“Yeah, Eric’s fans and friends are a little too quick to support him. Mainly because we know what a crappy first impression he leaves. And second. And third. How are you guys doing?”

“We had a rough start, but I’m starting to see the side that wins him fans.”

The smile grows. “Good. You two seem to be spending a lot of time together.”

“We’re working a big case together.”

“Still …” He catches my look. “Okay, I won’t play matchmaker. You’ll get plenty of that from others. So, back to Abbygail …”

“You were the last person to see her alive.”

He flinches, as if I’ve poked a wound that hasn’t healed.

“She was heading for the forest,” he says. “I was over by the woodshed, hauling logs. It was after dark, and there was no way in hell she should have been that close to the forest. She said she’d heard an animal that sounded hurt. We scoured the area together and I had no reason to think she wasn’t telling the truth, which makes me feel like a complete idiot, but honestly? Eric said don’t go into the forest, so Abby didn’t go into the forest. She’d tease and poke, but she never disobeyed him. I really did think she’d heard an animal.”

“But you didn’t find anything.”

He shakes his head. “So I walked her home. Beth’s neighbours saw us—they can confirm that. Abby went inside and everything seemed fine. Beth got home an hour later, after working late next door at the clinic, and when Abby wasn’t there, she just figured we were out, and she went to bed. I think Abby grabbed a lantern and went back. She loved animals, and if she thought she heard a wounded one …”

“It’s the only thing that would have drawn her into the forest.”

“But not far. Yes, she might wander in farther than she meant to, chasing a noise, but I can’t imagine she’d go in deep enough to get lost. Someone lured her in. I’m sure of it. Others might tell you different, and maybe they think I’m just covering my own ass because I didn’t manage to stop her. Either way, it doesn’t cover my ass, because I was still the last … the last to see her. I fucked up. And she disappeared.”

He goes quiet, lost in that grief, until I break it by saying, “You mentioned a list? Guys who gave her trouble?”

He snaps from his reverie. “Right. Let me get a pen.”

I pass him mine, and he writes it out and hands it to me. As I go to leave, he says, “Abby would have liked you.”

I turn and look at him.

He shrugs, a little embarrassed. “I was just thinking that. She had a lot of women here playing mother and therapist. What she didn’t have was a female friend.” He fidgets. “It wasn’t the same with me, and sometimes I think maybe if she had another girl she could have confided in, about anything …” He rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I’m probably being silly. We all keep wondering where we went wrong, thinking we missed something, failed to give her something, and if only this or that then maybe it’d have been different. Anyway, all I mean is that she would have liked you. You’re a survivor. Like her.”

That gives me pause, but he only shrugs and says, “I was a cop, remember? I recognize the signs.”

I nod and start to go. Then I say, “Everyone presumes she’s dead. You knew her, as much as anyone. Maybe more. Is it possible she’s …” I look toward the forest.

“Still out there?” His gaze drops. “I wish it was, detective.” He resumes polishing the bar, his voice rough with grief. “I really wish it was.”

Twelve

Mick’s list is indeed short. Three names. One is Pierre Lang. Abbygail had mentioned getting a “weird vibe” around him. A few times in her last month, she’d had the feeling she was being followed. Not stalking, just someone following her for a short distance, watching her. A secret admirer who’d left a bowl of wild raspberries outside her door. Mick had suspected it was Lang, but he’d figured Lang was just a middle-aged guy with a crush on an inappropriately young woman, and it would end when she didn’t reciprocate.

I’m walking to the station when Kenny catches up. He comes around once or twice a day. Just pops in to see what’s going on, if anyone needs him for militia work. Today, he says he has a hot tip for me. Apparently, someone overheard Hastings badmouthing Dalton before he took off. Which is about as shocking as telling me the sun rose that morning.

I’m thanking Kenny when Isabel intercepts us and shoos him with her fingers. “Stop bothering the new girl, Kenny. I know she’s very pretty, but Eric didn’t hire her for ornamental value.”

“I had a tip.”

“Yes, I’m sure you did. Now go.”

When Kenny leaves, I continue walking and say to Isabel, “If you have a problem at the Roc, Sheriff Dalton just headed that way.”

“Sheriff Dalton?” She laughs. “That’s awfully formal. Are you and the boss not getting along, sugar?”

I look at her, and I think about my talk with Mick, and there’s a part of me that wants to cut Isabel some slack. But I get the feeling if I do, she’ll use it to her advantage, and drag me into her battle with Dalton.

I climb the steps into the station. “Is there anything I can help you with, Ms. Radcliffe?”

“Ouch. All right. That cold front isn’t for our good sheriff.” She follows me in. “Do you want to talk about what I do?”