The Edge

Chapter 12

Devine headed back to the inn but then decided to take a detour. Following the directions he’d been given, he had no difficulty in finding the turnoff and mailbox with the name PALMER.

He didn’t pull up directly to the house, but got out and walked along the winding gravel drive until he reached the cottage, which seemed to sit orphaned from the rest of Putnam. There was a cluster of denuded serviceberry trees next to the small cottage. Devine could see no lights on in the house, but the same ancient station wagon he had seen when first heading into town was parked in front, next to a rugged old Ford F150 with a rear winch.

He tried to recall the details of the man in the vehicle from earlier.

Fine snowy white hair, leathery skin, deep-set eyes, jowly features, and a pained expression mixed with disinterest.

Now that Devine knew of the man’s loss, he decided that Palmer had looked like a bereaved person, aimless, disconnected. He could see such a man wandering late at night. But to wander through a forest path all the way over to the exact spot where Jenny Silkwell’s body lay? Devine was not buying it. And the police seemed to be going to great pains to throw off any suspicion of Palmer. And Dak and the fellow lobsterman from the bar had sung the man’s praises and voiced sympathy for his personal loss without questioning the veracity of the man’s account of finding Jenny Silkwell’s body.

The two vehicles were unlocked. He saw right away that in the station wagon the gas and brake pedals had been modified to allow them both to be worked via hand controls mounted on the steering column. Why, he didn’t know. Then he saw extra hand grips that had been bolted to the car’s interior just above the window frame and another one mounted on the dash.

He turned around, walked back to the Tahoe, and drove past Jocelyn Point once more. As he did so, he spotted a Harley with a helmetless Dak astride it pull into the drive and head up to the house.

That was interesting, because Dak should have been home a while ago. Unless he had stopped somewhere first. And maybe his conversation with Devine had prompted that detour?

The questions kept piling up, and Devine hadn’t been here even half a day.

He parked in front of the inn and walked into the reception area, where Kingman was tidying up the front counter. She gave him a piercing, unfriendly look. “You should have told me who you were,” she admonished.

“You’re probably right,” he said in a disarming tone. “Now that you know, is there anything you can tell me?”

“I already told Chief Harper all that I know.”

“I’d appreciate if you could take a minute and tell me. That way there’s no buffer between accounts, and you might remember something else. I’m just trying to find out what happened to Jenny.”

She sighed as her frostiness melted away. “Would you like some hot chocolate?”

“I sure would. I’m not used to the cold yet.”

She put a hand on her hip and smirked. “Young man, this isn’t cold. This is mildly chilly. Come with me.”

She led him through the curtain, and Devine found himself in a comfortable apartment setup. While Kingman busied herself with cups, cocoa, and a new-looking electric hot water kettle, he looked around.

Some logs sat unburned in a stone hearth. While the furniture was clearly old, it all looked comfortable. Knickknacks abounded on tables and shelves, and the vast array of photos on one wall seemed to indicate that Kingman had a great many grandchildren.

“Nice-looking crew,” he said.

She looked up to see what he was referring to and smiled. “Eight and counting. Oldest one is ten. Wish my Wilbur could be around to see them.”

“I didn’t know you were a widow.”

“Wilbur was a lobsterman. There was an accident out at sea, and the boat went down and took Wilbur with it.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Thank you. It was just horribly bad luck.”

“Sometimes there is nothing you can do despite the best of intentions. And no one’s perfect. Lord knows I’m not.”

“You’re messing up all my preconceived notions of federal folks.”

He smiled. “You met many?”

“Just on TV. Well, there was Jenny, but she was one of us, no matter where she moved to or what she did.”

They sat in rocking chairs in front of the fireplace and drank their hot chocolate.

“It really is so sad,” said Kingman, suddenly tearing up. “I never thought... Jenny would be the last person I thought this would happen to.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. She stared over at Devine. “She was such a good person.”

“Seems to be the consensus of everyone I spoke with.”

“Do you think it has to do with the work she was doing?”

“What do you know about that?”

