Chapter 7
“Colin Rowe,” Frank read aloud from his notes as they neared a cottage-style building on Main Street. “Thirty-four. Married, no children.”
Nico’s face pinched in distaste. “I never liked stuffed animals.”
“What? Not even teddy bears?”
When Nico turned deadpan eyes to his companion, Frank smirked and kept walking.
Colin Rowe’s shop was neat and tidy—obsessively so—even though it looked like it belonged to the era of bell-bottom jeans and disco: faded yellow carpet lined the floor, varnished paneling on the walls, display shelves boasted his dedication to his craft—all manner of fur and feathered animals looking alive enough to make any person take a second look. But no trace of certain extra-curricular activities—namely killing innocent young women—jumped out as Nico surveyed the space.
The man himself was—in a word—nonthreatening. Clean shaven and annoyingly friendly, he couldn’t do enough for the two of them, even insisting on brewing tea before they sat down.
“So,” he said, pouring three cups then settling into an ugly green sofa, opposite Nico and Frank. “Please tell me how I can help with your investigation.”
Frank took the lead. “You’re not under any suspicion here, Mr. Rowe. We just have a few routine questions.”
“Of course. Fire away.”
“Could you start by telling us how long you’ve lived in Mercy Cove?”
“Oh, six or seven years now. We—I moved here in my late twenties.”
“From where?”
“Wherever I was at the time,” he laughed. “I think France if memory serves. I was a travel writer, you see. When I was younger.”
“Lived for adventure, huh?” Nico asked, taking a sip of the odd-smelling tea because it was the polite thing to do, and instantly regretting it.
Colin nodded. “You could say that.”
“So, what made you settle here?”
For the first time since he’d beckoned them inside, the taxidermist looked tense. “Uh, well, Kate—my wife—she was a photographer. We traveled together. She fell in love with the landscape here. The ocean. The people. And because I was in love with her . . .” He shrugged, leaving the rest unsaid.
“You stayed,” Frank finished.
“I stayed. Decided to learn a new skill”—he gestured to the variety of stuffed animals around them—“and made this place my home.”
“I see,” Frank said.
“Mr. Rowe, we understand this might be difficult, but could you talk to us about Isabelle Moss?” Nico asked. “How well did you know her?”
“Well, we were neighbors,” he replied.
“Outside of the neighborly sense,” Frank amended. “How well did you know her?”
“It’s a small town,” Colin replied. “Everybody knows everybody in some way or another.”
“So, you did know her?” Nico pushed.
He shook his head, as dispassionate as if they were discussing the weather. “Not particularly. What I meant was everybody knows of everybody. Naturally, I’ve seen her around; at the market, community events, out for dinner with her family. But, no, Lieutenant, I didn’t know her.”
“When you saw her around town, did you happen to notice who she spent most of her time with, besides her family?” Frank asked.
Colin sat back, thinking. “Well, she was often joined at the hip with her best friend, Darcy, who I’m sure you’ve already spoken to by now.”
Frank bobbed his head. “We have.”
“Then there was the boyfriend—Logan, I think was his name.”
Nico shifted, sitting a little straighter at the valuable information. There had been vague mentions of a possible boyfriend in a few of their interviews, mostly just townsfolk speculating, but nothing solid like a name. Darcy had been surprisingly tight-lipped about it. Odd, considering her best friend was now dead and this mystery man—Logan—was nowhere to be found. For Nico, that automatically skyrocketed him to the top of the persons-of-interest list. But first, they had to find him.
“Isabelle’s parents never mentioned a boyfriend,” Frank gently coaxed.
“I should think not.” Colin chuckled. “The two were rarely seen together, but still gossip spreads like wildfire around here. It soon became common knowledge that the Moss’s did not approve of the relationship, Logan being a ‘bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks.’ I’m sure they were just trying to protect their late daughter’s reputation.”
“What’s Logan’s last name?” Nico asked.
“That, I can’t help you with, I’m sorry. He’s not exactly a member of this community. None of them are.”
“Them?” Nico prompted, though judging by a sidelong look at Frank’s face, he got the sense he knew exactly what—who—the taxidermist was talking about.
Colin paused; cup poised at his lips. “You haven’t heard about them yet?” At Nico’s telling silence, he sighed. “Let me preface this by saying that it’s second-hand knowledge at best. It all happened long before I came here.” Another lengthy pause. “There’s a handful of families—don’t ask me their names—who live up in the mountains here on the island. Off the grid. Very unfriendly. Logan belongs to one of those families. They come into town occasionally for supplies, or a drink at Wade’s bar when they’re in the mood for trouble, but mostly they just keep to themselves. Rumor has it, they were once a highly organized group of drug traffickers, growing their own marijuana up there and smuggling it across the Canadian border. I don’t know the specifics, but eventually, they were shut down. I’m told many of them ended up in prison or fugitives. The few that didn’t . . . Well, how Isabelle got mixed up with one of them, I’ll never know.”
