Page 55 of The Summer Guests

“Nothing! I haven’t done a damn thing!” He glowered at Jo. “So why’re you here?”

“I just want to talk,” said Jo.

“Yeah, that’s how it always begins, doesn’t it?”

“It’s about your visit to Moonview the other day. You scared Mrs. Conover, you know.”

“Didn’t mean to. I don’t have anything againsther.”

“Still, she was rattled. And with her daughter missing, she can’t help wondering—”

“If I had something to do with it?” He scoffed. “Of course they pointed their finger at me. Who else they gonna blame?”

“Can I come in?”

“Can I stop you?”

“We can talk here, or we can talk down at the station. Which would you prefer?”

“Reuben!” his sister called out. “For heaven’s sake, just let her come in!”

After a moment, he finally stepped aside, and Jo eased past him, into the house. Unlike the ramshackle exterior, the interior of the house was neatly kept. The kitchen countertops were uncluttered, not a single dirty dish was in the sink, and the linoleum floor, although yellow with age, was swept clean.

Wordlessly, Reuben led her through the kitchen and into the living room, where she saw the same tired furniture that was here during her previous visit: A faded sofa, its worn upholstery prettied up by hand-quilted throw pillows. An armchair with a seat cushion that years of use had left permanently imprinted with the contours of someone’s backside. Through the large picture window facing the pond, Jo could see stately Moonview directly across the water. The object of Reuben’s hatred was always in full view.

Jo heard the squeak of a wheelchair, and she turned to see Abigail in the bedroom doorway. Abigail had to be close to seventy, but she still wore her silver hair in a long and girlish braid that trailed over her shoulder, onto her pink polyester blouse. Abigail gave Reuben a questioning look. He merely shrugged, sank into the armchair, and stared at the window.

“Hello, Ms. Tarkin,” said Jo. “I just want to have a few words with your brother. You may not remember me, but—”

“You’re the new chief now, aren’t you? You took over from Glen Cooney.”

“Yes, ma’am. Acting chief, for now.”

“Glen was a decent man. He always tried to be fair to Reuben.”

Jo heard the unspoken message in that sentence:Will you be as fair as Glen was?

“Yes, he left me awfully big shoes to fill. I’m trying my best.” She looked at Reuben, who refused to return her gaze and sat with his arms stubbornly crossed. The house was too small to conduct the interview with any semblance of privacy, so Jo simply sat down on the sofa, among all those throw pillows, and allowed Abigail to remain in the bedroom doorway. She’d probably hear everything they said, anyway.

Jo said to Reuben, “What is this feud between you and the Conovers, anyway?”

“No one’s business but mine,” he said.

“Actually, it is my business. Now that we’ve got a missing girl.”

“Don’t know a thing about that. My beef is with the family.”

“And what is that beef about? Money?”

“No.”

“What did they do to you, Reuben?”

“It’s not what they did tome.”

“To whom, then?”

“Reuben,” Abigail cut in.

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