Arlie Babcock’s name was faintly familiar. Cate raised a brow at Tessa.

  “Arlie lives with his mother just outside of North Sound,” Tessa supplied. “He’s probably in his fifties now. His mother keeps to herself.”

  Translation: not part of the knitting and activist circle like many of the older women on the island.

  “Why do you ask?” Jon questioned.

  “The date I asked about was when Samantha Bishop disappeared,” said Cate. “Last week some of her jewelry was found in the old pump house by the orchard.”

  Jon looked stunned. “The pump house? How do you know the jewelry was hers?”

  “Trust us on that one. It’s been verified by two reputable sources.” Tessa and me. “Would both Brad and Arlie have had access to the pump house?”

  “Of course. Wasn’t like I locked it up.”

  “Could it have been locked?” asked Cate. The pump house door had shown no evidence of a lock.

  “Sure. There was always a chain with a lock on the outside. We never locked it because there was no point.”

  “So anyone could have access to the inside?”

  “I guess.” His thick eyebrows came together. “Are you saying that girl was locked in there? She was never found, right? I remember the big to-do when she went missing.”

  “It’s a possibility. We’re not sure how else her jewelry could have ended up there unless she had been inside at one point.”

  Embarrassment crossed his face. “I know teenagers sometimes used it for . . . well, you know.”

  Sex? Drugs? Drinking?

  “I didn’t care that much. Occasionally cleaned out a few beer bottles. No one ever caused any damage. I remember what it was like to need a place to get out from under your parent’s eye.”

  “She could have partied there, is what you’re saying,” Tessa said.

  He shrugged. “It’s possible.”

  She would have dragged us along or at least told us if she partied there.

  Tessa looked at Cate, her eyes reflecting the same thought.

  If Samantha had gone to the farm without them, it wouldn’t have been willingly.

  “Did Brad party with high school girls?” Cate asked bluntly. “He would have been around twenty at the time.”

  Jon lifted his hands. “I have no idea. He came home to sleep. Sometimes not even for that. Was irresponsible in showing up to work when I wanted him to—of course, then he’d be pissed he had no paycheck. It never sunk in that the amount of effort he put into a job equaled how big his paycheck was.”

  “Then why’d you give him a job?”

  “He was my son,” Jon said simply. “No one else would hire him. For my own peace of mind, I had to at least give him the opportunity to prove himself. Never happened.”

  “Where is Brad’s mother these days? Would she remember anything from back then?”

  He snorted. “Hell no. She took off when he was five. Said she couldn’t handle the isolation of the island. She’s been living in eastern Washington since then—in a fucking very isolated town—and has remarried twice since she left.”

  The island has a way of expelling the people who aren’t meant to be here.

  The room was silent for a long moment, and the women exchanged a glance. They were done. Both stood.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Gill,” Tessa said, and Cate echoed the words. “We’re very sorry for your loss.”

  Jon appeared to shrink in his chair, but he took a deep breath and stood to give them firm handshakes. “Hope you find some answers,” he told them.

  The sun had set by the time they pulled away from the apartments, and Tessa’s relief about the successful encounter was nearly palpable inside the vehicle.

  “Remember how Samantha bragged about having pot that night . . . and she had a ride with someone,” said Cate. “I always had the impression it was someone older. Could it have been Brad Gill?”

  “Can’t ask him,” Tessa said sourly.

  Have we hit a dead end already?

  “I want to check in with Samantha’s mother, and we need to talk to Arlie Babcock,” Cate went on. “What’s he like?”

  “I don’t know. Haven’t had any encounters with him, so I guess that’s a good sign. If he works, I don’t know where.”

  “Tessa.” Cate’s heart stopped at an abrupt thought. “Do we need to bring in ground-penetrating radar to check around the pump house and farm?”

  Tessa’s knuckles whitened, her grip tight on the steering wheel. “Jesus. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because we didn’t want to consider that she could be . . . ” In Cate’s head, Samantha was alive somewhere, and now this personal belief had affected her investigation process. A rookie mistake that they’d both made.