Nico spared a peek toward Frank, asking, “You knew about this?”
Frank made a face that sat somewhere between discomfort and frustration, which Nico took as a yes.
Turning back to Colin, he asked, “How do we contact this Logan?”
“You don’t,” he replied matter-of-factly. “That’s the point.”
“Surely someone must know where to find them.”
“Perhaps. But that someone is not me.”
A few minutes later it became clear Colin Rowe had nothing more to offer, so the interview drew to a close. Frank flipped his notepad shut. Nico stood.
“So, you and Kate . . . You two aren’t together anymore?” Colin frowned, so Nico elaborated. “Well, you said she was a photographer. And that you were in love with her. I’m just wondering why you’re referring to her in the past tense.”
For a second, the room went silent. Colin’s eyes remained glued to Nico in a sort of stunned stillness, until he shook it off with a sad dip of his head. “You’re very observant, Lieutenant.”
“It’s my job to be.”
Colin cleared his throat and set his tea down, cup rattling atop the saucer. “No, we aren’t together anymore. She . . . she left. Quite a few months ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Nico said.
Colin waved the apology away.
Frank extended his hand. “Thanks for your cooperation, Mr. Rowe.”
“We appreciate it,” Nico added.
When they stepped back out onto the street, the sun was disappearing behind the surrounding buildings. A few shops remained open—restaurants and cafés and such—while the odd jogger took advantage of the cool, quiet evening.
“A secret romance,” Frank mused once they were back in the cruiser. “That’s interesting.”
“Yeah.”
At Nico’s noncommittal tone, he turned his head. “What? You don’t think so?”
“I’m not saying he wasn’t the one who killed her,” Nico said. “It’s possible. I just find it hard to believe he’d kill a woman he’s openly associated with—however ‘secret’ it was.”
“Still,” Frank said, starting the car. “We’ve got to question him.”
“Yes, we do. And you need to tell me everything you know about these ‘mountain people.’ ”
Frank scowled. “Do I have to?”
“Seriously, but I just don’t see what the big deal is about height,” Annie slurred.
She was leaning heavily on the table between her, Lexie, and Vikki, one hand cradling her head, the other waving her empty glass around like a conducting baton. An untamed halo of chestnut curls framed her face, having recently been released from the day’s ponytail.
“It’s not like a man’s height tells you anything about his personality,” she said. “More importantly, it tells you nothing about what he’s got going on downstairs.”
Vikki hummed in thought, her red hair barely being held up in a bun by a stray pencil. “Agreed. Most girls have it so wrong, always going for the tall ones.”
“Right?”
“It’s not about the height, it’s about the confidence,” Vikki continued. “A hot guy standing at five-five with the self-assuredness of a six-five almost always has a huge penis.”
“You live by that formula?” Annie asked.
“More or less.”
“Until the day you have to plaster on a fake smile and raise your voice three octaves to make up for your disappointment,” Annie said, cracking the two of them up.
They were in Annie’s backyard, killing a second—or maybe it was the third?—bottle of wine at the timber, outdoor seating she’d picked up for a steal at Archie’s Hardware Store. It was after ten p.m., the temperature steadily dropping as the town quietened around them. Twinkle lights hung from the trees above and one lonely cricket chirped from the garden.
Lexie—who had zoned out for the past minute or two—poured more wine and pulled the blanket she had draped around her shoulders a little tighter. “What are you two griping about?”
“Let’s call it a distant cousin of the Napoleon complex,” Annie said, accepting the top-up. “And I’m not griping, just observing. It’s a well-known fact that tall men are the ones who get all the girls, right?”
“Sure.”
“So, who decided to make that a thing? It’s totally unfair. I mean, look at this guy,” she gestured to Paul—her husband who may or may not be having an affair—strolling across the lawn toward them. He’d been periodically popping out to check on them throughout the evening—such a doll.
“He is very pretty.”
Lexie’s words were slurring too. She also, apparently, wasn’t speaking as quietly as she’d thought because Paul rolled his eyes. His beard ruffled in the breeze, as did his chin-length mane of thick cocoa-brown hair which Annie seemed to find endearing enough not to nag about it needing a trim.
“Yeah, and he’s also short,” Annie said.
“So what?”
“What do you mean ‘so what?’ That’s my point.”
Lexie took a long sip. “What is?”
“What is what?”
“The point?”
