After landing in Maine, I make my way to the rental car counter. With keys in hand, I hop into the compact vehicle and begin the scenic drive toward Rockstead, fifty miles from the airport. The trees on either side of the road are coated with thick snow, their branches drooping under the weight along the winding roads. This is the first time I’ve seen snow this year, for New York City hasn’t been blessed with it yet. As I pass quaint towns and historical landmarks, I see a sign that saysWelcome to Rockstead. I pull into the Rockstead Bed and Breakfast parking lot, a few miles into town.
I stare at the Victorian-style home with the blue clapboard siding and wraparound porch as I climb out of my car and grab my bag from the back seat.
“Welcome to Rockstead Bed and Breakfast. Do you have a reservation?” an older woman with gray hair in a tight bun asks.
“I do. My name is Paige Walker.”
She types away at the keys on her computer. “Yes. Here you are. You’ll be in room ten.” She grabs the key.
The bed and breakfast is beautiful. Its space is filled with ornate wallpaper featuring intricate floral patterns in shades of gold and burgundy, as well as antique furniture.
I follow her up the stairs as she inserts the key into the lock and pushes the door open. I walk in and look around at the mahogany dresser, velvet armchair, four-poster bed, and lace curtains that hang over the large window.
“You mentioned over the phone that you are a detective for the NYPD. Is this visit on official business, or are you just visiting our quiet little town?” she asks.
“I’m here on official business. There was a murder that took place here about four years ago,” I say.
“Oh, yes. It was Brian Grisham. He was a good man and didn’t deserve what happened to him. Why are you here about a murder that happened four years ago?”
“We’ve had similar murders in New York. I’m hoping to find a connection.”
“Well, I hope you catch that horrible person. Enjoy your stay and keep warm. It’s cold out there.”
“Thank you.” I give a friendly smile.
After I settle in, I hop into my rental car and drive to the Rockstead Police Station.
“Can I help you?” A younger man behind a desk asks when he sees me.
“I’m Detective Paige Walker from the New York Police Department. I’m looking for Sheriff Strange.”
“That would be me.” He smiles and extends his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Detective Walker.”
“You can call me Paige.”
“And you can call me Lucas. Let’s go into my office.” He gestures. “Now, how can I help you?”
“There have been some murders in New York which are similar to the one you had here four years ago.”
“The Grisham case?” he asks.
“Yes. All of the victims’ homes were broken into, jewelry was stolen, and the men were murdered via twenty-two stab wounds.”
“Interesting.” He rubs his chin.
“Including Katherine Tate’s husband, Oliver. But you knew her as Katherine Grisham.”
“Katherine? She remarried?”
“She did, and her second husband was killed the same way as her first. We call the killer The Widowmaker because all of the victims have one common connection: they were all cheating on their wives.”
His brows furrow in confusion. “You think it’s the same person doing these killings?”
“I do. Do you know if Katherine’s husband, Brian, was unfaithful to her?”
“He was.” He looked down. “I just found that out a few weeks ago when I met Mark at the bar after work for a drink.”
“Mark?”
