The Edge, page 12
Devine moved his chair back over to the desk and looked out the window right as the rain stopped and sun broke through the clouds and shone down on Maine once more.
The light played over the metal roof of the inn and sparkled off the windows.
It made for a good feeling, he thought, like when you saw a hummingbird hovering over a flower. Some warmth and sun always buoyed the human spirit.
As he glanced farther down the path he saw what looked to be a starburst resting just above a bush, a flash of light as the sunbeams encountered a reflective surface. It was fairly dazzling, to those of the casual observer variety, of which Travis Devine was not a member and never would be.
He dove sideways a split second before the window glass of his cottage exploded as the bullet powered through it, lodging into the far wall instead of Devine’s head.
He pulled his gun and edged next to the shattered window. He heard what sounded like footsteps running away. He got to the door and did a turkey peek, and when he saw no one he jumped out, did a roll, and came up in a kneeling firing position. He heard a vehicle start up. By the time he got to the street, he could see nothing or no one in either direction. He hurried back to the spot where he’d seen the flash of light coming off the rifle scope. He stooped and ran his fingers through the grass. They stopped when he felt it. He saw the special marking on the head stamp of the casing.
It isn’t a .300 Norma. It’s a NATO round.
What the hell is going on?
CHAPTER
22
YOU SAY YOU DIDN’T SEE anyone?” asked Chief Harper.
He and Devine were outside the latter’s cottage looking at the large hole in the center of the window.
“No, just the reflection off the scope,” said Devine. “If I hadn’t looked out the window and the sun hadn’t just come out, we would not be having this conversation, and your ME would be cutting me up to get the bullet out.”
“Glad it didn’t come to that,” said Harper as he held up the bagged shell casing.
Devine pointed to it. “It has a cross-in-a-circle stamping. That means it meets NATO specs. But the caliber was also stamped on it, which means it’s a civilian and not a military round.”
“Okay, that narrows things, but only a little.”
“I heard someone running. And then a vehicle started up. By the time I got to the street, it was gone.”
A breathless Fuss hurried up to them. “Did a quick canvass of the area. Nobody saw anybody with a gun, but Joe Martin was coming out of the hardware store and saw a van getting out of here right quick, about the time Devine said the shot was fired.”
“Did he get the plate?” asked Devine.
Fuss shook her head. “No, I mean he had no reason to. He didn’t know anything had happened.”
Devine sighed and looked around. Someone takes a shot at me in broad daylight and no one sees anything?
Fuss seemed to be reading his mind. “Pat Kingman was out running errands and you’re the only cottage rented. This is not the high season. And this time of day the downtown area is pretty dead.”
Like I almost was, thought Devine.
“Well, let’s get the bullet out of the wall. Hopefully we’ll find the rifle to match it to.”
“Even though it’s a different caliber, you think it might be from the same weapon that killed Jenny?” asked Harper.
“The rounds chamber different pressure settings and though they look identical, the thickness of the brass and the head space are different. Some might disagree, but I wouldn’t fire a .300 or .308 round in a rifle chambered for NATO ordnance unless it was specifically chambered for both. It might blow up in your face, or the ejector might jam because the casing stretched too much.”
“Okay, but who would want to kill you?” asked Fuss.
“Someone who doesn’t want me to find out who murdered Jenny Silkwell would be my first and only guess.”
“But we’re investigating her death, too,” pointed out Fuss.
“Then I’d watch your back if I were you,” said Devine before walking off.
He headed to Maine Brew, where he found Annie Palmer cleaning the front counter.
“Want a cup of coffee on the house?” she said.
“Thanks.”
He took a seat on one of the counter stools and watched as she poured out two cups from a full pot. She set one down in front of him and said, “Just made it, should be extra fresh.”
“Did you hear anything about a half hour ago?” he asked after taking a sip.
She leaned against the counter, fingering her cup. “Hear anything? Like what?”
“A bang, like a firecracker going off?”
“No, but I was in the kitchen for the last hour doing inventory with my AirPods in. I wouldn’t have heard much except Rihanna. Why?”
“Just something I was checking out.” He put his cup down and decided to plunge in. “I went by to see your grandfather this morning.”
He saw her neck tense as she took a slow sip of her drink. “Really? Why? Because he found Jenny’s body?”
“Yes.”
“What did he tell you?” There was an anxiety in her voice that bothered him.
“He said he was out walking late at night like he often does. He stopped and looked out at the ocean at various places along the coast. The last place he stopped, he looked down and there she was. Then he called the cops.”
“That’s what he told me, too. Guess if he hadn’t, Jenny would’ve been carried out to sea. Then nobody would have known what happened to her.”
“You didn’t mention that your grandmother was out walking and got hit by a driver who then drove off.”
She looked down into her coffee cup. “I didn’t think to. Why would you have cared what happened to her?”
“I’m just sorry it happened.”