Annie blinked. “Wait—what?”
Vikki glanced between them like she was watching a tennis match before they all descended into fits of giggles again.
“I think you ladies have had enough for one night,” Paul declared as he reached them.
Annie’s eyes lit up like Christmas. “There’s my point,” she cooed, clutching his hand and hugging it to her chest. “Short men are just as sexy as tall men. And they make the best husbands.”
Paul crouched beside her, leaning in for a kiss. “That’s only because we find the best wives.”
“You two are so adorable I might puke,” Vikki said.
Giving them a moment of privacy, Lexie tilted her head back and gazed up at the sky. It was a clear night, thousands of stars glittered overhead.
“Nico is tall,” she blurted out.
Annie made a sound of appreciation and agreement. “Like a mountain.”
“Hey,” Paul protested. “You just said you liked short guys.”
“I do, but I also can’t deny that that man is pure sex on a stick.”
Vikki raised her hand. “Seconded. That is a man with confidence and height. You’re basically guaranteed eight inches.”
“Okay, I think that’s my cue.” Paul retreated to the safety of the house once more.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Annie,” Vikki said around a mouthful of pretzels. “But I never figured you for the marrying type. Especially not . . . well . . .”
“What? Someone like Paul?”
Vikki shrugged, a guilty smile on her lips. “He plays Dungeons Dragons and wears matching flannel pajamas.”
“He looks cute as a button in those pajamas!” Annie argued, looking back at him.
“I’m not saying he doesn’t. But I am the new girl in town and a barkeep. I hear the stories. Wild, crazy, will-do-anything-for-a-dare Annie, who changes lovers like she changes her underwear. Ring any bells?”
Annie rubbed her temple like she had a headache. “Far too many bells, if you must know.”
Lexie remembered those days fondly. She and Annie became friends when she moved to town their senior year—following Lexie’s falling out with Isabelle and Darcy—and she’d reveled in the freshness of it. Sassy and cool, Annie was the extroverted yin to Lexie’s toned-down yang, each of them experiencing their fair share of love, laughter, and heartbreak together through the years that followed. Though it had been a hoot to watch Annie plow through guys like a hot knife through butter, Lexie was relieved to see her friend walk away from the single life with such a good man.
If only she’d been so lucky.
“But you’re right,” Annie said, knocking Lexie back into the present. “I never thought of myself as the marrying type either. To tell you the truth, Paul has been in love with me since high school, but I never thought of him in that way. At least, not until this one night at work when a couple of rednecks were giving me trouble. Paul stepped right up to them and threatened to knock their lights out if they put an unwanted hand on me again.”
“He didn’t!” Vikki exclaimed.
“Uh-huh.” Annie nodded. “Got two black eyes and a broken nose before Wade intervened.”
“Poor guy,” Lexie said.
Annie had the grace to look mildly ashamed. “I know, but it was so sweet. I took him out the back, cleaned him up. I don’t know,” she said, gazing dreamily at the table in front of her. “Something changed, and it was like I saw him for the first time, you know? So, I asked him out. A month later, I asked him to move in. A year after that, I got down on one knee and asked him to marry me in front of the whole town.”
“It was the cutest, most romantic thing you’ve ever seen,” Lexie said. “Like a scene from a movie.”
“And now you and your Prince Charming are living happily ever after,” Vikki finished.
Lexie raised her glass. “May we all find our Prince Charmings.”
“Cheers!” Vikki shouted.
Annie caught Lexie’s eye with a meaningful look—uncertainty of her so-called perfect marriage etching her features—then gently clinked her glass against the other two.
“What about you, Lex?” Vikki asked. “Do you see yourself getting married someday?”
Lexie snorted, a hot flush of anxiety coming over her. “Once was enough for me.”
“Wait, you’ve been married before?”
Lexie stared at her hands. “Technically, I still am. You know Kyle Garrett?”
“Asshole Kyle Garrett? Rich-and-likes-to-flaunt-it Kyle Garrett? Drinks too much? Tries to cop a feel every time I walk past him—that Kyle Garrett?”
“That’s the one.”
Vikki surveyed her with new eyes, like Lexie was insane, and she was only just now seeing it. “Wow.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s bad.” Her cheeks warmed even more. “But he wasn’t always like that.”
“It’s true,” Annie said. “Once upon a time, he was actually a decent guy. Until he wasn’t.”
Vikki’s brow creased in confusion. “What happened?”
Lexie lifted a shoulder. “I made the mistake of believing in a fairytale. He was a nice guy from a good family. By comparison, I was basically trash—”
“You were not trash,” Annie interjected.
“I walked to school in shoes with holes in them while he drove a BMW.”
