Page 46 of The Summer Guests

Chapter 22

This wasn’t their usual day of the month for potluck and martinis, but with so many new developments in the investigation, they’d called an emergency meeting at Ben Diamond’s house, on the edge of Purity village. Maggie had spent the afternoon getting Callie settled into her guest bedroom, so she’d brought no dish for tonight’s potluck. Instead, she’d come with the most valuable contribution of all: information.

Her four friends were already there, standing in Ben’s walled garden with drinks in hand.

Beyond those brick walls was a protective acre of woods, all part of Ben’s property, so they had little fear of their conversation being overheard. The garden had been designed and planted by Ben’s late wife, Evelyn, who’d passed away only a year after she and Ben moved to Maine, and it remained a living memorial to her horticultural talents. Evelyn had been a civilian, never part of the intelligence community, so Maggie had not known her well, but judging by the lushness of these plantings, Evelyn had possessed something Maggie would never have: a green thumb.

“Here you go, Mags,” said Declan, handing her a chilled martini. “Belvedere, extra dry, lemon twist.”

Maggie took a sip and sighed with satisfaction. “Why are you still single?”

“Because you keep turning me down.”

“Have I heard a proposal?”

“Enough flirting, you two,” growled Ben. “Maggie, you said you have new intel?”

Maggie set down the deliciously smooth martini on Ben’s wrought iron garden table. “It took some delicacy. Callie’s only fourteen, and she’s still shy about bodily functions. But I believe we’re on the right track about why that blood was in Luther’s truck. Now we just have to wait for the police to catch up.”

“Do they need a helpful push?” asked Ben.

Maggie shook her head. “Jo’s a proud woman. Let’s not make her feel inadequate. I’m pretty sure she got my hint, and I expect she’ll have confirmation from the crime lab by the time she gets here.” Maggie looked at Ingrid. “Your turn. What did you learn about that missing woman, Vivian Stillwater?”

Ingrid sighed, and that was not a good sign. Instead of her usual triumphant smile, Ingrid shook her head, which for her was an admission of abject defeat. “Vivian Stillwater,” she said, “is an enigma.”

“Nowthisis getting interesting,” said Ben.

“And it’s made herveryfrustrated,” said Lloyd, dropping ice cubes into the cocktail shaker. He didn’t bother measuring the gin but simply poured in a generous slug straight from the bottle. “She’s usually on top of things. And when she isn’t on top of things, well, that’s not pleasant to live with.”

“I can imagine.” Ben laughed. “Her being Ingrid and all.”

“No, this really is worrying,” said Ingrid. “Aside from that lone article in thePurity Weeklyarchives, I can’t find any other reference to the woman’s disappearance. There was no follow-up article, no mention of the woman in any other regional newspapers.”

“Did you locate the reporter who wrote it?” Declan asked.

“Deceased. This article was written fifty-three years ago, after all.”

“Could Vivian Stillwater be dead, as well?”

“I searched for her death certificate. Couldn’t find one,” said Ingrid. “In fact, I couldn’t findanythingabout the woman after 1972. It’s as if she sailed off and disappeared into the sunset. It shouldn’t be this hardto find people. And that’s what bothers me the most. There should be a paper trail. There should berecords.”

“Whatdowe know about Vivian Stillwater?” Ben asked.

“Not much more than what was written in thatPurity Weeklyarticle. It said Vivian was living on Maiden Pond, that she’d planned to drive down to Boston for the weekend to visit her sister, Catherine Stillwater. When Vivian didn’t show up as scheduled, the sister called the Purity police and reported her missing.”

“So a woman vanishes from Maiden Pond in 1972,” said Ben. “Fifty-three years later, a woman’s skeleton gets pulled out of that same pond.” He looked around at his friends. “Shouldn’t the police have made the connection? Assuming her missing persons file is still open?”

“It has been half a century,” Maggie pointed out. “Files can get lost.”

“Maybe. But I’ll tell you whatreallypuzzles me,” said Ingrid. “Why can’t I find any documents related to Vivian after 1972?There’sthe mystery. She goes missing, and so does any official record of her fate. All we have is that one article, in our piddly little town newspaper. And then, complete silence.” Ingrid paused. “Thatgets my juices flowing.”

“Oh boy,” said Lloyd, taking a gulp of martini. “Here we go.”

Indeed, it got the juices flowing in all of them. Careless misplacement of information was one thing; a mysteriouslackof information was something entirely different. Now they were thinking about the possibility of deliberate redaction, which made Vivian Stillwater far more interesting.

“What about that sister in Boston?” Declan asked. “Have you tracked her down?”

“I’m trying to track her down, too, but without much luck so far. Again, it’s been fifty-three years. She may have changed her name. She may have passed on. Once I put it all together, I’ll hand it to Jo, wrapped up in a pretty ribbon.”

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