Page 263 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

Chapter Forty-Seven

Nate sneezed as he closed the last box jammed full of old sneakers and boots, giving the dingy cardboard a bad-tempered shove. “Fuck,” he muttered, sneezing again in Bob’s filthy outdoor shed. He’d been out there for hours, freezing his ass off, combing through every box and scrap of crap, trying to make heads or tails out of the mess, but there was nothing more of Silas’s stuff among the clutter. He’d been certain there would be something—that Silas’s jewelry and Nate’s questions about Samantha Fletcher’s disappearance were the catalysts to a series of unfortunate events.

He’d lain awake all night, holding Callie close, while his mind raced, replaying the details of the last week from hell. For nearly two months, he’d been digging and asking questions about the Little Girl Lost case, but Nate was almost positive something about his trip to Boston last Tuesday had started this whole nightmare in motion. Mere hours after his return from the mainland, Sanderson’s troublemaker had started causing problems. Then on Sunday he talked to Bob—a simple conversation about Silas and some possible boxes of his that might be out in the shed. Not long after, Bob had been found dead. Either Nate had been getting too close to something Bob didn’t want him to find, or someone had overheard a conversation that was supposed to have been between the two of them. Now he needed to figure out which one of the two options it was, although his gut was screaming that it was the latter. So far everything was pointing to suicide. Every shred of the evidence was there, but Michelle’s disturbing descriptions of Lucky’s final moments alive couldn’t allow him to find peace with Matthew’s murder-suicide conclusion.

“The whole thing’s interesting—remarkable really. A woman wearing jewelry my brother made disappears; I find it in the woods; it catches her daughter’s eye at the local antiques store a few years down the road. Seems to me it’s come full circle.”

Nate trailed his gaze around the small space, haunted by Bob’s words. There had to be—

“Nate, they’re waiting for you over at Town Hall,” Kay said, her voice playing through the radio, interrupting his thoughts.

He glanced at his watch with a start, realizing he was fifteen minutes late. “Damn it.” He pulled the walkie-talkie off his belt. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there in less than ten.”

“Sure thing. I’ll let Thomas know.”

“Thanks.” Closing the door, he shoved the padlock back in place and jogged to the Tahoe parked in the crushed seashell driveway. He made quick work of reversing and heading down the pothole-loaded road. When he turned onto Highway 1, he gave the gas an extra punch, muttering another swear as he glanced at the glowing numbers on the dashboard clock. He had dozens of things to do—two huge cases to solve—but after he and Mac were called to McGuiness’s yesterday evening to break up a near-brawl, he’d reached out to Thomas to set up a meeting with the hopes of squashing some of the Team Bob the Innocent versus Team Bob the Guilty sentiment that was already causing issues in their typically peaceful town.

Slowing on Main Street, he winced as he passed dozens of cars parked in any and all available spaces—a packed place, and he was nearly thirty minutes late to his own party. He pulled into his reserved spot at the sheriff’s station and booked it across the grass to Town Hall, rushing down the hallway to the building’s largest room. He stepped inside, catching Thomas’s sharp look of disapproval before he met Callie’s gaze in the crowd. He sent her a wink and started toward the podium.

“And without further adieu, our sheriff,” Thomas said, his hint of irritation unmistakable.

Nate smiled as he took Thomas’s place. “I’m running behind and I apologize. I’d like to extend a huge thank you to Thomas for pulling this together on such short notice.” He cleared his throat, taking a moment to catch his breath. “I know there are a lot of questions—lots of rumors and speculations flying around town. Emotions are running high after such a terrible tragedy.”

There were several murmurs among the large group.

“With that being said, I’m going to ask all of you to be patient—keep cool heads,” he said as he looked from Chuck Sheridan to Mike Pelky—the two instigators of last night’s McGuiness’s incident. “Turning on each other when we should be coming together is the last thing any of us need right now. My deputies and I have more work to do—”

“If he killed himself, why are you investigating?” Steve Smith interrupted.

And here came the inevitable questions he would prefer not to answer. “It’s protocol to look into any untimely death—”

“Bob didn’t do it—any of the things he’s being accused of,” James Larsen said, gaining his feet in a rush. “Any of you who think he did should be ashamed of yourselves. Isn’t that right, Nate?”

He wanted to agree and tell everyone he couldn’t be sure Captain Bob had pulled the trigger. He hated that for now it was easier to allow people to think that Bob was Sanderson’s troublemaker, a potential murderer, and a man who’d taken his own life, when Nate didn’t believe any of it himself. “We owe it to Bob to look at all of the possibilities and offer everyone a little closure.”

James’s eyes grew hot. “That’s not much of an answer.”

Nate sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s the only one I can give you right now.”

James shooed away Nate’s response with a wave of his hand and stormed from the room.

More murmurs filled the room as Matthew left his seat next to Mini’s and hurried to follow James down the hall.

Nate met Callie’s sympathetic eyes across the room. This wasn’t exactly going well.

More unsettled moments passed before Mrs. Lancaster raised her hand. “Nate, has the nine o’clock curfew been lifted?”

He hesitated, then nodded. The phone lines had stayed silent last night. Neither he nor his deputies had responded to a single call after the eight o’clock hour, so there was no good explanation he could give for keeping it in place—not that it had done them much good throughout the last week anyway. “Yes.”

“Nate,” Mrs. Lancaster spoke up again. “I’d like to thank you, Mac, Denny, and Shawn for giving Jack the benefit of the doubt—for not automatically assuming that he was causing all the problems here in Sanderson. It means so much to Pat and me that you didn’t allow Jack to become the town scapegoat after last year’s Halloween incident.” She tossed a glaring look around the room.

“None of the evidence ever pointed me in Jack’s direction.” But it certainly pointed to someone here on the island—either a dead guy currently lying in Matthew’s freezer or possibly one of the men sitting right here in this room. His gaze wandered from Steven to Buzz and slid past Thomas to a dozen other men who had been present at the Sanderson Scholars Society dinner Sunday night—most who wore wedding bands and were right around the same approximate age as the man who’d visited Samantha Fletcher at On The Rocks twenty-two years ago.

“When will you know why Bob did what he did?” Mark Patterson asked.

“I wish I could say. When I have information I can share, I certainly will.” He glanced at his watch, wanting to move this along. “But let me take this opportunity to remind all of you that it’s always a good idea to lock up your cars at night, and your doors. We’re a small town. Most of us here have known each other for dozens of years if not our whole lives, but that doesn’t mean unfortunate things can’t happen. Safety first. Better safe than sorry. Thanksgiving is two days from now. Let’s try our best to enjoy our family and friends. That’s all I have for now.” He gave everyone a small nod and stepped back.

“Thank you, Nathan,” Thomas said as he took over the mike again.