Page 28 of The Summer Guests

Brooke said, “I did a load of laundry when we got home. The dress must already have been in the washing machine when I added our clothes.”

“What time did you start the washing machine?”

“It was around two thirty, when Kit and I came home so I could change shoes.”

“Luther Yount said he dropped off Zoe at the boat ramp a little before noon,” said Jo. “So she must have come home and changed out of the dress. Wasanyonehere at noon?” She looked around the room and saw heads shaking.

“At noon, Elizabeth and I were meeting with the minister,” said Arthur.

“I was out hiking,” said Colin.

Jo looked at Ethan. “And you said you went into town to buy paper?”

Ethan, looking miserable, said: “I wish I’d been here.Someoneshould have been here.”

“Does it really matter now?” Elizabeth said. “Who was home and who wasn’t?”

No,thought Jo. It really didn’t matter, because the sequence of events now seemed clear. Zoe Conover walked home from the boat ramp, took off her dress, and put it in the washing machine. Then she changed into her bathing suit ...

And went swimming.

Through the window, Jo saw the afternoon sunlight gleaming on the pond. She imagined Zoe’s body drifting beneath that mirrored surface, the first stages of decomposition setting in, her skin wrinkling, her eyes open to the ravages of hungry fish and amphibians. In days or weeks, if the body remained undisturbed, bacteria would feed and multiply, bloating her gut with their gases. Those gases would send her body rising to the surface like a grotesque balloon of decaying flesh, to drift on tranquil water.

“But how could she drown?” said Kit.

Jo turned to the boy. He seemed to shrink from her gaze, like a nocturnal animal suddenly exposed to bright light.

“I mean—she’s a good swimmer, isn’t she?” He looked at Susan. “You said she was on the swim team. You said she won awards.”

“Even good swimmers can get into trouble,” said Jo.

“But what about her backpack?” Brooke asked. “It ended up miles away from here. How does that make sense?”

Jo had no answer. Brooke was right; thisdidn’tmake sense. She could feel them all watching her, judging her. Doubting the small-town cop who was clearly in over her head.

“And what about her phone?” said Arthur. “She wouldn’t have gone into the water with it. So where is it?”

“Arthur has a good point,” said Elizabeth. “There are too many unanswered questions. We shouldn’t assume anything, not yet.” She looked at Susan. “Don’t you think?”

“I don’t know.” Susan dropped her head in her hands. “I don’t know anything anymore!”

“I’m going to make some calls. Excuse me,” said Jo, and she stepped out of the house, onto the back deck. She didn’t want the family tooverhear her, so she kept walking, down the lawn, to the water’s edge. The afternoon had gone still and the pond looked like liquid silk, its golden sheen unmarred by a single ripple. Zoe Conover might have been a champion swimmer, but even good swimmers could drown. She might have blacked out from an arrhythmia, or had her leg seize up from a cramp. Jo thought of the fourteen-year-old boy whose body they’d recovered from Pitcher Pond last summer, a boy who everyone said could swim. Because it was an inland body of water, the Maine Warden Service dive team had been called to recover the boy. She remembered how tenderly the diver had lifted the body bag out of the boat after they’d brought it ashore. Jo did not look forward to seeing Zoe Conover’s body dragged out of the water, but that’s where she probably was right now, lying beneath this satiny surface. Not a kidnapping, not a murder, but a tragic accident. It was time to bring in the warden service.

She pulled out her cell phone and called her brother Finn.

Chapter 14

Maggie

From their perch on a knoll above Maiden Pond, Maggie and her friends watched the Maine Warden Service dive boat as it motored back and forth across the water. They had brought a picnic lunch to sustain them for their surveillance: a platter of Turkish mezes, cucumber sandwiches, and Thai summer rolls, fragrant with herbs. A rather uncoordinated menu, but that was the nature of potlucks.

Lloyd had brought wine, of course. Two bottles of sparkling rosé, thoroughly chilled in a cooler packed with ice, the perfect beverage for a hot summer day. “If one must be on surveillance, one should make the best of it,” he said, pouring the wine into plastic cups. Not that Lloyd had ever engaged in surveillance, but he’d heard enough of their war stories to know that actually serving in the field would not have been his cup of tea. “And it’s such a fine day for this,” he said, handing Maggie a cup.

“I’ve had far worse assignments,” she said, setting down her binoculars to take a sip of rosé. Wine wasn’t the best choice of beverage for the situation, as her companions were already looking a bit lethargic in the heat. Ben was stretched out like a lizard on a rock, his Tilley hat pulled over his face. Declan was doing knee bends, trying to work out the stiffness in his joints. At the moment, Ingrid was the only one keepingan eagle eye on the activity below, her Swarovski binoculars trained on the warden service boat.

“Anything happening down there?” asked Lloyd.

“They’re just following the search grid,” she said. “It doesn’t look like they’ve picked up anything on sonar yet.”

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