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“Have you been here in Somerset a long time?”
“Not only have I lived here my whole life, but I’m also a bit of a local historian.” She winks at me. “Why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll see if I can help you.”
Something tells me she’s not used to guests and is excited to have someone to talk to.
I make my way over to the free seats, and she takes the one across from me.
“What were you interested in hearing about?”
I lean forward, placing my elbows on the table. “I was wondering if you had any information you could tell me about the fire that took place in this town,” I ask.
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that. I’ve been working here for decades.”
“Did you know the Abbott boys?”
She draws in a deep breath. “I did.”
“Can you tell me about the family?”
Her jaw tightens at my question. “It’s a pretty sad story. Are you sure you want to talk about this?”
I nod.
“The Abbott family.” She exhales. “They had lived in Somerset for years. Generations, actually, like me. They were lifers. Unfortunately for them, their lives weren’t as long. I remember the Abbott boys from their youngest days. I’m closer in age with North’s grandparents. But they also died young. That family is cursed if you ask me.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The grandparents died in a tragic accident, and then their father—” She stops herself from going on.
“What?” I ask.
“Stone and North were left with their mom a lot. She wasn’t from here. He met her when he was in college.” Her hands start to shake. “Depressing story really.”
“Why?”
“She was a—” She shakes her head, and I give her a small smile.
“Please go on.”
“She was bad. Not a good mom. Always drunk. Drugs. They almost lost the boys a couple of times through CPS because of her.”
“Where was the dad?”
“He worked out of town. I don’t remember what he did, but he traveled a lot. One time, CPS did take the younger boy, North. It was when he was away, but then the father came home. Then he was gone again, jail this time. The state did the boys a big disservice by leaving them with her.”
“Why was he sent to jail?”
She shakes her head. “It was a sad time, as I said. I don’t want to gossip . . .”
I know she’s not comfortable telling me, so rather than have her close up, I switch topics.
“The mother. Is she still around?” I know that Stone and North are dead, but there was no tombstone for a woman.
“The mother up and disappeared one day. Nobody has seen or heard from her since.” She leans in conspiratorially. “If you ask me, she was the first victim of The Compass Killer.”
“Where is the evidence for that?”
“The police aren’t talking about it because they don’t want to cause hysteria, but all the women fit a very similar profile. They all look like Gloria Abbott.” The woman shakes her head. “The whole situation is so sad. That poor, sweet, broken boy, North. He never stood a chance.”
“Does anyone know what happened that night?”
“The family cabin burned down in the middle of the night. Both the Abbott boys were in it. The bodies”—she trembles— “the bodies aren’t actually at the cemetery because they were burned in the fire. Only a few bones are buried.”
“That’s horrible.”
“I know, and there was no money. The town collected funds for the gravestones.”
She raises her hand and points at the corner of the room. There is a small, old computer. Probably has been here for decades.
“That computer has the archives from old articles. That’s where you can see more about the fire.”
Sitting down in front of the computer, I turn it on.
It takes a long time to power up.
Once the home screen opens, I see files on the main page.
They are dated by year.
“What year was the fire?” I ask her, my voice probably too loud for the room.
“It was 2005,” I believe.
I click on the folder, and then when the articles pop up, I start to thumb through them. They are all PDFs of scans from the original newspapers. When I reach the one titled “Tragic Fire Kills Brothers,” I click on it and enlarge the article.
The story talks about how both were at their cabin. That a phone call was made from the house at 9:30 p.m. A little after 1:00 a.m., a fire sparked. It started with a faulty wire, and both brothers died in their beds.
I keep reading.
There’s a picture of the Abbott boys.
Stone and North Abbott.
I enlarge and stare.
My eyes lock on a young man with long, unruly hair. The brown locks cover half of his face and eyes. It’s hard to see him. He’s very skinny and looks frail. Malnourished.
