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“You think?”
“I know.”
I said, “She was a kid. She made a lot of the mistakes that kids do as they’re pushing boundaries, trying to find their place in the world.”
Plus, there was no evidence Deirdre had been promiscuous, a drunk, or a reckless driver. She had certainly lied about a death in the family, she’d been allowed to resign from West Point after a shoplifting incident so trivial, it was in itself baffling, and she had used a dorm-mate’s credit card to order food on separate occasions, knowing full well it was bound to come to light. There were puzzling contradictions in her behavior, no question. But she was not the first young adult to exhibit puzzling behaviors.
Weber made a pained sound. “No more armchair psychology. Please.”
It was tempting, but I let it go.
Our omelets arrived. I forked off a bite, asked Weber, “Is it true you’ve received email death threats?”
He smirked. “Every time I publish a new bestseller, I get death threats. Writers are a jealous breed.”
“You think other writers are sending you death threats?”
“Of course.”
“Have you ever received death threats in connection to Deirdre’s case?”
“One or two. I didn’t take them seriously.”
“Did you ever find out who sent them?”
“Who cares? Some joker. Some random asshole with too much time on his hands and no life of his own.”
“I see.”
He scowled. “Why? Has someone sentyouthreats?”
“Yes.”
That seemed to irritate him even more than Pat O’Donnell agreeing to speak with me. “Why would they? You fell over Deirdre’s disappearance barely more than a year ago. You’ve literally not sharedoneoriginal thought. I’ve been working this case for fifteen years.”
“You’re certainly viewed online as the expert.”
“Not justonline—” He broke off as Rory returned to the table.
Rory sat down. “This looks great.” He stretched his arm along the back of my chair.
Weber frowned at him, asked abruptly, “Are you FBI”
Well, chalk one up to Weber.
Rory gave him a level look. “Yep. Why?”
“I’m wondering why you’re here. Or is it just for him?” He nodded in my direction.
Rory smiled at me. “Oh, I’mdefinitelyhere for him.” He took a bite of his omelet.
“And you wouldn’t tell me anyway.”
“Nope.”
I said to Weber, “Since youarethe expert on this case, do you remember hearing a theory about three local kids who might have worked at the Loon Mountain Resort?”
“Oh my God.” He threw his head back and laughed. “The Loon Mountain Three? Is that who you imagine picked her up that night? That’s your angle? Three ski bums? I debunked that theory years ago. There was no Loon Mountain Three.They never existed.” His good humor appeared restored. “Amateurs. Well, you have fun chasing those ghosts, Professor.” He gave another chuckle. “I can’t wait to readyourbook.”
