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“It sounds like you know her well also.” She glanced at him, studying his profile.
It was balanced and strong. Nice.
Not that she cared. But at least the man was pleasant to look at—even if he was a beast to talk to.
“I also stop by when I do tours up here,” he explained.
There was that reminder again that Duke was a tour guide.
Yet Simmy had called him a hero.
Andi couldn’t quite figure out this guy.
Not that she wanted to. The wisest thing to do would be to keep things professional. To not ask too many questions.
If Andi didn’t get nosy with him, maybe Duke wouldn’t get nosy with her.
“I hope Craig is okay.” Andi rubbed her arms as she remembered the last lines of his podcast.
“Me too. We like to look out for each other up here.”
“I get that.” She stared out the window, wishing she was driving.
Not because Duke was a bad driver.
But because she was a control freak.
“You have to admit . . .” Her voice trailed as she considered not finishing her sentence. She did anyway. “The way his podcast ended didn’t sound good.”
Duke’s jaw visibly hardened. “No, it didn’t.”
“Then there was that footstep. You heard it too.” A shiver raced through her at the memory.
“That’s what sold me on going to check this guy out for Simmy. If he truly lives alone . . .” His neck tightened. “I’m still holding out hope that this is all a publicity stunt.”
“It isn’t.” Andi practically felt like she knew Craig after listening to his podcasts. That, and she considered herself an excellent judge of character.
But if that was true, what did that mean for Duke?
“What was this season about?”
Duke’s voice snapped Andi from her thoughts.
“Henrietta Blanco.” Andi felt a rush of thankfulness for the “safe” conversation topic. At least, it was safer than talking about herself. “Eight years ago, while she was at home with three of her kids, someone walked into her house and stabbed her five times in the chest and stomach. For years, the police had no leads, no suspects, no motives—nothing.”
“Where did she live?”
“Only about an hour from here. Apparently, back in the seventies and eighties, a bunch of people got land here thanks to the Homestead Act.”
“I’ve heard about it.”
“A group of like-minded individuals were given their property together all in one location,” Andi said. “Then they started a school and a church—they were all very religious and church was a central part of their lives. They were religious fundamentalists, I believe they’re called.”
Duke glanced at her. “How so?”
“From what Craig said, they were very strict. No TV or radios. No jewelry. Everyone had very traditional roles in the home.” Andi shrugged. “They set up their own little community—or village, as they called it. Canaan is what they named it—after the biblical area, of course.”
“Interesting.” Duke shifted his thoughts. “As far as suspects, what about the husband? Isn’t that who they always look at first?”
