Page 27 of Glimmer in the Darkness

“Don’t think so. I’d ’a seen ya there. Your camp must be on the other side of the bathrooms. But then you woulda seen the bathrooms and not come all the way up here.”

“Like I said, I was exploring. If you’ll just let me by.”

“My name’s Eugene. What’s yours?”

“Mary Beth.” The name of one of the girls in the program where she worked.

“Those’re pretty names.” He stepped closer and touched her hair.

She held her breath.

A phone rang.

She lifted her foot, felt behind her for the golf cart’s floorboard. She needed to put distance between them. Would anybody hear her if she screamed? Surely, surely somebody would come running. If her voice carried that far. If the people who heard it realized it was a true call for help and not a child’s game.

Eugene slipped a phone from his pocket and swiped it on but didn’t speak.

Through his speaker, she heard a man’s voice. “Where are you? I told you to hurry.”

He backed up a step.

“See you later!” She slipped past him, feeling the brush of his hand on the back of her shirt. Trying to touch her? To grab her? To strike her?

She didn’t know, only knew that Eugene didn’t possess the gentle soul she’d assumed of him back in high school. She jogged down the road, praying she could reach the tents before the golf cart—and Eugene—caught up with her.

Chapter Ten

The little town of Coventry, in the valley between the mountains, was as picturesque as any in New England. When James was a kid, he’d thought it was the prettiest place in the world. Of course, he hadn’t shared that opinion with his friends, who all complained about living so far from “the real world.” Back then, the kids he’d hung out with had been enamored with TV shows that took place in New York City and Chicago and L.A. Reid had vowed at the mature age of nine that someday he was going to live in a high-rise and work in Manhattan. He was going to be a big shot.

James had never had such aspirations. His family had lived in Coventry for generations, and the town had felt as comfortable to him as his favorite pair of pajamas.

It hadn’t changed much since he was a kid. Old restaurants had been replaced with newer ones—except The Patriot, a Coventry staple. There was an ice cream shop within walking distance of the park and beach on the edge of town. A Dunkin’ Donuts had been built on an empty lot about a block off the main drag. Thanks to its proximity to the HCI offices, its drive-through was backed up around the corner every workday morning. A Greek restaurant had gone in when James was in high school. Their pizza was so good, he hardly complained about the business they stole from his restaurant.

James steered his car toward his house, contemplating this town, these people. They were all so convinced Cassidy was guilty, and after the conversation with Detective Cote, James understood why. They didn’t know her like he did. Any doubts he’d harbored slipped away again. If Cassidy were guilty, what was she doing asking James for help? Why had she come to him?

Except, she hadn’t come to him. It was possible she’d only asked for his help to throw him off after he’d discovered her, to keep him from calling the police.

No. That didn’t make sense. And anyway, if that were the case, he’d know soon enough. Surely, if she were guilty, after having been discovered she’d have taken off.

Would she kill Ella first? Or take the little girl with her?

No, no. He couldn’t think that way. Couldn’t let himself consider the fact that running into him could have stepped up her timeline.

Crazy thoughts, crazy talk. Cassidy wasn’t a killer.

If she was, he was the biggest fool in history.

On a whim, he turned into the campground driveway just a few hundred yards from his own and parked in front of the building that held the offices in front, the Cages’ home in the back.

Like all the structures on the property, the log building so blended into the environment, it looked as if it had always been there. From James’s viewpoint, it had.

He pushed open the door, and the bell above jingled.

Inside, the walls were the same rough timbers as outside. An old plaid couch was pushed against the wall, a banged-up coffee table in front of it littered with magazines and newspapers. A spinner stand by the door held brochures from local attractions. He scanned the few facing him—The Polar Caves, Castle in the Clouds, the Mount Washington cruise ship.

A long counter separated the guests’ space from Wilson, who sat at a rolling office chair in front of a computer. He looked up when James approached, and a kind smile split his face.

“How are you, Mr. Cage?”