Chapter Thirty-Five
(Dante)
A young woman with long brown hair and a slender build exited an Uber in view of the front entrance security feed of the Maine Marine Rescue. She wore simple jeans and a t-shirt, with a large camouflage rucksack on her back and one oversized camel colored duffel bag.
As the Uber drove away, she turned to face the rescue, staring at the building.
Her expression slowly shifted from nostalgic to concerned, as her brows furrowed and she pursed her lips.
She then squared her shoulders purposefully and cleared her expression as she marched up the walkway and turned the doorknob; a doorknob that, for the first time in her life, was locked.
“What the fuck?” She muttered, pulling back and spotting the security camera. She frowned. “I don’t mean to complain, but changing the locks without giving me a key feels like a dick move.” She spoke to the camera.
She had a smattering of freckles, almost identical to Sabrina’s, and ocean blue eyes that threatened an impending storm.
She fished her phone out of her pocket just as an old grey station wagon pulled up, and Walter St. John leaned his head out of the window.
“Bunny!” He grinned. “When did you get home?”
“Uncle Walter!” The woman exclaimed. “I just got back. Who put new locks on? And a security system?”
Walter sighed. “Have you talked to your sister yet?”
Brooke put a hand on her hip. “That’s what I’m here to do.” She frowned.
Walter put the car into park and opened an old, creaking metal door to get out. He walked up the walkway and held out a hand to take the duffle.
Brooke accepted the silent offer and handed it over.
Walter took the bag in hand and looked back at Brooke. “We had a talk after your parents' funeral.”
Brooke's gaze sharpened as she eyed him closely. “We had a few talks after the funeral.” She answered cautiously.
“I think it’s time to have another one.” Walter answered evenly. “Come on. We’ll drive up Route One and grab an ice cream at Sweet Pea’s.”
“Walter,” Brooke frowned, shaking her head. “I’m not ready.” She whispered.
“You are a strong, competent, young woman who kicks ass and takes names. You’re going to be just fine.” Walter answered evenly. He then gave a pointed look up at the security camera, before looking back at Brooke. “Come on, soldier. Into the truck you get.” He ordered.
Brooke’s blue eyes followed his gaze as a look of understanding crossed her face. “I guess Sweet Pea’s it is.” She muttered.
“Ayup.” Walter nodded, bringing up the rear. “How long are you on leave?” He asked.
“I’ve got two weeks off before I report back to base.” She answered as he threw her duffle in the back and opened her door.
“And where will homeport be, Brooke?” He asked.
Brooke gave a slight grin. “Kittery, Maine.”
Walter grinned wide, and his eyes all but shone as he gave a nod. “It’ll be good to have you back, Bunny.”
He closed her door, walked around the Station-wagon, and got into the driver’s seat. He gave the front entrance camera a lingering look before slowly driving away and out of frame.
Dante frowned as he watched the footage again.
As Dante had continued to dig into life in Kittery twenty years ago, he consistently ran into the same three names over and over again: Chief Harold Lockwood, Superintendent Jason Rosenbaum, and Fredrick Hamilton; Sabrina’s father.
Oddly enough, only Rosenbaum was still alive.
Did Dante think Fred Hamilton was personally responsible for a baby disappearing? Probably not. But Dante was sure one of the three men, if not all of them, had known something.
At the bar, Tom Crawford had said multiple times that some elusive they had taken away his baby.
While Dante didn’t consider Crawford a credible source, the consistent phrasing made him wonder if someone had literally taken baby Jane Doe from Tom.
If this were the case, it was possible the baby was still alive; maybe still living in York.
Dante looked into Fred Hamilton as much as he could, for someone who was dead.
He’d found a man whom everyone seemed to have genuinely liked.
Paid all the bills on time, took nothing that wasn’t his, and seemed to be a faithful husband to boot.
But he’d been so involved in absolutely everything in town, there was no ruling Fred out as a suspect in connection to the missing baby.
What’s more, it seemed like everyone in town had either gone to school with one of the Hamiltons or had volunteered at Maine Marine Rescue at some point. The non-profit itself had a weird way of pulling anybody new in town into the rescue.
As Dante watched the exchange between Walter and Brooke on the security feed, Dante felt the sense of an old puzzle in an abandoned room slowly coming to life; shaking dust off, shifting around, and making space for missing pieces.
Dante had made a career out of knowing when someone was keeping secrets. He’d made a successful one from figuring them out.
Fred Hamilton may have died three years ago, but Walter St. John was very much alive.
Quiet, unassuming Walter, who seemed to know everything about everybody, but somehow moved through existence more or less unnoticed.
Walter, who had managed to sneak up on not one but two Lombardis the night Dante and Cesare had been arguing on the dock.
He wondered not for the first time how much Walter knew about Tom Crawford.
A text alert sounded from Dante’s phone, and he checked the device, frowning at the message.
Moonsprite: I need your help
Dante immediately climbed out of the mobile surveillance truck, exiting out of the front driver’s side and jumped on a sleek black vintage motorcycle parked just in front.
Dante: I’m on my way.
Moonsprite: You know where I am?
Dante pocketed the phone without a response. Of course he knew where she was. His hands flexed in anticipation of violence as he revved the motorcycle to life.
With the roar of the engine, Dante sped off into the night with a growl in his chest, looking forward to throwing whatever problems she trusted him with through a fucking wall.