As the man turned the car around, the plates came into view. Massachusetts. But before she could memorise the number, he sped down Stern’s drive, scattering gravel as he spun the wheel. Instead of turning left towards town and the road to Massachusetts, he pointed the car in the direction of the distant hills, and whatever lay beyond the ridge of mountains to the east.
Stern stood on the front stoop, arms crossed, shoulders tense. Only after the Audi disappeared from view did he go back inside the house.
What now? She couldn’t follow Stern’s visitor on the bicycle. And lurking in the shadow of the oak, spying on Stern with the binoculars, was beginning to feel absurd. She straightened her legs from her awkward crouch and headed back to the village. The road had been empty all morning, but as she rounded a curve, a car coming up rapidly behind her honked twice and careened past, nearly running her into a drainage ditch. She squeezed the brakes and bumped to a stop on the grassy verge, looking up in time to see Stern’s silver SUV flinging gravel as it roared away.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Where was he going in such a hurry? She hoped someplace far away. With her car parked behind Garry’s Food Mart, it would be easy for their paths to cross.
By the time she reached the village, it was nearly three, and a few locals were out on the streets. She stowed the bike in the boot of her car and drove towards Hanover, keeping a steady eye on the rear-view mirror. But there was no sign of Stern’s SUV, or the dark blue Audi.
*
Back in Hanover, a farmers’ market was in full swing. Around the village green, trestle tables stacked with jams and maple syrup and cranberry bread made a lively sight. From her room on the top floor of the inn, with its view of the street, Erin scanned the green with her binoculars, on the lookout for Stern. Was he mingling with the townsfolk, filling a canvas shopping bag with pots of honey and home-made strawberry jam, as he chatted with his neighbours? That’s what she wanted to believe. But the rage on Stern’s face as he watched his visitor drive away told a different story. Clearly, the man in the Audi hadn’t been trying to sell Stern a magazine subscription. There was a history there.
Seated at a table in the Morning Glory Café, engrossed in an article on a local case of arson, she nearly failed to look up when the door swung open, and a woman sailed in, bringing with her a rush of fresh air. Cropped blonde hair, figure-hugging black trousers. It was Stern’s housekeeper.
Erin hid behind the newspaper as the woman carried her coffee to a table by the window. In her suede loafers and peach linen blouse, she clearly hadn’t come from cleaning Stern’s home. That the housekeeper might recognise her was unlikely, but just when Erin thought it was safe to slip outside, Stern breezed through the open door, his face flushed, his jaw tense. As he joined the woman at her table, he leaned in to kiss her on the mouth. Her expression softened, and she stroked his cheek. Not his housekeeper, it would seem. But lying about his love life was hardly a crime.
The counter girl arrived to clear away Erin’s empty mug. ‘Anything else for you? We’ve got some nice sandwiches today and a delicious veggie soup.’
The housekeeper glanced over as Erin shook her head and raised the newspaper to hide her face. Would she have to wait for them to leave? Perhaps, if she was lucky, she might be able to breeze past them undetected. But Stern seemed the type of man who noticed the smallest detail. As a lawyer, he’d be good with faces and body language. Bad luck that she’d removed her baseball cap and sunglasses when she came inside. It would look odd now if she put them back on. During the home study visit with Lydia, she’d worn a charcoal-grey trouser suit and her black-framed spectacles. Dressed as she was now, in jeans and a jumper, and her hair in a messy bun, she could easily pass for a college student. He might not make the connection.
Trapped behind the newspaper, she tried to focus on an article about local politics, but failed to take in anything. As the minutes ticked by, she felt like a mouse trapped in its burrow. When Stern and his companion finally finished their meal and pushed away from their table, she lowered her head and rummaged in her bag. If Stern glanced her way, at least her face would be hidden. He made a big show of joking with the girl behind the counter and turning to call out something to a younger man across the room. Playing the man about town, even in this small village in rural Vermont. Perhaps he was trying to seed the ground with an abundance of goodwill. Splashing money about and patronising the local merchants to show what a good citizen he was. How else was he going to explain to the townsfolk that his schizophrenic murderer son would be living in their midst?
After they left, Erin waited a good five minutes before getting up to pay her bill. When she stepped outside, she hung back under the awning to check the street, before making a beeline for the car park out back. As she hurriedly freed the helmet from the crossbar of the bike, someone behind her coughed.
‘Dr Cartwright?’
She stiffened. But by the time Erin turned to face him, she had a smile ready. No sign of his lady friend, or his car. He must have followed her after she left the café.
‘I thought that was you.’ His smile did not come quick enough to mask the suspicion in his eyes. Not a man she would want to face in a courtroom.
‘What brings you
