Chapter 51
The rain that Sabine had intuited came down during the night.
She woke to the sound of it on the roof above her room, at first mistaking it for footsteps, so heavy was it.
She lay awake for a time, enjoying the novelty of being in a strange bed two nights running, before allowing the aperiodic rhythm to ease her to sleep for another hour.
Later, she replenished a water bottle from the tap in her room, filled her to-go cup from the coffeepot at reception, just in case there was a line at Small’s, and once more drove out to The Plains.
The parking lot was full by the time she arrived at the gas station, forcing her to park on the road, and all was bustle around the trestle table from which two women were pouring coffee and distributing donuts and Danishes.
Next to it was a smaller table at which participants were required to sign up.
Separate from the other cars and trucks, Sabine saw vehicles from the Maine Forest Service, the Somerset County Sheriff’s Office, and the Maine State Police, along with a quartet of men and women in uniform.
Their presence made her feel more comfortable about assisting with the search, so much so that she even liberated two of the donuts, one of them eaten there and then and the other wrapped in a napkin for later. She then added her name to the list.
Minutes later, one of the rangers used a bullhorn to call for attention.
By then Sabine counted about forty people present, varying in age from teenagers to seniors, some carrying trekking poles and walking sticks.
There were also four or five dogs. Most of those involved appeared to know one another, and the dogs likewise.
She looked around to check whether Anita Norton or her husband were present, but saw no sign of them; their presence, she supposed, might have represented an awkward distraction.
The searchers were split into two groups, each under the supervision of a ranger, assisted by a state trooper or deputy, and given a rendezvous point from which they would start out at ten sharp.
Sabine was assigned to the second group, which was led by the ranger with the bullhorn and a state trooper who ticked off names as people confirmed they were clear on where they were supposed to be going.
If, like Sabine, they were unsure, the rendezvous was pointed out to them on a map.
Sabine put the location into her phone, though she didn’t think she’d have trouble spotting a big group of cars gathered up by the Dead River, even without the help of the convoy that was already pulling out.
“You know where you’re headed?”
The question came from a burly man with thick, graying hair and a beard that could have done with a good trim. His canvas field coat hung open, and under it he wore a zippered sweatshirt, also open, over a three-button undershirt: layers to be discarded as needed.
“I believe so,” said Sabine.
“Good.”
He resumed walking and she fell into step beside him.
“You come far?” he asked casually.
“Haynesville, but I stayed in Bingham last night.”
“Just for this, or were you drawn by the bright lights?”
He squinted at her. She didn’t need any great acuity to spot his caution.
She knew there were those who would be thrilled by the idea not only of looking for a body, but also the possibility of finding one.
Mallory Norton’s disappearance would have drawn them from under their rocks.
Sabine ought to have asked for the bullhorn to reassure everyone she meant well.
“I was up here anyway. I saw the notice about the search and decided to stay. I could spare the time. And you?”
“I’m from The Plains.”
“Do you know the girl?”
“Only to see around,” he replied.
He stopped by a battered Ford truck. “This is me.”
Sabine pointed at her car. “And that’s me.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for you. I’m Tim Sadlier, by the way.”
“Sabine Drew.”
“A pleasure, Sabine.”
“Likewise. How about I just follow you, Tim?”
“Be my guest. I’d keep my windows closed, though. This old girl does cough some.”
So Sabine followed the man named Tim all the way to the rendezvous—he wasn’t lying about the exhaust—and once they arrived, she stayed with him.
The forest ranger made everyone space out before they began, but ensured everyone kept within both sight and hailing distance of the searchers at either side, so Sabine found herself with Tim to her right and Bennett Small to her left.
“You see anything unusual,” said the ranger, “you call out and look, but don’t touch. Okay, let’s move.”
They’d been told to familiarize themselves with what Mallory Norton was wearing when she was last seen.
Sabine had memorized the details, and planned to do her best to pay attention to the physical surroundings, but really, she was engaged on an exploration of a different character.
Already, she was reaching into the darkness of the woods ahead.
In her right hand, plucked from the brush in the girl’s bedroom, she held a tangle of Mallory Norton’s hair.