  “We can’t afford equipment like that,” Tessa stated.

  “I’m sure the bureau has access to one.”

  “But Samantha’s case isn’t active.”

  “Missing children cases are always active. The necklace might be a strong-enough reason to get a GPR to the island.”

  “There’s too much physical ground to cover. The orchard is huge, and just scanning the pump house won’t be sufficient. We need more evidence.”

  Cate knew she was right. “It’s something to keep in mind.”

  “Let’s find out what Arlie has to say first. There’s no rush.”

  Translation: if Samantha was dead, it made no difference if they found her remains now or later.

  Except for their own peace of mind.

  2

  The next morning Cate stopped at Sam’s mother’s home. Tessa was working on Brad Gill’s case and had called Cate early to say she would have to talk to Marsha Bishop and Arlie Babcock on her own.

  Cate understood. She had the freedom to look for Samantha; Tessa’s current investigation was her priority.

  Samantha had occupied Cate’s thoughts since the necklace had been found. A million explanations for its appearance had rocketed through her head—all of them weak.

  Had Sam’s coat been left on Widow’s Walk that night to steer the investigation somewhere else?

  Samantha’s mother lived in a tiny home in North Sound that was within walking distance of the shops and restaurants. Marsha’s mental health had been slightly unstable since her daughter disappeared, and her husband’s suicide soon after hadn’t helped. The family of three used to live in the glamorous Bishop mansion and had been the closest thing to royalty on the island. A direct descendant of Elias and Camilla Bishop, Samantha had never cared about the lineage; but Marsha had been proud and borderline boastful that she’d married into the line. Although the Bishops had once been leaders in the community, the tragedy of Samantha’s disappearance had nearly ground the family into dust.

  Marsha was a thin wisp of her former self and eked out a living by selling her jewelry at Shiny Objects, the jewelry and trinket store. Since Cate had returned to the island, she’d learned Marsha mindlessly strolling the roads and beaches of North Sound was a regular sight.

  Samantha’s mother opened the door, glee on her face, as Cate stepped out of her car. Cate had called that morning and asked to meet. Her happy expression squeezed Cate’s heart, creating a sting of guilt. She’d only talked with Marsha once since she’d been home.

  Jane had organized a few women to check on Marsha once a week. They made certain there was sufficient food in the refrigerator and that her medications were up to date, and gave her some social time.

  Marsha ran to Cate and hugged her. “I’m so glad to see you!” Marsha stepped back and studied Cate from head to toe, her own eyes sharp and clear. She’s alert today. “Come in, come in. I have a fresh pot of coffee.”

  Inside she seated Cate at a large table in her kitchen. A cup of coffee and a plate of fresh-baked banana bread appeared, filling the kitchen with heavenly smells. Two-thirds of the table was Marsha’s work space. All sizes and colors of beads, wire, and gems sparkled and gleamed among her tools. A few finished pieces caught Cate’s eye. Marsha’s work was exquisite and exactly Cate’s taste. She complimented her hostess, who beamed.

  “I was so happy to hear from you. What can I help you with?”

  The clarity in Marsha’s eyes encouraged Cate. “Tessa and I are looking into Samantha’s case like you suggested.”

  Tears welled. “Oh, thank you so much. I know you girls will get to the bottom of it. Those investigators were bumbling fools. They spent all their time harassing Michael instead of searching for Samantha.” She dabbed her nose with a napkin.

  The affection from Marsha felt genuine, but Cate couldn’t help but compare it with how Marsha had treated her as a teen. Samantha’s mother had ignored Cate and looked down her nose at Jane and her grandchildren. Cate hadn’t understood until Jane had explained that Cate was a descendant of Elias Bishop’s illicit affair with his lover, Ruby, so Marsha viewed her as not worth her time.

  Cate had hesitantly asked Samantha about her mother’s views. Her friend had rolled her eyes and called her mother ridiculous. “Why does it matter where the blood in your veins came from?” Sam had asked. “How does that make one person more important than another?”