“Yeah,” she said brusquely. “Everybody’s sorry except for the fuckwad who did it.” Her cheeks flamed and she cleared her throat. “Sorry, I don’t usually use language like that.”
“I was in the Army; I’ve heard far worse.”
“Did Gramps tell you that she dragged herself looking for help before she died?”
“Yes, he did.”
“Living in a small town has its good points, but sometimes the isolation isn’t a positive.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You any closer to finding out who killed Jenny?”
“Just really starting. Interviewing people, taking statements, going over the crime scene, checking the forensics. Not very exciting but all very necessary.”
Says the fake investigator from Homeland Security.
“I also met with Alex Silkwell. You mentioned before that no one really knows her?”
Palmer dabbed at a spot on the counter with her cleaning rag. “Yeah, well, I shouldn’t have said that. What business is it of mine? So what’d she have to say?”
“Nothing too remarkable. I went inside her studio. She’s quite an artist.”
“She should be. My grandmother mentored her.”
“Bertie taught Alex?”
“Yes. When Alex was in high school. You wouldn’t know that, of course. Bertie was incredibly talented. She could have really been something if she had pursued it. When she was young she was even offered a spot at an art school in Paris.”
“Damn. So what happened?”
Palmer shrugged. “She loved Gramps. They were high school sweethearts. They decided to stay here and raise a family. But she continued with her artwork. And taught folks like Alex.”
“The building behind the house? Was that her art studio?”
“Yes.”
“Alex seems to have followed her example of staying put. She had offers, too.”
“Yeah, I know,” Palmer said absently, with a frown. “If I had been Alex, I would’ve been gone in two seconds flat.”
“Not into small towns?”
“I could always come back to visit.” She looked around the café. “And this may come as a shock, but serving food and coffee in the town where I was born and grew up was not a significant element of my youthful dreams. In fact, it had no place whatsoever,” she added with a sad smile. “I went away to college and didn’t think I’d be coming back. But here I am.”
“You’re still young. You can still dream and then do something about it.”
“Far easier said than done.”
“I think that’s why they call them dreams.”
“You want another cup?”
“No, I think I’ve hit my caffeine allotment for today. By the way, I’m having dinner with Dak Silkwell tonight.”
“Really? You two becoming best buds?” she said jokingly.
“He’s just someone I need to talk to.”
“Well, I need to get back to work. Hope you and Dak have a great time. But don’t let him get you drunk. You won’t like yourself in the morning. Trust me.”
She walked off, leaving him to wonder about what she had meant by that.
CHAPTER
23
BY THE TIME DEVINE GOT back to the inn Harper and Fuss were gone. He stood at the spot where he had seen the scope flash and then eyed the window of his cottage.
Not a difficult shot. Cover was good. The shooter had chosen their position well. The grass had been too soaked to hold any footprints.
“I can’t believe this happened.”
He turned to see Pat Kingman standing there.
“Yeah, I wasn’t too thrilled, either.”
“I can put you in another cottage.”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll just tape the hole up until you can get it repaired. It wasn’t too big. The hole it would have put in me would have been a little bigger.”
She looked like she might be sick, so Devine said hurriedly, “I’m okay, Ms. Kingman, and I’m sure they’ll find out who did it and that will be that.”
“Well, I certainly hope so. You let me know if you need anything.”
“I will.”
She turned and hurried back to the inn.
Devine drove out to Jocelyn Point. He had some more questions for Alex.
When he got there, she was heading out astride a turquoise-colored bike with a big basket. There was a cool hand-painted slash of lightning along the frame. In the basket was a large waterproof knapsack.
She had on wool pants and a thick white sweater with a tweed blazer over that, and her hands were gloved. Her hair was in a ponytail and she had on earmuffs. Her expression was excited.
“Where you headed?” he asked.
“My art class, remember?” she said.
“Oh, right. Little nippy to be riding a bike.”
“It’s only a few miles.”
“How about I give you a lift? We can talk on the way and then I can wait and drive you back here.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind, really.”
“Well, it would save me some time, and this heavy knapsack makes turning a chore.”
She parked her bike on the porch, while he stowed her knapsack in the back seat.
She directed him to the public school, which was set in a block of empty warehouses, boarded-up business parks, and vacant, weed-filled lots.
As he pulled into the school she said, “This was all starting to go downhill when I was a little girl. Then all the businesses closed, jobs went overseas, and there was no backstop. Rural Maine has lost a lot of population. Mainers rely a lot on tourism, but the pandemic blasted a big hole in that, and we still haven’t recovered.”
“I’m sure.”
“Compared to Boston and New York the cost of living is lower, but it’s not all that cheap to live here, either, when you factor in food and fuel, and a lot of the jobs don’t pay a living wage.” She looked out the window. “And the weather can be… challenging. We’re actually projected to lose population for the next twenty years. Leaders need to step up. Invest in the state, in the people, or the picture is not going to miraculously get better. Mainers deserve that. Hell, everybody in this country does.”
