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“Now, this is the trick—we’re curious about property that’s changed hands. Maybe the owner died, something like that.”
Nodding. Fingers flying across the keyboard now.
“How many is that?” the sheriff asked after a minute.
“I have two dozen.”
“Any properties showing a cabin deep in the woods? Or removed from its neighbor?”
Dorothea frowned at the sheriff, then consulted her list. “Ten or so.”
“I’ll tell you what, just download them all. That’ll be good.”
The sheriff glanced at D.D. She added: “What about any properties that have been foreclosed on? Regardless of lot size, location.”
“That gives us four or five more.”
“We’ll take those addresses, as well.”
Dorothea nodded. Hit a button. The printer fired to life.
“I heard you found bodies,” Dorothea whispered at last, looking at the sheriff and placing extra emphasis on the s at the end of the word.
“Skeletal remains,” the sheriff confirmed soberly. “Nothing for immediate worry. But violent crime is violent crime. We’ll be getting to the bottom of this.”
“Young girls? Many of them?”
“We’re still conducting our investigation.”
“Does that ring any bells for you, Dorothea?” D.D. asked, because she saw a gleam in the woman’s eyes. The town gossip. Of course she wanted to be in the know. “Are there many girls that pass through here?”
Dorothea hesitated, glancing at the sheriff. He nodded slightly, as if granting permission to speak to the outsider. Dorothea turned to D.D. “During the summer season, this place is crawling with new faces, including plenty of girls suited for waitressing, hospitality, and the like. But come winter, business drops way off. Most businesses cut down, the kids head back to school. Winter, we’re a sleepy town in a lot of ways. Without the hikers...” She shrugged.
“True,” the sheriff agreed. He took the stack of property records from Dorothea and thumbed through them, as if already bored.
“It’s a beautiful main street,” D.D. commented. “I especially love the Mountain Laurel B and B run by the mayor and his wife. What a gorgeous Victorian.”
“One of the true prized jewels of the town!” Dorothea warmed immediately. “That property was originally built in eighteen-thirty as a summer home for a rich Atlanta family. They had four daughters. One, Martha Counsel’s great-great grandmother, married locally and stayed on. That house has been in the family for generations!”
D.D. nodded. So the hotel belonged to the missus, not the mister. Interesting. “I just met the mayor and his wife. Such a shame about their niece.”
“Oh, they take good care of her. Poor thing. To have been in a terrible accident. Girl was left simple, you know.”
“What’s her name again?” D.D. asked.
Dorothea blinked. “Why, I don’t recall. She’s very quiet and it’s not like you see her out and about.”
“She’s not allowed out?”
“I didn’t say that!” Dorothea frowned at D.D., clearly not liking her attitude. “Girl can’t talk. That’s not exactly who you send to run errands.”
“Of course,” D.D. conceded. “She reminds me of someone I once knew, that’s all. And you’re right, such a tragedy. When was the accident anyway?”
“Ten years ago, maybe?”
“The girl’s been living with the Counsels that long?”
“Well, when I first met her she was an itty-bitty thing. And Lord, the scar back then. Seemed to be half the poor girl’s head.” Dorothea eyed D.D. reproachfully. “They’ve done right by her.”
