Refuge Cove (New Americana 2)

“True. But before that I’d like to get a positive ID on those glasses. Let’s go see Philpot.”

Waste of time, John thought as he and Traverton pulled up to the shabby blue house in Traverton’s police vehicle. Those glasses hadn’t dropped out of the sky and crawled under that blackberry bush by themselves. The only explanation for their being there was the obvious one. But Sam Traverton was a methodical man, and this caution was typical of him.

John had hesitated to come along on this errand. The last time he’d spoken with Philpot, he’d come here under the guise of friendship. This time, Philpot would know that he was aligned with the enemy. But that couldn’t be helped. John knew he’d be needed to back up the account of where the glasses had been found, and to keep Philpot from denying his earlier story.

Their timing was good. They arrived at the house just as Philpot was pulling up on his motorcycle. The look on his horsey face made words unnecessary.

They stood next to the porch while John showed the pictures on his phone and Traverton asked the questions.

“You told John that Boone’s so-called bride was wearing glasses when you performed the ceremony. Are these the glasses you saw?”

Philpot scratched behind his ear. “Can’t say for certain. Maybe, maybe not. The woman wasn’t much of a looker, that’s for sure. As I recollect, her glasses had black frames, or maybe gold. It was a while ago, and my memory isn’t as sharp as it used to be.”

“I don’t suppose you remember her name, do you?”

Philpot shrugged. “Mary Frances or somethin’. Maybe Mary Josephine. Anyway, it sounded Catholic.”

“Any last name?”

“Boone never told me that.”

“Thanks for your time. If your memory improves, give us a call.” Traverton motioned to John, and they walked back toward the car.

“You know he’s lying about the glasses, don’t you?” John said as they climbed inside and drove away.

“Maybe. But why would he lie?”

“Boone’s his friend. He’s protecting him—and maybe protecting himself. Glasses like that, with those lenses, there’s no way they’d be there unless that poor woman had lost them. You are going to recommend a search, aren’t you?”

“Probably. But I want to check the missing persons database first. Narrow the search down to women of a certain age, maybe named Mary, maybe a teacher or librarian, gone missing last spring. She might be there. There might even be a photo of her wearing those glasses.”

John suppressed the urge to grind his teeth. It was commonly known that Sam Traverton would rather lose an arm than be proven wrong because he took action before all the facts were in. As Sam himself was fond of saying, he didn’t like playing his hand until he knew how the deck was stacked.

“It’s possible that no one reported her,” John said. “Emma had no family and lived alone. I’m guessing that Boone looked for women who might not be missed.”

“Maybe so,” Traverton said. “But we’ll have time to look. There’s a storm moving in tomorrow. Nobody will be going out to search until it clears.”

John had checked the forecast for tomorrow’s mail run, so he knew about the storm. He’d flown in bad weather plenty of times, and this patch of rain and sleet didn’t look serious enough to alter his plans. But Traverton was right. The troopers would need decent weather to search the trailer site.

They drove back to the police station. Traverton let John out at the Jeep with a promise to pass on anything he learned. Alone now, John got out his phone to call Emma. She’d be working now, and might have the ringer on silent. But at least he could leave her a message or send her a text before he went home and lost service.

Damn! John stared at the dead phone. He must’ve been too distracted to charge it last night. Now it was useless, and the charger was in the cabin.

He didn’t want to go into the restaurant with David there. But at least he could drive by and make sure Emma was all right.

He drove down Front Street, parked by the docks, and walked across the street. By now it was almost dark. The wind, blowing in from t

he west, felt dense and moist, the prelude to a storm.

The lights were on in the restaurant. He could see Emma carrying a tray of meals to a table—a feat of strength and balance that amazed him. Nearby, David was stacking plates on another table.

From a safe distance on the sidewalk John watched them—the two most precious people in his life. Then, knowing he mustn’t stay, he crossed the street again and drove home.

CHAPTER 11

John picked up the mail pouch at the Ward Cove post office, then drove the short distance to Refuge Cove. The wind was brisk and cold. As he climbed out of his Jeep in the parking lot, he paused to turn up the collar of the sheepskin coat.

He’d meant to call Emma this morning. But he’d decided to leave at first light, ahead of the storm. He knew she’d be tired from work, and he didn’t want to wake her. Taking his charged phone out of his pocket, he brought up her number and sent her a simple text.