  Judging by her smile for Cate, Marsha thought differently now.

  “I refuse to believe that Elias’s line might have ended with Michael’s suicide.” Marsha sighed.

  Or maybe she doesn’t think differently.

  Cate and Logan were also Elias’s descendants. Not that Cate gave a shit, but Marsha’s words were like nails on a chalkboard.

  “Marsha,” Cate began slowly, “if you think Sam is still alive, why haven’t we heard from her?”

  “That’s a very good question.” Her wide blue eyes were guileless, and she looked expectantly at Cate, waiting for an answer.

  Cate didn’t have one. “The night—”

  “I know, I know,” Marsha said. “She was sneaking out to meet you girls.”

  Wrong. “Marsha, she wasn’t. We told her we wouldn’t go—she was meeting someone else. Didn’t the police tell you that?”

  Marsha thought hard. “I can’t remember. Maybe they did. The investigators talked to me dozens of times. It’s all a blur.”

  “She snuck out to meet a guy,” Cate told her. “I think he was older.”

  Marsha leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “Samantha thought I didn’t know she snuck out at night, but I did. What kid didn’t at that age?”

  She was fourteen.

  “You knew and let her do it?”

  She shrugged. “What trouble could she get into on the island? And I assumed you and Tessa were usually with her.” She frowned, an odd light entering her eyes. “I didn’t think you were the best influence on her, but I felt better knowing she had friends with her.”

  Sam didn’t have friends that night.

  “Did your husband know Sam would leave at night?”

  “Oh, no. He would have grounded her. I didn’t want her curtailed like that for having a little fun. Like I said. All kids did it.”

  Dozens of “What if?” statements bombarded Cate. What if Sam’s father had known and put a stop to it? What if Cate and Tessa had gone with her? What if Marsha had exercised some parental discipline?

  “She’ll come home when she’s ready,” Marsha said confidently as she poured more coffee in Cate’s cup. “Especially when you convince her.”

  Oh, Marsha.

  Cate was driving to interview Arlie Babcock when her phone rang. She saw Tessa’s number and answered.

  “Did you talk to Marsha?” asked Tessa.

  “I did. I thought she was mentally in a good spot, but she said a few things that made me wonder.” She updated Tessa on Marsha’s belief that Samantha was still alive and had chosen to not contact her. And then told her that Marsha thought Samantha had been meeting with the two of them.

  “Maybe she’s forgotten some things over the years,” said Tessa.

  “Those seem pretty big. Her mental state might be worse than I thought.”

  “Or selective memory. Maybe it’s easier to believe that Samantha was meeting us instead of a stranger.”

  “She’s expecting her to come home.”

  Tessa went silent. Cate did too, wondering what it was like to live in a constant state of waiting.

  Tessa broke the silence. “Remember how our police interviews were missing from Sam’s case file? I found them.”

  “Where?”

  “Can you believe they were misfiled? I had checked to see what else happened on the island around Sam’s disappearance, and I pulled a few cases from the same time period. They were together in one of those files.”

  “That’s unacceptable.”

  “I agree. But at least they turned up.” She paused. “They aren’t very complete. Both our statements are nearly identical. They simply say that the last time we saw her was at school that day and then never heard from her.”

  “They don’t say she asked us to meet her at Widow’s Walk and was planning to meet someone to smoke pot?”

  “Nope.”

  “What the hell?” Fury rocked Cate. “Who wrote up those interviews?”

  “The previous sheriff.”

  “Was he deliberately being obtuse or trying to cover up what we said?” Cate gasped. “Did he misfile them on purpose?”

  “My thoughts exactly—hang on. I’ll put you on hold. I’m getting another call.” The line went silent.

  Cate’s mind spun. Had Tessa discovered a cover-up? Why would the sheriff make so many mistakes? Granted he had been near retirement when Samantha disappeared, and now he had passed away, but there was no excuse for misfiling the incomplete statements.

  “Cate? That was the medical examiner.”

