Page 62 of Coming Home

“I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Martin is no longer with the firm. Mr. Watterscheim is still a partner, however, and Mr. Flannigan is also available.”

“Is he a partner like Mr. Martin was?” Anthony asked, a touch a naivety in his voice.

“Yes, Mr. Flannigan bought out Mr. Martin’s share of the partnership. I’m sure either Mr. Flannigan or Mr. Watterscheim would be happy to represent you in your upcoming matter.”

“Oh, I’ll have to think it over. Mr. Martin did such a wonderful job in court. I’m a little reluctant to be represented by another attorney. I suppose you can’t share with me where his new office is.”

“Mr. Martin left the state, Mr. Johnson. He wouldn’t be available to serve as your attorney.”

“I see. Is he still practicing law? I certainly hope so. It would be a shame to lose someone so talented.”

“Mr. Martin is now practicing in his hometown. Maple Cove, Oregon.”

Bingo.

“You don’t think he would consider coming back to California?” Anthony added a touch of a whine.

“No, I’m afraid not.” She paused. “Can I set up an appointment for you?”

Anthony went ahead and made the appointment for the non-existent Sam Johnson, giving the receptionist the burner’s number. When the client didn’t show and the phone number proved to be a dead end, the matter would be quickly dropped.

Immediately after disconnecting the call, he searched for Maple Cove, Oregon, finding it was a coastal town about an hour west of Portland. He pulled up pictures of the area. A map of the town. Reviewed the Chamber of Commerce’s website, where the only attorney listed was a Clancy Nelson.

Anthony then typed in Jackson Martin and Maple Cove—and hit a treasure trove.

His attorney had been quite the scholar-athlete, finishing first in his high school class and lettering in three sports. He skimmed the stats of games Martin had played in and how he won an academic scholarship to the University of Southern California.

Then his search led him to a new website. That of Maple Cove’s newest attorney. Jackson Martin’s handsome, smiling face looked back at him. Perusing the website, he saw the services offered and thought it a shame for such a brilliant lawyer to be stuck in a small town. He found an online story in a local newspaper which reported the retirement of Clancy Nelson, who had practiced in Maple Cove almost six decades, and how his law practice was being taking over by former hometown hero Jackson Martin.

He did a thorough search of Martin’s name, adding Oregon and Maple Cove to those searches. He discovered his attorney had sat for the bar and passed it at the same time he’d earned the right to practice in California, so maybe Martin had always planned to return home. Maybe the retirement of this community leader and assuming his practice was too good to pass up.

Then he stumbled across an interesting tidbit. A marriage license which had been filed with the Barton County courthouse. It seems Jackson Martin had recently married an Ainsley Robinson. Quickly, he went back to some of the Maple Cove sites because he recalled seeing that name.

Yes, there she was, listed as the owner of the Buttercup Bakery by the Chamber of Commerce. He changed his search, suddenly interested to find out everything he could about Jackson Martin’s new bride. They had certainly married quickly. Anthony wondered if they had been engaged for a lengthy period or if she had been a former girlfriend of Martin’s whom he’d connected with when he returned home.

He clicked on the chamber’s listing of Buttercup Bakery, and the Robinson woman’s website came up. Scrolling through the site, his mouth began to water at the scrumptious pictures. It seemed Ainsley Robinson—now Ainsley Martin—was an incredible artist as far as sweets went.

Then he clicked on the about tab, bringing up her picture and bio. Reading the information, a slow smile spread across his face.

Ainsley Martin was a blond. And just the type he loved to kill.

CHAPTER 22

Anthony pulled the Chevy into a parking spot along the Maple Cove square. He had been here two days now, staying two towns away in a Crescent Cove bed-and-breakfast. He had put trackers on both Jackson’s and Ainsley’s vehicles and become familiar with the area and their movements. He had studied the Buttercup Bakery website and decided he would see if he could meet with Ainsley about a wedding cake, to get to know her. Usually, he didn’t meet his kills in person before their playtime together. He stalked them from afar, only learning of them through their online presence. Social media was a godsend for information about a person. People put up the most personal aspects of their lives, down to what they ate for breakfast each morning and where they vacationed.

He now entered Sid’s Diner, which he knew to be the heart of this small town. A woman greeted him, the tag on her blouse revealing her name was Nancy.

“Table for one?” she asked.

“Yes, please. A booth if you don’t mind me taking up that much room.”

He glanced around the diner. It had been crowded when he had driven by early yesterday morning, but he had waited until almost nine o’clock on a weekday, and the crowd had thinned considerably.

“Not a problem, sir,” the older woman said. “Right this way.”

She led him to a booth in the center of a wall of booths, and he slid in, accepting the menu she offered him.

“I always like to ask for a personal recommendation when I’m eating somewhere new. What do you suggest I try?” he asked, a technique he used to disarm strangers.

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