Page 24 of The Summer Guests

Neither do I,thought Jo.

Back outside, Jo paused by her cruiser and looked across the field toward Blackberry Farm, but did not see Maggie’s truck. What was the woman up to now? For that matter, what were all five of those retirees up to? The Martini Club, they called themselves, which sounded so droll, so flippant. But Jo knew enough about them to know thatharmlesswas not a word that applied to them. They were not people she ever wanted to cross swords with, and, fortunately for Jo, they were all working on the same side.

For now.

Chapter 11

Maggie

James Bond might drive an Aston Martin, but Declan drove a Volvo. Not the newest model, but an eight-year-old gasoline-powered sedan, aclassic, he called it, a bit like Declan himself. It might not be a sports car, but it was sturdy and safe—also like Declan. His late father the diplomat had favored Volvos as well, and Declan was a man who followed tradition, who appreciated medieval churches and barrel-aged scotch. It was why he now lived in an 1820s sea captain’s house with a widow’s walk and the original woodwork, which he’d refinished himself. Declan simply liked old things.

Which is probably why he spends so much time with me,thought Maggie.

They drove south together on Route 1, traveling at a stately pace because speeding invariably drew too much attention. In that way they were alike, because of either their training or their innate personalities: they instinctively avoided being noticed. Anyone who saw them now would assume they were just an old married couple driving down the coast, perhaps to tour a lighthouse or enjoy fried clams at a seaside restaurant. Sometimes, Maggie felt as if theywerean old married couple because they’d known each other for so long, ever since they trained together at the Farm. Among their group of four, Declan had been thequiet one, with a doctorate in history and charmingly old-world manners. He was also the strikingly handsome one, with jet-black hair and a twinkle in his eye. The years had streaked that hair with silver and added creases to his face, but age had only improved him. Or maybe now that they’d reunited, she had simply learned to appreciate him the way she should have decades ago, before they all scattered to their postings in different corners of the world.Better late than never.

“I wish we had a more detailed timeline,” he said as they left behind the town of Bucksport and continued down Route 1, toward Searsport. “We know the backpack was first noticed in the late afternoon, but how long was it lying there? When was it left in the road?”

This part of the highway was posted at fifty-five miles per hour, but of course no one adhered to the speed limit, and even safety-conscious Declan was driving at a daring sixty-two-mile-per-hour clip. Moving at this speed, few drivers would have a chance to even notice a discarded backpack lying at the side of the road, much less pull over to retrieve it. Everyone was in a hurry to get somewhere, their minds on their destinations, their eyes focused straight ahead.

Maggie studied the paper map that Lloyd Slocum had prepared, highlighting in bright yellow all the possible routes that led south from Purity. As an analyst at Langley, Lloyd had spent years studying satellite images, identifying every dirt road, every cow track that an enemy might utilize, and he had lost none of his obsessive-compulsive attention to geographic details.

“We’re getting close to the spot,” she said, and glanced at her phone. Jo Thibodeau had reluctantly shared the approximate GPS coordinates, and they were now within a quarter mile of where the backpack was found. There were no landmarks here to help them identify the exact spot, because this stretch of highway featured mostly woods and weeds, with the occasional drift of bright-purple lupine blooming at the side of the road. “Okay, let’s stop here.”

Declan pulled over onto the shoulder, and they both climbed out of the Volvo. For a moment they just stood on the roadside, watching thetraffic whiz by. There were occasional gaps between passing cars, periods when someone could easily toss litter out their window and not be seen.

“No security cameras in sight,” he observed, scanning the highway.

“I spotted a camera on that restaurant we passed about four miles back. According to Lloyd’s map, there’s also a feeder road that could bring you here without being caught on that camera.”

“Luther’s going to show up on that footage. He would have driven right past it on the way to Augusta.” Declan shook his head. “So that camera’s not going to help him, Mags.”

No, it would hurt him. The last person who saw Zoe alive would also be caught on camera driving toward the spot where her backpack was discarded.

She walked along the road scanning the weeds, the pavement. The police had already searched this area, so she didn’t expect to find anything significant, but they still needed to visit this place, if only to see it from the abductor’s point of view. Assuming this really was an abduction, and not the rebellious flight of a teenage girl. They still hadn’t ruled out that possibility, and Ingrid was now combing through Zoe’s social media posts, hunting for any hints of trouble with her family. Maggie thought of her own teenage years, being raised by an alcoholic father who could scarcely hold down a job or pay the bills. She remembered how many times she’d wanted to escape. Jump on a bus, take it as far as it would go. Alaska, she’d thought, the land of grizzlies and freedom. Was that what Zoe did? Was she sitting on a bus at that moment, watching the miles fly by, exhilarated that she’d made her escape?

As Declan took photos of their surroundings, capturing every angle of this perfectly insignificant stretch of road to share with their friends, Maggie was still thinking about Zoe’s state of mind. Fifteen was a complicated age for a girl. She had a new stepfather, one who came with an extended family she probably didn’t know well. And there they all were, living under one roof, seven people, including a steely-eyed grandmother. Oh yes, Maggie could imagine a girl wanting to escape that house, that situation.

But why leave behind her backpack? To confuse her parents and make it look like an abduction? No, that would make no sense, not from the point of view of a fifteen-year-old. Maggie had spent too many years in the intelligence business, and she was accustomed to seeing a world filled with mirrors, where nothing was as it seemed. But this was just a teenage girl, and Maggie was no doubt conjuring up complications that did not exist.

The simplest answer was that the girl was abducted. Then her abductor drove south, down this road, and discarded the girl’s backpack here. But surely, he knew the backpack was likely to be found, that the police would comb it for his fingerprints. That by discarding it, he was leaving behind evidence. It made no sense.

None of this does.

Declan had finished taking photos, and he looked at Maggie. “I hope Ingrid’s having better luck. We should stop at that restaurant and see if they’ll share their video with us.”

Maggie nodded. “And then we need to talk to Jo.”

They hadn’t told their friends they were headed to the police department, but when Declan and Maggie pulled into Purity’s public services parking lot, they saw the Slocums’ white SUV, shiny and spotless as always, parked a few stalls away. Whether it was because Ingrid constantly monitored the police radio or she had some sort of ESP for crises, she always seemed to be a step ahead of everyone else.

They found Ingrid standing at Jo’s desk, engaged in one of her legendary interrogations, while Lloyd was helping himself to the police station coffeepot. He gave Maggie a wink and a nod, looking as relaxed as if he were standing in his own kitchen. The Slocums were shameless that way.

“I don’t have anything else to tell you people,” Jo insisted. “Except that Zoe Conover is still missing, the state police have joined the search,and there’ve been no tips or sightings so far.” Jo looked at Maggie and Declan and she sighed. “What is this? All of you ganging up on me at once?”

“An uncoordinated ambush,” Maggie said.

“And what doyouwant to know?”

“The girl’s backpack. Can we examine it?”

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