” yelled Jo. “But having you all beating the bushes is going to make my job harder.”

“We were told to meet up here at nine o’clock. They said you needed us!” a man yelled.

“Who told you that?”

“I saw it on Facebook!”

Even from across the parking lot, Maggie could see Jo’s pained expression.

“We just want to help,” said Janine from the Marigold. “If my kid went missing, you bet I’d want the whole damn town looking for her!”

Other voices chimed in: “So would I!”

“Me too!”

Jo held up her hands for silence. “My officers and I have already searched this area, all along the shoreline and up to the main road.”

“What if you missed something? What can it hurt, having us look too?”

“Okay.” Jo sighed. “Okay, if you really want to help, then at least break up into teams. If you find anything you think is significant, let us decide what to do with it ...”

“Time to get moving, before these people trample everything,” said Ingrid. “Assuming Luther told the truth and this is where he left the girl, she’d walk in that direction to get home.” Ingrid pointed to theroad that curved along the western shoreline. “So that’s where we should start.”

“‘Assuming’ he told the truth?” Maggie said.

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