  “Already? Didn’t he just get Brad Gill’s body a few hours ago?”

  “He’s not finished with the autopsy, but I’d asked him to get me the early tox screenings as soon as he had them.”

  “And?”

  “Brad had marijuana in his system.”

  “Doesn’t everyone on the island?”

  Tessa laughed. “Some days I think so. But his reading was very minimal. When he examined the contents of Brad’s stomach, he found a chocolate doughy substance. It appeared he’d eaten just before getting on his bike.”

  “Pot brownie?”

  “Possibly.”

  “He could have gotten that anywhere now that it’s legal in Washington. Maybe he made his own.”

  “I didn’t see anything when I went through his home this morning to indicate he had made or kept brownies on hand.”

  “You’re saying you want to stop by the bakery.”

  “I need to put together his last twenty-four hours. Checking with Edith is appropriate to see if he was in the bakery that day.”

  “Now? I’m five minutes from the bakery. Would you like me to meet you? I wouldn’t mind some lunch before I interview Arlie,” said Cate as she pulled to the side of the road and prepared to make a U-turn.

  “Perfect. I’m starved.”

  “Me too.”

  Cate parked near the Black Tail Bakery and saw Tessa bundled up in a thick coat against the cold out front. The island had one licensed marijuana dispensary—and it wasn’t the bakery—but Edith Starr had been selling pot-infused brownies under the counter for thirty years. It was Widow’s most open secret.

  Inside, the shop was empty. Not an unusual sight during the off season on the island. Edith appeared from a back room as the bell on the front door jingled.

  “Well, hello, girls!”

  No matter that both women were in their thirties, they’d always be girls to most of the people on the island.

  Edith’s wide face lit up, openly pleased to see them. She was a petite woman but suddenly grew a foot taller as she stepped onto the ramp that ran behind her bakery cases. “What can I get for you?”

  Cate picked the apple fritter and Tessa the almond croissant. Both requested black coffee.

  Lunch.

  As Edith rang them up, Tessa asked, “Do you remember waiting on Brad Gill yesterday, Edith? He might have bought a brownie from the back.”

  Edith’s gaze bounced from Tessa to Cate. “I heard about his accident. That’s horrible.”

  “No doubt it was the fault of the driver,” Tessa continued. “Brad wasn’t impaired,” she added pointedly.

  The bakery owner relaxed. “Yes, he was in yesterday. I’m not sure what time, maybe just after noon?”

  “Do you remember if he spoke to anyone in the bakery?”

  Edith pursed her lips. “Not that I remember. He’s not a chatty one, you know. Rather sullen, if anything. Never has anything personable to say. I did notice he needed to wash his hair, but that’s nothing new.”

  “True,” Tessa agreed.

  “I think he came in, got his brownie, and left.” She nodded emphatically. “That’s right. I remember seeing him bike away. He’d simply dumped his bike on the bakery walkway, blocking it. Pisses me off when he does that, but no other customers were around to step over it, so I doubt he spoke with anyone.”

  “Thank you, Edith. We appreciate it,” said Tessa.

  Cate took a closer look at the interior of the bakery that she’d visited all her life. When studied through fresh eyes, it suddenly appeared very shabby. “Business going okay, Edith?”

  She shrugged. “Same as always. The summer tourist business makes up for the rest of the year, you know.” She eyed her glass cases with affection. “I am getting tired, though, and this building has more problems every year. I asked my niece if she was interested in taking over for me, and she said she’d think about it.” Edith rolled her eyes as she handed over their food and coffee. “Kids are a bit lazy these days.”

  Edith’s niece was in her fifties.

  Tessa’s phone rang, and the women excused themselves. Outside Cate bit into her fritter as Tessa took her call. The fritter was still warm.

  “Where is it?” Tessa asked into her phone, her face deadly serious.

  Cate’s ears perked up at Tessa’s tone.

  “Yep. On my way. Thanks, Bruce.” She put her phone away. “Someone anonymously reported that Rosa Underwood’s vehicle has new front-end damage.”

 

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