Page 44 of The Summer Guests

She nodded in recognition. “You were helping with the search.”

“Yes, my friends and I.” She needed to win this woman’s trust, and a small lie might well serve that purpose. “We work with the local police from time to time. Whenever Chief Thibodeau needs assistance.”Which she certainly needs now.“We’re the eyes and ears of the community, and we’re doing everything we can to help find your daughter.”

“Thank you,” Susan said softly. She looked toward the police station. “They’re saying he did it. The farmer. That he just hasn’t confessed yet.”

“Who’s saying that?”

“My family. They’re all convinced it was him.”

“Are you convinced?”

“He’s been arrested, hasn’t he?” In the eyes of most people, that fact alone was evidence enough of guilt.

“But doyoubelieve Mr. Yount is guilty?”

“I don’t know.” She glanced skyward, as if looking for divine help. The sunlight glared down on her face, cruelly illuminating every wrinkle. Nothing aged a person faster than grief, and in that unsparing light, the loss of her daughter could be seen etched into every line of her face. “God, I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

What Maggie said next could destroy any chance of gaining this woman’s trust, but she needed to say it, and this might be her only chance. “I know Mr. Yount, Susan. In fact, I know him very well. I don’t believe he took your daughter.”

Susan frowned at her. This might have been a mistake. By coming to Luther’s defense, perhaps that would make Maggie the enemy.

“You said you’re the eyes and ears of the community,” Susan said.

“Yes. We are.”

“Then tell me about the man who lives in the house across the pond from us. His name is Reuben Tarkin.”

“Why are you asking about him?”

“Because he has a grudge against my husband’s family. I don’t know why, but I know it goes back years. I know he’s been watching us ever since we arrived. Not just watching us,studyingus. And yesterday, when everyone else was at the memorial service, when I was home alone, that man came to the house. And he wasn’t friendly.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“No. But something happened long ago between him and the Conovers, and he still holds it against them. He’s vandalized their property. Frightened off one of their employees. I can’t help wondering if he’s the one who ...” Her voice trailed off, and she looked at the police station. “When Chief Thibodeau came to get my DNA swab, I told her about it, and she said she’d talk to him. But then I heard they arrested Mr. Yount this morning. So maybe Reuben Tarkin’s not important, after all. Maybe he’s just an angry old man.”

“Every town has one.”

Susan gave a sad shake of the head. “Or two.”

Maggie looked down the street at the Marigold Café. “Would you like to have a cup of coffee with me?”

Susan thought about it for a moment, as if weighing a momentous decision. Events had so cruelly battered this woman that she seemed unable to make even the simple decision of whether or not to have a cup of coffee with a friendly face.

At last, she nodded. “I’d like that.”

Although the café was half-empty, Maggie chose a booth in the far corner, instinctively opting for the spot that would afford them themost privacy, as well as the best spot from which to monitor their surroundings. Whether the conversation was about murder or meringues, she had an aversion to being overheard. The Marigold was not a place for fine dining or cappuccino, but it was comfortingly familiar, and she knew the rear exit opened directly into the public parking lot, a convenient feature if one needed to make a quick escape.

Their coffees arrived in the same institutional white mugs one could find in diners and truck stops across the country, built to survive tumbles to the floor and thousands of cycles in the dishwasher. Not the most elegant of vessels, but in the Marigold, the brew was reliably hot and strong, and Susan sipped hers with a look of quiet gratitude.

“God, I’m glad to be out of the house,” she murmured, inhaling the fragrant steam from her mug. “To have time away from the family.”

“Families can be complicated,” Maggie said. It was a Rorschach statement, open to interpretation. A prompt to make the woman continue, and she did.

“They’re not evenmyfamily. Ethan’s the one I married, notthem. But for better or worse, they came with the package, and I’m still feeling my way around them.”

“They must seem practically like strangers, then.”

“There’s no ‘practically’ about it. It’s like I’ve walked into a room where a conversation’s been going on for the last fifty years, and I’m just trying to catch up. Of course I can’t. I don’t know all the obscure references, the names they throw around. With Zoe missing, I’m just trying to hold on to my sanity. I can’t deal withthemtoo. I feel like I can’t breathe, with all of us in the same house. Plus, those two neighbors always trooping in and out, as if they’re part of the family.” She dragged her fingers through her hair. “I just want to find my daughter and go home.”

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