Page 17 of Crossing Lines

One of Kirsten’s friends was named Mary Ryder. She lived with her parents in an old farmhouse with a sweeping view of the white mountains. The farmhouse could have used a good coat of paint, as many in town could, but the view would never get shabby, at least where Jo was concerned.

Mary’s parents weren’t home, but she was eighteen, so they could talk to her alone. They sat in rocking chairs on the front porch facing the view.

Mary was a short brunette. Her brown eyes were rimmed red from crying. She smiled briefly as she bent down to greet Lucy, but fresh tears came when she started talking about her friend.

“Kirsten was a good kid. She didn’t deserve what happened to her.” Mary wrung a tissue in her hand.

“Of course not,” Jo soothed. “We want to catch the guy who did this, and you might be able to help. You were with her that night. Did you notice anything unusual?”

Mary gazed unseeingly at the view as she thought. “No. We were just partying like any other night.” She frowned and glanced quickly at Sam. “I know we’re not supposed to party in the woods, but what else is there to do in this town?”

Sam smiled to ease her worry. He had a bright, reassuring smile, and Jo realized he hadn’t smiled as much at her since she’d told him about her sister’s case. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to take action against anyone for partying in the woods. We’ve got more serious issues at hand.”

“Maybe if you could think back and try to remember what she did that night. Were you together all night? When was the last time you saw her?” Jo asked.

Mary looked down at her lap, a teardrop falling on the shredded tissue clutched in her fist. She sniffled. “We were together at first. There were a lot of kids there that night. And Kirsten… well, she kind of likes this guy, Ricky Webster.”

Jo glanced at Sam, making a mental note to look into Ricky Webster. “Was she with Ricky that night?”

Mary pressed her lips together. “I’m not sure.”

“So you weren’t with her all night?” Jo asked.

Mary shook her head. “I mean, we saw each other here and there, but you know how it is. It was a big party, lots of people to talk to, and people tend to split off into little groups.”

Jo nodded. She remembered how it was, though thinking of how long it had been since she’d partied made her feel ancient instead of only thirty-eight.

“So you don’t really know who she was with? Didn’t you see her at the end of the night?” Sam asked.

Mary’s face turned red. “No. I left a little early with my boyfriend.”

“What time did you leave? Jo asked.

Mary glanced nervously at the house, probably not wanting her siblings, who they could hear running around inside, to tattle on her. “Around midnight.”

“Was Kirsten at the party when you left?”

Mary grimaced. “I can’t be sure.”

Establishing a timeline wasn’t going to be easy. Who watched the clock at a party? “When was the last time you remember seeing her at the party? What was she doing? Who was she talking to? Can you give us a rough idea of the time?”

Mary closed her eyes as if trying to envision the scene. “I can’t really say what time it was, but the last I remember seeing her was maybe an hour or two after she got there; probably around eleven. She was talking to a bunch of guys, Jesse Cowley, Bobby Anders, Craig Danskill.”

“And nothing after that? Did you think that was unusual that you didn’t see her before she left?” Sam asked.

“No. It’s not like we keep tabs on each other, and like I said, it was crowded, so she could have been there and I just didn’t notice her.”

Jo shifted in her chair. This was going nowhere, not to mention that Mary had probably been drinking and who knew what else, so her memory wasn’t very reliable in the first place. “Kirsten’s car was at her house. Her mother said she went to the party with a friend. Wouldn’t the person she came with have wanted to give her a ride home?”

“Not necessarily. A lot of times, we just get rides with each other, and then if one person wants to stay longer or leave earlier, we just get a ride with someone else.”

“Do you know who Kirsten got a ride to the party with that night?” Maria Stillwell hadn’t known who had picked Kirsten up, and her cell phone texts didn’t glean any clues. In fact, she hadn’t texted or called much that night at all.

“Oh, sure. It was Shelly. Shelly Macintyre. But I don’t remember if they left together. Sorry, I wish I could be more help.”

“You’ve been a big help.” Shelly Macintyre was actually next on their list. .

Sam stood and called to Lucy, then turned to Mary, who was still sitting. “Did Kirsten have any enemies? Anyone that would want to hurt her?”

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