“Just dribs and drabs I heard over the years. And I had a cousin who worked doing something for the Department of Defense. Whenever I asked him what he did he said, ‘It’s better if you don’t know. You’d never sleep again.’ Scary.”

“In answer to your question, I don’t know who killed her or why. Just because she died here does not mean that anybody local had anything to do with it.”

“God, I would hope not.”

“I understand you saw Jenny on the night she died.”

Kingman looked even more depressed. “If I had known what was going to happen, I would have held on to her with both arms.”

“Tell me about it. Did she look normal? Anything you can remember.”

“She passed by the office and I saw her out the window. This is from the back path, you understand, the one leading to the cottages.”

“Right.”

“It was about a quarter to eight. I remember glancing at the clock. I thought she might be going to get some dinner. She was dressed in jeans and a big parka. Her hair was in a ponytail, and I remembered thinking I hadn’t seen her wear it like that for a long time. She seemed fine, if a little focused, I guess. She never looked around, just kept looking straight ahead. But then she was always focused, even as a little girl.”

“And you didn’t see her after that? Didn’t hear a car come by? Maybe she was getting a ride with someone because her car was left here?”

“I had the TV on, so I don’t think I would have heard that. And that was the last time I saw her,” she concluded miserably.

Devine absorbed this and said, “I ran into Dak Silkwell tonight. He’s a reserved guy but he seemed shaken up by what happened.”

“I’m sure he was.”

“So they were close, him and Jenny and Alex?”

She took time to sip her drink, set the mug down, placed her hands in her lap, and looked at him. “I suppose you need to know this for your investigation. I read where most murders are committed by people you know, friends and family.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“They were all close growing up. Saw that for myself. Dak was all sports all the time. Big and strong, that boy was. Lettered in everything. Thought he was going to be playing professional football or baseball, but it didn’t work out. Guess that’s a pipe dream for most. Jenny was the oldest and the golden child. Everything she touched. Smart as all get out. Kind too. Pretty. We all knew she was destined to do something special.”

“And Alex?”

“Alex is the youngest and is drop-dead gorgeous, and I don’t use that term lightly. Not as smart as Jenny, at least in some ways. She could draw anything, from an early age. I mean really, really talented. The family wanted her to go away to a really great art school, UCLA, Chicago, or Virginia Commonwealth in Richmond. She got accepted at them all.”

“But she didn’t go?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Any idea why?”

Kingman sighed, and in that release Devine sensed a whole bundle of regrets, not for Kingman personally, or the Silkwells either, but maybe for the whole town of Putnam.

“Alex used to be outgoing, prankish, fun, full of ambition, sort of like Jenny in that way. But then it was like the light turned off and she became withdrawn, moody, scared to... live.”

“What happened?”

She hesitated, seemingly debating within herself. “I don’t really know.”

“You really don’t know what happened to cause that big a change in her?”

“It was many years ago. And whatever it was the family made sure it was all hushed up.”

Devine wondered why Clare Silkwell had not mentioned this.

“So she and Dak stayed here, in the old homestead?”

She nodded absently. “Dak was in the Army for a while and then he wasn’t. I don’t know why. No one ever said.” She gave him a curious look, but Devine merely shrugged. “Then he came back here, learned to be a tattoo artist. And it became his passion. Opened his shop and does really well. Then he invested in some other businesses around town. I think he likes to be a big fish in a teeny pond. And we fit that bill.”

“I guess he and Alex get along, living together?”

“I don’t know how much they actually interact.”

“I thought in small towns, gossip moves faster than jets.”

She laughed softly. “It does. But not for every single aspect of someone’s life.”

“Alex ever come into town?” Devine knew what the man outside the bar had told him about Alex riding her bike into town but not interacting. However, he wanted to hear Kingman’s perspective.

“Very rarely. And then it’s just to get something she needs and then the girl runs back to her hidey-hole.”

Hidey-hole? Interesting choice of words. “Seems like a waste of a promising life.”

“I agree with you.” She settled her attention fully on Devine. “Maybe you can put that on your list to find out. If you do, it’ll be a good thing for all of us that you came to Putnam.”

Maybe not for everyone, thought Devine as he finished his hot chocolate.