Chapter 45
I pull up outside the sheriff’s office, blocking Jerry in again.
Inside, Jerry is getting ready to leave. He looks up as I enter. ‘Ah … well, great minds think alike.’
‘They do?’
‘I was just on my way over to visit you.’
‘You were?’
‘It’s about those balloons.’
‘You found out who delivered them?’
‘Kinda. I spoke to Corrine, who runs the gift store.’
I nod briskly, eager to hurry him on.
‘And she remembers the person who bought them because she’s not seen him before—’ Jerry pauses dramatically.
‘Right,’ I say. ‘Well, I guess she can’t know everyone.’
‘Well, that’s the thing, Mr Barker. Corrine does know everyone. It’s a small town. Even if you don’t know people to talk to, you probably know them by sight.’
‘So, what did this person look like?’
‘Corrine says it was a man. Late twenties or early thirties. He was wearing a baseball cap and had a blond ponytail.’ He stares at me. ‘Sound familiar?’
I feel my stomach jolt. Larry Broom. Again.
‘And here’s the thing,’ Jerry continues. ‘I checked, and there’s no Larry Broom listed as living here in Serenity Falls.’
‘So, who is this guy?’
Jerry gives a small shrug. ‘That I can’t tell you.’
‘Do you think he could have anything to do with Frankie’s death?’
‘In what way?’
‘In a Frankie-being-murdered type of way.’
Jerry’s face tightens. ‘Frankie’s death was an accident.’
‘Right – you ever notice that a lot of accidents happen around here?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
I hold up the folder of documents Sadie gave me. ‘This was Frankie’s. It’s a list of supposed accidents and disappearances in Serenity Falls. Covers around twenty years. There’s a lot.’
Jerry stares at the folder. A red flush spreads up his neck and into his cheeks.
‘What are you insinuating?’
‘I’m asking you to investigate. Maybe you can see a connection, or you could speak to the former sheriff?’
Jerry glares at me. ‘Mr Barker, you only just moved here. You don’t know this town or these people, and yet you come in here making wild accusations—’
‘Frankie was found dead in our pool, someone is harassing me and my daughter, and if Frankie’s death wasn’t an accident, then I’m worried about our safety – isn’t it your job to keep the people here safe?’
I slam the folder down on his desk. The framed photograph wobbles. I catch it before it falls and hits the floor. I’m about to put it back on the desk (rather sheepishly) when I notice the picture. I mean, properly notice it.
A young woman, blonde hair cut in a neat bob. Not beautiful, but attractive.
I’ve seen it someplace else. Recently. Where was it? It’s there, in the corner of my mind … and then it comes to me.
Weeping Wendy.
The story in the newspaper. The same picture.
I look up. Jerry has his hand on his gun. He smiles thinly.
‘Why don’t we take a little drive, Mr Barker? Go get some fresh air?’