Page 45 of The Summer Guests

The woman’s distress was so palpable that Maggie wanted to reach out and take her hand, but after what Susan had just said about feeling smothered, it seemed like that simple gesture would be an invasion ofthe woman’s personal space. She did not touch her at all, merely murmured in sympathy.

“You mentioned this man, Reuben Tarkin,” said Maggie. “What does your family say about him?”

“They said he’s been causing trouble for years. Trespassing. Vandalism.”

“Against the Conovers in particular?”

“He’s also harassed their neighbor, Arthur Fox. Elizabeth thinks it’s just the usual tension between locals and summer people, but this man has a family history of violence. Arthur and Elizabeth wouldn’t tell me much about it. It’s as if they don’t want to talk about it. So I went to the library to look up the name Tarkin.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the pages that she’d printed in the library. She handed them to Maggie. “This was in the local newspaper archives.”

The first page was from the front page of thePurity Weekly, dated July 1972. The headline was so prominent it practically shouted from above the masthead, in a font size usually reserved for global catastrophes.

Massacre on Main Street

Five Dead, Including Purity Police Officer

A van driven by a local man careened down Main Street on Wednesday morning, mowing down three people before crashing into a parked car. The driver, 36-year-old Samuel Tarkin of Purity, Maine, was then confronted by Purity police officer Randy Pelletier, and in the struggle that followed, Pelletier was fatally shot with his own weapon. Tarkin was later shot and killed by Police Chief Donald Warren ...

Such a tragedy would leave deep scars in a small town, even half a century later, and Maggie was surprised she had not heard about this incident. She looked at Susan. “This killer, Sam Tarkin—”

“Was Reuben’s father.”

Maggie flipped to the next article. It was the front page of the following week’s edition, and the massacre on Main Street was still the top story. Three of the dead, including the killer, were from Purity, and two of the victims were identified as tourists from out of town, both complete strangers to the killer. The motive for the massacre remained a mystery.

“Samuel Tarkin murdered four people,” said Susan. “He was a violent man. What does that tell us about his son?”

“I’m not sure it tells us anything about Reuben.”

“His father deliberately mowed down three people with his van and then shot a policeman in cold blood. The article describes Tarkin as berserk, screaming about monsters. Clearly, he was insane. What if mental illness runs in the family? And his son lives right across the pond from us.”

Maggie turned to the next photocopied page. Once again, it was from thePurity Weekly, but dated three weeks later. The massacre by Sam Tarkin was still on the front page, but the typeface was smaller, reflecting the receding horror. Even the most traumatizing events inevitably faded into memory.

Gunman Had No History of Violence; Motive Remains Unknown

“Can you believe people described him as a caring father and husband?” Susan shook her head and said, with a bitter laugh, “A caring father and husband who just wakes up one day and decides to slaughter four people.”

But Maggie’s attention was not on the article about Sam Tarkin and his bloody assault on Main Street. Instead, she stared at an unrelated article printed just beneath it.

Woman Missing

Purity PD is asking the public for information on the whereabouts of Miss Vivian Stillwater, 27 years old. She was last seen Friday morning at her rental cottage on Maiden Pond. She had planned to drive to Boston that afternoon, but when she failed to arrive, she was reported missing by her sister, Catherine Stillwater ...

The rest of the article was cut off by the bottom of the page.

“He looked so ordinary,” said Susan, pointing to the photo of Sam Tarkin.

It was an image of Tarkin and his wife, standing in front of their house on Maiden Pond. The man had a blandly pleasant face and smiling eyes, and Susan was right: there was nothing in that photo to indicate that he would one day mow down three pedestrians with his van. That he would execute a police officer, using the officer’s own weapon.

“Violence sometimes runs in families,” Susan said.

“It can.”

“And Reuben lives right across the pond from us. He watches us. He would have seen Zoe swimming. He would have known she’s a Conover, part of the family he hates so much.”

Maggie’s attention was back instead on the article about Vivian Stillwater. On the photo of a young woman with wide eyes and thick lashes and a curtain of hair tumbling to her shoulders. She thought about the skeleton dredged up from Maiden Pond, the bones of a young woman, still unidentified. Fifty-three years ago, Vivian Stillwater had gone missing from that same pond. Had she ever been found?

“Given his family history, and the fact he’s livingright there, don’t you think the police should be asking questions about him?” said Susan.

“Yes, they should be,” said Maggie, her gaze still on the photo of Vivian Stillwater.About her, as well.

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