It should have been a demon, not an angel, Sam thought. She looked around. Unsurprisingly, she seemed to be the only person here. It was early July, and people should be doing summer things, not visiting the dead. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was hoping to accomplish here, but it seemed like a good place to start—seeing if there were any more messages at Dr. Tyler’s grave while she contemplated how to find a phone and call Conor.
She ducked between headstones and arrived at Dr. Tyler’s memorial. There were notes stuck into the angel’s wings. Earrings and bracelets and seashells and a bird’s nest were piled on the ground. Sam was tempted to read the notes; maybe there was one from Suzanne or Maeve or any of the other sad, sick girls offering up their lives to the dream—whatever it was—of the murdered doctor. Or to the memory of his wife, Belinda. Sam knew that there could be clues in their writings.
She sat on the grass, catching her breath after her long run. She was about to reach for one of the folded pieces of paper when she heard thewhine of an engine behind her. Sam turned and saw Jennifer hopping off her ATV, running over to stand above her.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Jennifer said.
“I know,” Sam said, staring at the walkie-talkie in the holster on Jennifer’s belt. “Please don’t call anyone. I’m leaving now.”
“They’re looking for you,” Jennifer said. “We’ve all been told to report if we see you.”
“Please,” Sam said. “Let me leave, I won’t bother anyone ... I just want to cut through the grounds, okay?”
“Come with me,” Jennifer said. “I don’t want them to find you. And hurry, they’re checking everywhere. They’ll be down here soon.”
Jennifer climbed onto the ATV and gestured that Sam should get on behind her. Sam hesitated, scared and confused. After what had just happened with Lincoln and Maeve, she didn’t trust anyone.
“No,” she said. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
“You won’t,” Jennifer said. “You don’t know them. Get on! We don’t have time ...”
Sam stood frozen, pressure building inside her chest. She thought of the way Maeve had come charging toward the barn, where Sam had been hiding. The look in her eyes was wild, almost mad, and Sam had known that Maeve meant her harm.
“Are you coming?” Jennifer asked.
Sam held her breath, trying to decide. But did she really have any choice? Not knowing if she was making the biggest mistake of her life, Sam climbed onto the ATV behind Jennifer.
“Hold on,” Jennifer said. “It’ll be a bumpy ride.”
Sam reached her arms around Jennifer’s waist. They set off so fast, Sam nearly fell off. Jennifer sped them down the hill, through a grove of pines, and onto a dirt access road. Sam heard gravel under the tires. Dirt flew up into her mouth and eyes. She blinked hard to clear her vision, but her eyes stung and she couldn’t see, so she just closed them and felt the ATV hit rut after rut and hoped that Jennifer wasn’t delivering her straight to 1740.
Tuesday, July 6; 4:00 p.m.
“Okay, what’s all this about?” Mike asked when Conor and Tom found him on the Ocean House verandah, having an iced tea.
“Who is Judge Flook?” Conor asked.
“Randall Flook?” Mike asked, resting his book on the table in front of him. “He’s a Superior Court judge. A good friend of mine. Why?”
“He’s also a friend of Leo’s?” Conor asked.
“Yes, we play golf together, often in the same foursome. Sometimes they go fishing,” Mike said.
“That’s what they’re doing right now,” Conor said. “Or at least that’s what Leo says.”
“What are you getting at, Conor?” Mike asked. His expression was perplexed, bordering on angry. “Ever since you called me, I’ve been wondering. You think Leo’s lying?”
“He is,” Conor said. “He’s part of it, Uncle Mike. He’s in 1740, and I have to find him and get him to tell me what he knows so I can find Kate.”
“You’re not making any sense,” Mike said. “Sit down and explain what you’re talking about.”
Conor let out a huge sigh of frustration, put his hands on his head, and paced in a circle. Conorknewhe wasn’t making sense, and he was glad when Tom took over.
“Uncle Mike,” Tom said. “The bottom line is that Kate has been taken. Her last known location is a crime scene, and there is evidence that it was used by 1740.”
“Explain more,” Mike said, sitting up straighter. “Where is this crime scene?”
“Fernando Harris’s studio in Mystic, Connecticut,” Tom said.
