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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."
THIRTY-TWO
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?"
"I don't think there's anything to discuss. You've found a way to turn a profit in Rockton. And in return, the rest of the women have to put up with being treated like we'll all whore ourselves--it's just a matter of finding the right price."
"I think that's exaggerating--"
"I've been here four days and I've still managed to be offered money for sex twice. That's not counting the guy who told me that if I ever need extra credits, he has some 'night work' for me. I'll just presume he wants me to come over after my shift and type his novel."
"You're young and attractive. It's an anomaly."
"And you know that how? Marketing research? Door-to-door surveys?" I shake my head and sit at the desk. "I can handle it. I'm sure every other woman in this town can, too, because it's not like most of them have had their self-esteem ground into the dirt by an abusive asshole." I look at her. "Right?"
Her reply is slow, careful. "I think that while you have a very valid point, if you could let me state my case, you'd see that we're damned if we do and we're damned if we don't. This is one solution to a very serious problem."
"That guys can't keep their pants zipped? That if you deprive them of women, they'll just take them? That's a hell of an insult to the men in this town."
She sighs. "I'd like the chance to explain, Casey. That's why I came by. To invite you to lunch."
"No, thank you."
I notice Anders has come in. He's standing in the doorway. He sees me look up, nods, and backs out with a motion that he'll be back in five.
"There are a limited number of professional women in this town," Isabel says. "Most of us work in menial jobs, just like we did down south. Those in higher positions should stick together."
"I don't choose my friends by gender. Now, if you'll excuse me..."
She leaves without another word, and I return to my work.
Anders returns and sets a Tupperware box in front of me. Inside are cookies.
