“Did Fiona pick them up herself? Do you know her?”
The clerk’s eyes narrowed. She stood straighter. “You ask a lot of questions. What are you getting at?”
“I’m a friend of Fiona’s. You know she’s missing, right? She was staying at a lake house two hours north of here, and she vanished. Nobody can find her.”
The clerk acted more suspicious of Julia than concerned for Fiona.
“I know Fiona, but I don’t know you, and I’m not answering any more of your questions. I like to mind my own business. I suggest you do the same.”
The clerk retreated to the back room without a goodbye, leaving Julia flummoxed. Why the strong reaction? Instead of expressing worry, the woman had seemed defensive and…frightened? Julia couldn’t make sense of it.
Back outside, she didn’t know what to do next. She could visit the local police, but what good would that do? It was unlikely they’d share information, since she wasn’t family. Baker said Fiona was from here, so what kind of family and friends wouldn’t bother with a missing persons poster? Julia hadn’t seen any in store windows or on telephone poles. It was either extremely sad or extremely strange, or perhaps both.
The drive to Bennington was long enough for Julia to be hungry and tired. The Irish pub down the street called her name.
The Black Rose was just what Julia expected—dark and dreary, with a beer smell perfuming the air. An oddly enticing aroma made her crave a basket of fries and a drink. A healthy diet was hardly her top priority.
She ignored the stares of several patrons, all old men nursing beers, to grab an empty stool at the far end of the bar, near an old-fashioned jukebox that she couldn’t believe still worked. It played a song from the Foo Fighters, a tune Christian especially loved and would sing out of key at any opportunity.
It’s so sad… what an idiot.
The menu she perused had a tacky residue, a thin film of old grease that made her question ordering food, but hunger beat out her misgivings. It occurred to her that if the old stereotype held true, the person best in position to help her was the man asking what she wanted to drink.
“Do you have white wine? And I’ll take a veggie burger, too,” she said, still craving the fries, but knowing she’d regret that choice later.
The bartender took her menu and put in the order. He was the opposite of David—fair complexion with a Lincoln beard. The look made Julia think of a leprechaun, an observation she wouldn’t dare share, especially in an Irish bar. She’d say he was middle-aged, in his mid-fifties, with a wrinkled face, weathered and worn from too many stories and late nights. Short and stocky, he had a body shaped like a keg and wore a flannel shirt with rolled sleeves, showing off his tattooed arms.
When he returned with the wine, Julia was ready with her phone. He put the pinot grigio down in front of her before directing his attention to the image Julia shared, a picture she’d taken at the campfire. She pointed to Fiona, who looked ravishing in her small top and red wrap skirt, the magic hour’s golden light casting her in an angelic glow.
“Do you know this woman?” she asked.
He gave her a wry smile. “Oh yeah, sure, that’s Fiona Maxwell,” he said, speaking with a Boston accent she didn’t expect this far from home. “Nice shot. My cousin was a friend of hers back in high school. They were theater geeks together. I saw a couple of her local shows.”
“Oh, I didn’t know she acted.”
“Acted like a pain in the ass mostly.” He chuckled. “That girl had a nose for trouble, but that’s not unusual around here. I think Fiona had big dreams of becoming a Hollywood star or something. She and her best friend, Bella, poor girl.”
“What happened to Bella?” Julia couldn’t believe she was finally getting some information.
“Sad story there. She killed herself about five years ago. Her fiancé dumped her just before the wedding. She didn’t take it well. Fiona found her in the bathtub—you can figure out the rest.”
Julia’s hand reflexively went to her mouth. What a horribly tragic story. She felt heartbroken for both women and Bella’s family, too. Fiona wasn’t just David’s sexy fling. She was a young woman with a life full of hopes and dreams—and loss.
“Do you know that she went missing?” Julia asked.
The light in the bartender’s eyes went out as if someone flicked a switch. “No, I didn’t hear that,” he said. “When?”
“A few days ago. I just met her while on vacation at Lake Timmeny. The police have been searching for her. I expected it to be a bigger deal down here where she’s from, but I haven’t seen one missing person poster yet.”
The bartender didn’t look surprised. “That whole family isextremelyprivate—they don’t air much of anything, good news or bad.”
“I don’t get it. A woman is missing. And even if the family is private, wouldn’t the police be putting the word out?” Julia couldn’t fathom such a lackadaisical response toanyemergency, let alone one of this magnitude.
“It’s, umm… complicated,” said the barkeep, assessing the room, wary of prying ears. Luckily, the bar was relatively quiet. Even so, he dropped his voice. “Fiona’s circle isn’t the type you want to get involved in. It’s more like the kind you want to run away from.”
“What do you mean?” Julia asked.
“These people, Fiona’s family, they do business that isn’t exactly on the up and up. I shouldn’t really get into it, not here, but Fiona’s father—his name is Jim Tracey.” The bartender looked uneasy, as if he’d just said Voldemort’s name aloud. “But everyone around here calls him Jimmy T.”
