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He tried not to think about what he was doing, tried not to remember.
But…
She had been pretty. Not beautiful, but cute. Rosy-cheeked, a little chubby, shorn golden curls, and big blue eyes. “Dancing eyes” was book talk, but yes, Honey’s eyes had sparkled with bright interest and lively curiosity.
They had laughed a lot. Told each other everything—almost everything.
All at once he was back there, back at Holyoke Pond…the smell of suntan oil and grass and water. Honey’s voice, both their voices—young and confident—ringing out across the water, bouncing back from the dark trees. He could see them sitting on their beach towels, talking, as though he was observing them from the woods.
Which was how Martin Pink had watched them.
“Maybe Boyd will ask you to the dance.”
Honey had said archly, “Me? Maybe you should ask Boyd.”
“Oh yeah, right! You think that Neanderthal can dance?” He had flushed hotly, laughing and looking away. Inside he had not been laughing. Inside he had been embarrassed and hopeful and longing. Young love was really hell. Especially when it was unreciprocated. And his was hopeless. He had known that much even then.
Honey had teased, “Oh, but he’s good enough for me!”
He had glanced sideways, caught her unguarded gaze, and realized with a pang that he was not the only one suffering—longing for what was never going to be.
He had looked away quickly, and both had pretended they had not seen too much.
No. No, this was not the time for remembrance. He could not afford to feel this right now.
Jason lifted out the last item in the box. An old first-aid kit.
He opened it.
For a minute he mistook a stray cotton ball for what he was looking for, and he felt a zap of…he wasn’t sure if it was relief or alarm.
In the end it didn’t matter. This white puff would change the course of no one’s life.
He went back and checked through every item again.
Nothing.
Her keys were there. The charm was not on the ring.
There was a knocking sensation in his stomach. He felt almost light-headed. Even though this was what he had been looking for—this absence of something that should be there—it was still a shock. Still unbelievable.
The mermaid charm was gone.
He sank down on the long table and tried to think.
Kennedy was right. They could not afford to make any mistakes at this juncture. Jason could not afford to make any mistakes. Having gone against Kennedy, and with so much at stake, he could not get anything wrong.
So think.
Boxner had access to the evidence room and to all the original case files. He was clearly not the only member of Kingsfield PD who had access, though. However, he was the only member who visited Rebecca’s home earlier in the evening.
Which, as Kennedy had pointed out numerous times, did not in itself mean anything. It was possible that Boxner could have arranged to meet Rebecca later. But there was absolutely no proof that such a thing had happened.
It was all circumstantial. Which was more than they had on anyone else at the moment.
What bothered Jason most was that none of this addressed the big problem of why. Why would Boxner kill Rebecca Madigan?
Why abduct Candy Davies?