“Yeah, like a douche bag.”
“Anyway,” Lexie continued. “I didn’t care about his money—I still don’t—but he was sweet to me, and he was a sexy, older guy which made him even more enticing.” She smiled. “I thought he would be good to me. He wanted to be with me even though his parents didn’t approve, even asked me to marry him.” She huffed out a sad laugh. “Guess he made me feel special. So, we drove to the mainland on a random Tuesday—”
“So as to avoid his father, the Mercy Cove councillor,” Annie provided for context.
“—and did the deed at Portland City Hall.”
“I bet his family were pissed.” Vikki gasped.
Lexie closed her eyes for emphasis. “Livid.”
“Huge scandal at the time,” Annie added.
Vikki’s sigh was wistful. “Young love.”
“Yeah, well, that’s where the fairy tale ended.” Lexie picked up her glass, settling back into the cushioned chair again. “Things turned sour not long after.”
“Understatement of the year,” Annie said. “And as your best friend, I still reserve the right to say, Itold you so.”
“He has issues—”
“Uh, correction,” she interrupted. “He has a truckload of issues.”
“Which I’m sure you’ve already figured out by now,” Lexie continued, ignoring Annie’s jab. “Aggression, depression, and like you said, drinks too much.” She shrugged again, averting her eyes, hating how messed up the whole thing sounded. “Add wealthy entitlement to the mix and you’ve got, well, Kyle.”
Vikki took another pretzel from the bowl and held it at her lips as she tentatively asked, “Was he abusive?”
“He never hit me,” Lexie said. “But I knew it was only a matter of time before he did. So, I left. It’s been over three years, and he still won’t sign the divorce papers.”
Annie took her hand, squeezed it tight. “We’ll figure it out.”
“I know.”
“That’s crazy,” Vikki said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Lexie shook her head. “It’s fine. Everybody else around here knows, what’s one more person?”
“You know,” Annie said with a slyness that wasn’t there before. “I heard he was quietly dating Isabelle Moss.”
Lexie jerked. “What? Who told you that?”
“More like who didn’t tell me.”
It took a second, but the penny eventually dropped. Lexie gave her an admonishing look. “You were listening in on other people’s conversations again.”
Annie showed all her front teeth. Guilty. “I couldn’t help it. I saw his parents coming out of JoJo’sthis morning. Super hostile vibes. They were, like, whisper-arguing on the sidewalk, and I swear I heard his mother say the words ‘dead whore,’ and that Kyle was ignoring her calls.”
Lexie frowned. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Doesn’t it? The last time Mrs. Garrett got that riled up was when Kyle was dating you.”
“What, exactly, are you implying?” Lexie asked, unsure why she felt the need to come to his defense. “That Kyle had something to do with what happened to her?”
“I’m not implying anything,” Annie replied, raising her hands. “Just telling you what I heard.”
Rather than talk any more about it, the three women fell into silence.
After a few moments, Vikki asked, “So, has there been any official news?”
Lexie looked to Annie, who shook her head.
Vikki hugged her middle. “I’m so freaked out. Aren’t you guys freaked out?”
“Very,” Annie said without missing a beat. “This whole thing gives me the creeps. I can barely sleep at night.”
Lexie wished she could argue the point, find a silver lining somewhere to lighten the mood, but the truth was, she felt the same way.
“I still can’t believe she’s dead,” Lexie said. “I keep thinking I’ll bump into her down the street.”
“That’s what happens when someone dies,” Vikki said, voice turning absent. “It takes time to feel . . . real.”
Both Lexie and Annie’s heads turned curiously in her direction. Vikki didn’t appear to notice, her eyes glazing over as she entered some faraway time or place. Lexie glanced at Annie, who gave a subtle shrug.
Choosing not to ask about it, Lexie instead said, “Well, you don’t need to worry, because I know, for a fact, that there’s a certain hunky, blond police officer around these parts who would love the opportunity to protect you.”
Vikki’s attention snapped back. “Wha—I don’t know what you’re—Seth and I are just friends.”
“Mm-hmm. Does he know that?”
“You two would make a super cute couple,” Annie teased.
“And you know he’s totally smitten with you.”
Vikki rolled her eyes. “Not gonna happen.”
Annie downed the last of her glass, then scrunched her face. “This wine is starting to leave a bad taste.” Before either of them could answer, she turned and called out to Paul. “Could you bring us the butterscotch schnapps please, babe? Promise we’ll just have one!”
Lexie gave a dubious grunt. “Just one?”
Annie waved a hand in the air. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“I have a feeling I’m going to regret this tomorrow,” Vikki whined.
“You’re the new girl. We’re bonding,” Annie said. “Get on board.”