“You’re very well informed.”
“It’s my home and my country,” she said. “I need to be informed. Where do you live?”
“Right now, it’s a moving target. Did you get your interest in all that from your father?”
She looked at him warily. “I am not a politician. I have no interest in that at all.”
“You don’t have to be a politician to help your community.”
“Right now, I just want to help the kids in my class.” She opened the car door. “Are you coming in or staying out here?”
“Can I come in?”
“You have to sign in at the front desk and I have to vouch for you.” She eyed his waist. “I don’t know about the gun.”
“Do they have a security person here?”
“They used to, until they couldn’t afford the position anymore.”
“I think my federal creds will carry the day.”
And they did.
For the next hour and twenty minutes Devine watched from a corner as Alex taught two classes of sixth graders in a makeshift classroom with no windows, high ceilings, and not much heat. And yet the kids loved it. He could see that from their enthusiasm and their questions and how seriously they took Alex’s comments as she went around the room to view each student’s efforts. She was unfailingly positive and detailed, and her suggestions were delivered with genuineness, humor, self-deprecation, and delicacy.
And she smiled—often, he saw, which he had never really seen her do in the limited time he had known her. At the beginning of the class she had passed out granola bars and juice boxes, which, she had told Devine, she paid for with her own money. That was why the knapsack had been so heavy.
Later, as they walked back to the Tahoe, she said, “The entire school is 130 percenters.”
“What does that mean?”
“The government pays for lunches for students whose family income is at or below 130 percent of the federal poverty line. That’s about thirty-six thousand a year for a family of four.”
“That seems ridiculously low for a family to live on. I don’t have kids but I remember how much I ate. I would think it would be damn hard to make ends meet on double that.”
“It is, but that’s the law. And the extra federal funds doled out during the pandemic have dried up. With those dollars, the income level was waived and all kids could eat for free. Not anymore. And a hungry kid has a difficult time learning. That’s why I give them something before the class. Near the end of the school day they start to run out of gas. I wish they let me teach the class earlier, but art is sort of an afterthought. I guess I’m lucky they offer it at all.”
He opened the passenger door for her, took her knapsack, and put it in the back seat.
“It’s a really good thing that you’re doing, Alex.”
“Most days it doesn’t seem like much,” she said. “Throwing a pebble at a tidal wave.”
“Every little bit helps. And you connected with those kids.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I know so. I saw it for myself. Hell, if you’d been my art teacher I would have been a lot more interested in painting. And it’s not just because you’re so… What I mean to say is… I…”
Shit.
She put a hand on his arm as he put the SUV in gear. “Thank you,” she said simply.
On the drive back, Devine said, “Not to unduly alarm you, but someone took a shot at me earlier today.”
“What! Where?” She ran her gaze frantically over his person. “Are you… did it…?”
“No, it missed, but it was a little closer than I would have wanted.”
“Please tell me they got whoever did it!”
“No, they didn’t.”
“First Jenny and now you? This sort of stuff does not happen in Putnam.”
“Violent things can happen anywhere, Alex. Even in Putnam. Look at Alberta Palmer. Her death was very violent. And the person got away.”
He looked at her to gauge her reaction to this.
She was sitting there staring straight out the windshield, her body trembling and spasming like she had been doused with ice water.
“I heard that Alberta taught you art?”
Alex stopped trembling, closed her eyes, and drew a long, composing breath as she said some words that Devine tried to lip-read or hear but couldn’t. She opened her eyes and seemed back to normal. “She was a wonderful artist in her own right. And the kindest person I ever met.”
“You must have been devastated when she was killed.”
“I’m not sure that’s a strong enough word, actually. I’m embarrassed to say that my sister’s death didn’t affect me as much as Bertie’s did.” She glanced at him. “I guess you think I’m an awful person for saying that.”
“Your feelings are your feelings. And there’s no law that says you have to love your family above all others. Everyone has their own experiences in that regard.”
Alex nodded appreciatively and said, “She was actually the reason I started teaching at the school. Bertie had done it for decades. But then her eyesight started to fail and her fingers weren’t as nimble and she… It was just time for her to let someone else do it. And that someone else was me.”
“I’m sure she was pleased.”
“She was, very much so. Which made me incredibly happy.”
They drove on in silence for a few moments.
“Last chance on joining us for dinner tonight,” said Devine.
She hesitated but then shook her head. “I have some work to catch up on, and then I think I’ll go to bed early. But thanks.”
He dropped Alex off and watched her walk into her home. Then he turned the car around. He had some things to do before meeting Dak tonight.
But in light of recent events, his primary objective right now was to stay alive.
CHAPTER
24
HE STOPPED BY A HARDWARE store and bought some duct tape. When he got to his room at the inn, he checked his booby traps, then he duct-taped over the hole in the window and closed the curtains. He eyed the opposite wall where the round had embedded itself, and he wondered if the locals had made any progress on finding out who had fired it.
