The Edge

Chapter 22

“You say you didn’t see anyone?” asked Chief Harper.

He and Devine were outside the latter’s cottage looking at the large hole in the center of the window.

“No, just the reflection off the scope,” said Devine. “If I hadn’t looked out the window and the sun hadn’t just come out, we would not be having this conversation, and your ME would be cutting me up to get the bullet out.”

“Glad it didn’t come to that,” said Harper as he held up the bagged shell casing.

Devine pointed to it. “It has a cross-in-a-circle stamping. That means it meets NATO specs. But the caliber was also stamped on it, which means it’s a civilian and not a military round.”

“Okay, that narrows things, but only a little.”

“I heard someone running. And then a vehicle started up. By the time I got to the street, it was gone.”

A breathless Fuss hurried up to them. “Did a quick canvass of the area. Nobody saw anybody with a gun, but Joe Martin was coming out of the hardware store and saw a van getting out of here right quick, about the time Devine said the shot was fired.”

“Did he get the plate?” asked Devine.

Fuss shook her head. “No, I mean he had no reason to. He didn’t know anything had happened.”

Devine sighed and looked around. Someone takes a shot at me in broad daylight and no one sees anything?

Fuss seemed to be reading his mind. “Pat Kingman was out running errands and you’re the only cottage rented. This is not the high season. And this time of day the downtown area is pretty dead.”

Like I almost was, thought Devine.

“Well, let’s get the bullet out of the wall. Hopefully we’ll find the rifle to match it to.”

“Even though it’s a different caliber, you think it might be from the same weapon that killed Jenny?” asked Harper.

“The rounds chamber different pressure settings and though they look identical, the thickness of the brass and the head space are different. Some might disagree, but I wouldn’t fire a .300 or .308 round in a rifle chambered for NATO ordnance unless it was specifically chambered for both. It might blow up in your face, or the ejector might jam because the casing stretched too much.”

“Okay, but who would want to kill you?” asked Fuss.

“Someone who doesn’t want me to find out who murdered Jenny Silkwell would be my first and only guess.”

“But we’re investigating her death, too,” pointed out Fuss.

“Then I’d watch your back if I were you,” said Devine before walking off.

He headed to Maine Brew, where he found Annie Palmer cleaning the front counter.

“Want a cup of coffee on the house?” she said.

“Thanks.”

He took a seat on one of the counter stools and watched as she poured out two cups from a full pot. She set one down in front of him and said, “Just made it, should be extra fresh.”

“Did you hear anything about a half hour ago?” he asked after taking a sip.

She leaned against the counter, fingering her cup. “Hear anything? Like what?”

“A bang, like a firecracker going off?”

“No, but I was in the kitchen for the last hour doing inventory with my AirPods in. I wouldn’t have heard much except Rihanna. Why?”

“Just something I was checking out.” He put his cup down and decided to plunge in. “I went by to see your grandfather this morning.”

He saw her neck tense as she took a slow sip of her drink. “Really? Why? Because he found Jenny’s body?”

“Yes.”

“What did he tell you?” There was an anxiety in her voice that bothered him.

“He said he was out walking late at night like he often does. He stopped and looked out at the ocean at various places along the coast. The last place he stopped, he looked down and there she was. Then he called the cops.”

“That’s what he told me, too. Guess if he hadn’t, Jenny would’ve been carried out to sea. Then nobody would have known what happened to her.”

“You didn’t mention that your grandmother was out walking and got hit by a driver who then drove off.”

She looked down into her coffee cup. “I didn’t think to. Why would you have cared what happened to her?”

“I’m just sorry it happened.”

“Yeah,” she said brusquely. “Everybody’s sorry except for the fuckwad who did it.” Her cheeks flamed and she cleared her throat. “Sorry, I don’t usually use language like that.”

“I was in the Army; I’ve heard far worse.”

“Did Gramps tell you that she dragged herself looking for help before she died?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Living in a small town has its good points, but sometimes the isolation isn’t a positive.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You any closer to finding out who killed Jenny?”

“Just really starting. Interviewing people, taking statements, going over the crime scene, checking the forensics. Not very exciting but all very necessary.”

Says the fake investigator from Homeland Security.

“I also met with Alex Silkwell. You mentioned before that no one really knows her?”

Palmer dabbed at a spot on the counter with her cleaning rag. “Yeah, well, I shouldn’t have said that. What business is it of mine? So what’d she have to say?”

“Nothing too remarkable. I went inside her studio. She’s quite an artist.”

“She should be. My grandmother mentored her.”

“Bertie taught Alex?”

“Yes. When Alex was in high school. You wouldn’t know that, of course. Bertie was incredibly talented. She could have really been something if she had pursued it. When she was young she was even offered a spot at an art school in Paris.”

“Damn. So what happened?”

Palmer shrugged. “She loved Gramps. They were high school sweethearts. They decided to stay here and raise a family. But she continued with her artwork. And taught folks like Alex.”

“The building behind the house? Was that her art studio?”

“Yes.”

“Alex seems to have followed her example of staying put. She had offers, too.”

“Yeah, I know,” Palmer said absently, with a frown. “If I had been Alex, I would’ve been gone in two seconds flat.”

“Not into small towns?”

“I could always come back to visit.” She looked around the café. “And this may come as a shock, but serving food and coffee in the town where I was born and grew up was not a significant element of my youthful dreams. In fact, it had no place whatsoever,” she added with a sad smile. “I went away to college and didn’t think I’d be coming back. But here I am.”

“You’re still young. You can still dream and then do something about it.”

“Far easier said than done.”

“I think that’s why they call them dreams.”

“You want another cup?”

“No, I think I’ve hit my caffeine allotment for today. By the way, I’m having dinner with Dak Silkwell tonight.”

“Really? You two becoming best buds?” she said jokingly.

“He’s just someone I need to talk to.”

“Well, I need to get back to work. Hope you and Dak have a great time. But don’t let him get you drunk. You won’t like yourself in the morning. Trust me.”

She walked off, leaving him to wonder about what she had meant by that.