Page 15 of 44.1644° North
Simon said, “Do you want to walk up the road, or is this enough for you?” He sounded like all this—we—had already been more than enough for him.
We wanted to walk up the road, of course, and that’s what we did.
Even with the reflection of moonlight on snow, the pinpoint gleams through trees reminding us of the nearby presence of homes and people, and twenty of us hiking up the highway, it was dark and it was eerie.
Not much had changed through the years in the Rockwellian village of Woodlark. There were a few more homes, but not many. Most of the residents were retirees, and the median income was about $52,000—well below the national average. Just your typical rural small town. Life moved at a leisurely pace, and everyone knew everyone.
More to the point, the shops closed early and the nightlife was nonexistent. When evening fell, residents pulled the drapes, closed the blinds, and kept close to hearth and home.
It was a relatively short hike from the crash site to the intersection of Bradley Hill Road.
Hailey muttered, “I have to admit, I wouldn’t want to drive these roads alone at night.”
“That’s what I’ve beensaying,” Blake responded. “That’s what Weber says. No woman would make that drive voluntarily without a clear destination and companionship. There had to be a tandem driver. Or she was coming up here to meet someone.”
“I didn’t saynowoman would want to make this drive alone,” Hailey said irritably. “I saidIwouldn’t. I also wouldn’t have enrolled at West Point. Not to mention, Deirdre was obviously a much braver woman if she was willing to lock herself in a classroom with little kids.”
That got a few chuckles.
I guess it’s normal that people have trouble believing that someone they identify with could make choices they never would. But that’s the reality. We’re not all the same. That’s why people we love sometimes end up married to people we can’t stand. That’s whywesometimes end up married to people we can’t stand.
I didn’t bother to comment because I was on the record many times over on this point. I didn’t believe Deirdre was running from her life or her father or Tommy. I didn’t believe she was afraid of anyone or anything when she started driving that snowy afternoon. I thought she needed time and space. I thought she was not afraid of adventure or challenge, let alone spending a week in her own company.
Iliana said, “It just seems impossible someone could have grabbed her right off the road and no one saw anything. Especially when there was such a small window of time. Twenty minutes.”
That I did answer. “Twenty minutes between the time the neighbor reported the accident and the deputy arrived. But if she hid in the trees while the deputy looked around, and then started walking, the timetable changes.”
“Even so, it’s only a few minutes’ walk from the crash site to the intersection.”
“You can’t see the crash site from here,” Rory observed thoughtfully. I studied him for a moment. It’s strange how you can find someone attractive but not trust them. I liked his looks, I liked that he was smart—there’s nothing sexier than intelligence—and informed, and I thought I would maybe like his sense of humor. If I ever caught more than a glimmer of it.
But I’ve had experience being lied to by people I loved, so…
“How come we’re not talking about Rusty Bailey?” someone asked. “He’s the last person on record to see Deedee alive.”
Simon snapped, “Rusty used to drive me to school every morning. He drove my ex-wife to school every morning. I don’t want to hear this.”
Nobody said a word.
It seemed we had reached the end of the road, physically and metaphorically. There was a small cluster of signs, including a large double arrow indicating the intersection of Route 112 and Bradley Hill Road. Route 302 headed north toward the town of Bath and then eventually Vermont. Route 10 led toward Hanover.
Beyond the mosaic of signs were trees and wilderness, and a bit to the left was Rusty Bailey’s property.
While there were potential issues with the NH state police bloodhound brought in on that first day of searching, the dog had twice run the same track from the crash site. Both times he’d lost the scent just before the intersection of Bradley Hill Road—and right in front of the driveway to Bailey’s property.
Assuming the dog track had been accurate, a couple of conclusions could be drawn: Deirdre had headed east after the crash. The dog losing the scent in the middle of the road was not consistent with Deirdre walking up to a house or continuing down the highway or wandering off into the woods. Itwasconsistent with her climbing into a vehicle.
Maybe the vehicle of the tandem driver? Though why not pick her up at the scene of the crash?
Maybe the vehicle of someone just passing through?
Or maybe the vehicle of someone local. Someone who had already been on the road at the time of Deirdre’s accident. Maybe the vehicle had been Rusty Bailey’s school bus.
Chapter Four
“So, I understand you want to hire me to take you up to Blackbird Ridge?”
Simon Overhiser was around my age, though the wings of silver at his temples made him look older and more distinguished. Or maybe hewasolder and more distinguished. He was tall, lean, and had the kind of chiseled handsomeness that ages well.
