“Of course I would,” she said. “I was a southern California mall rat. What do you think teenaged girls are doing in those places? They’re trying to get somebody to follow them.”
Walker drove down Washington and parked in a spot far from the street lamps.
Mary jerked her head one way, then the other, her eyes impatient and troubled. “Where is he?”
“He’s down there in the riverbed. We were waiting for those two guys to show up when you came along.”
“What two—” She stopped herself. “No. Don’t answer now. Let’s just go get him.” She slipped out of the seat and hurried around the back of the car. As she stepped into the street, he was surprised to feel her small, thin fingers around his. She tugged his hand and hurried him across the pavement and down the rocky bank until they were on the dry, pebbly ground beside the water. Then her fingers slipped from his and she surged ahead, nearly lost to sight in the shadowy darkness beside the high bank, where the lights of the town did not reach her.
Walker followed, planting his feet carefully while he watched the distant spot beyond the fields where the headlights always appeared first. Every few seconds he would turn his eyes away from it to the right, to check the end of Washington Street and the short slice of Main Street that he could see from here.
In a moment, Mary had found Stillman. They were crouched low beside the big rock where Walker had been sitting, and Mary was whispering with animated gestures. Walker came close and knelt on the pebbles beside Mary.
Stillman turned his head toward Walker. “Did you hear those guys found our hotel?”
“Yes,” said Walker. “I don’t know how they did it.”
“It’s the biggest hotel in the biggest town around here,” said Stillman. “It’s where I’d look first. It’s a good thing we didn’t move before Serena left for Concord. This gives us a little edge we didn’t have before.”
“Edge?” said Mary. “What edge?”
“If they’ve looked at everything in our rooms, they know we haven’t found a damned thing yet.”
Mary blew out a breath and shook her head. “If that’s your idea of an edge, it’s pitiful.”
“It will have to do,” said Stillman. “The fact that we’ve got nothing will convince them that pulling the break- ins won’t be a waste of time. Whether they knew it at the time or not, searching our rooms means they can’t change their minds. They’ve made it pretty hard for us not to know they’re around. If they’re going to do it, tonight’s the night.”
Mary said, “Is that what you’re sitting in this ditch for? You’re waiting for some men to come here and pull a burglary?”
“Actually,” said Walker quietly, “it’s two.”
“Men or burglaries?”
“Both.”
“How does that help you?”
“The houses they’re going to break into belong to James Scully and the other man who was with him in Florida. When they go there, we’ll know who he was.”
“Terrific,” said Mary. “Then we can get out of here now.”
“You found him?” asked Stillman. “You know who the second man was?”
“Why do you think I came back from Concord?” she said. “I found what I wanted to know. Come on. I’ll tell you about it while we’re driving back to Keene.” She popped up and took a step, but Stillman’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm.
“Wait,” he said. “Tell us now.”
She reached across her chest and plucked his hand from her arm. “Myra Sanderidge helped me make a family tree for James Scully. His father was Thomas Scully, and his mother was Mary Holbrooke. Thomas had two siblings and Mary had eight siblings, but they don’t matter, because the connection has to be two generations back—the grandparents. Like everybody else, James Scully had four of them. His paternal grandmother and maternal grandfather were only children. His maternal grandmother had two brothers. One was killed in an accident without getting married, and the other had two daughters. One died at sixteen, and the other lived eighty-two years without getting married. So it’s his paternal grandfather that’s the connection. He had a sister named Amanda Scully, whose married name was Bowles. She had two daughters, both of whom had girls, and one son, whose name was Philip. And Philip has one son named Gerald.”
Stillman leaned toward Walker. “Did you follow any of that?”
“I’m afraid not,” Walker admitted apologetically. His eyes were on Mary.
She sighed, giving out a quick, angry huff of air. “The only near male relative who is not a first cousin or closer, and who was born thirty-some years ago, was Gerald Bowles.”
Stillman stood and began patting his pockets. “He’s on the list.”
“What list?” asked Mary.
Walker said, “He made a list of adult males in Coulter, and whittled it down to the possibles—not accounted for, not answering their phones, and so on—and—”
Stillman said, “Can’t see in this light,” and climbed along the edge of the riverbed. He stepped quickly across Washington Street and stopped to unfold a sheaf of papers. He stared at one sheet, then moved to the second. He leaned to catch a bit of the light from the street lamp, then folded the papers again. “It’s 302 Maple Street.”
Mary moved toward her car. “Either drive or hand over the keys.”
Walker held out her car keys. “We’ll meet you at your hotel as soon as this is over. I can’t leave him to do this alone.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked. “I was just offering to drive to Maple Street.”
Stillman said to Mary, “Serena, I don’t want you here.”
“You don’t have a way to get rid of me without attracting attention.”
Stillman stared at her intently for a moment, then sighed. “If you’re coming, then come.” As he took his first step, he said, “Leave the car. If things go wrong, we’ll all know where it is.” He set off up Washington Street.
He passed Constitution and kept going until he reached Federal, then turned east on a course parallel with Main. Walker studied the houses along Federal. They were about the same as the ones on Constitution, mostly center-entrance colonials that had been heavily refurbished and remodeled, but a few were nineteenth-century red-brick houses that probably had been replacements for vanished originals. At each step, he looked for heads in windows, lights that illuminated too much of the sidewalk, or pedestrians. But everyone seemed to have gone indoors hours ago, and many of them were probably asleep.
At Grant Street, Stillman stopped and whispered, “Here’s how we do it. Serena, you find yourself a spot on Maple Street that’s out of sight a block or so down from 302 on the Main Street side. If you see a car come along with two men in it, or you see two men on foot, you signal Walker with this.” He took a small flashlight from his pocket and placed it in her hand. “Once you signal him, slip away, get back to your car. If we’re not there in ten minutes, head for Keene.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “Is this just a way to get rid of me?”
“No,” he said. “It’s a way to make you useful. The police are looking for strange men prowling around town, and you’re the only one who doesn’t fit the description.”
He turned to Walker. “You find a spot right near the front door where you can see it if she turns on the flashlight. Keep an eye on her hiding place. If you see the light, come get me.”
“What are you going to be doing?” asked Serena.
“I’ll just be taking a look around in the house,” said Stillman. “Let’s go.”
“But that’s . . . ” She let her voice trail off as she followed Stillman up the street.
Stillman didn’t speak again until they reached Maple. He stopped at the corner and stared along the quiet, tree-lined street for several seconds, then turned. “Okay. It’s down there about half a block. No mistakes, and no delays. We know those guys are on their way. Serena, go.”
Walker felt there was something terribly wrong as he watched Mary’s small, thin shape moving off down the sidewalk alone. Stillman seemed to read his thoughts. “She’s going to be safer than you are. She’s not pulling a burglary.”
They set off when Mary was a hundred yards ahead. Walker kept his eyes on her until she seemed to be no more than a small variation in the shadows, and he would lose her occasionally, then find her again just because he knew how much space she would have traversed in that time. Then Walker caught a glimpse of her gliding up the front lawn of a house with dark windows. When she reached a thick, flowering bush, she was gone.
