Emily, still caught off guard, set down her paperwork and lamely offered coffee. She was carrying her own from the coffee stand and felt awkward drinking in front of her.
"It's not bad for cop coffee," Emily said, looking around for a tissue and hoping that Shali Patterson hadn't used the last of them.
Like her sister just like her sister-Marina Wilbur was a thin and shapely woman with honey-blond hair and, given a much happier time, mischievous green eyes. Emily thought of the school carnival and how Peg had given a kid an extra cookie. Her green eyes literally twinkled. But Marina's eyes weren't all that mischievous now. They were wrought with worry, dread, and unimaginable sadness. She had flown from Dayton, Ohio, to face the worst possible scenario of any family-multiple murders at the hands of one of its own.
And now, sitting in Emily Kenyon's office, Marina was clearly losing her battle to maintain any semblance of control. She had started to sob softly. Maybe the first time, since Jenna's vanishing, Emily realized that others were suffering, deeper, irrevocable losses.
"I'm sorry, so very sorry," Emily said. "It is almost impossible to come up with any words that provide comfort at a time like this. I know it from losing my own parents not long ago. I liked your sister very much. She was a wonderful woman. This must be so hard for you."
Marina nodded. "Thank you. I heard about your daughter, and I'm sorry for what you're going through, too"
It was a kind gesture, but Emily found herself bristling slightly. Jenna is not dead like your sister and your family. Jenna is with her dad and will come home. But she said nothing.
"I appreciate that. Thank you" She lingered for a second, but there was nothing more to say. "Let's talk about your sister and her family, all right?" She pushed the Kleenex box, toward Marina. "Do you need a moment?"
Marina crumpled a tissue and blotted her face. Her resolve was clear. She was as ready as she could ever be. The bodies of her sister, her sister's husband, and her youngest nephew were already in caskets, lined up for burial.
"I'm okay. I mean, considering everything that has happened this week. Has it even been a week? It was such an un believable shock. First, the tornado-which we watched on the news. When we couldn't reach Peg and Mark after the storm, we figured that the power and phone lines were damaged. We kept trying and trying, but never got through. I called Mark's office and they said he'd missed a day of work, which was odd for him, but I still didn't think. . "
"How could you? I mean, really, no one could have," Emily said.
"I told myself that on the way over here. But you know it will take a lot of soul searching to figure out if I could have prevented this."
The remark was startling. Emily set down her coffee. The woman across from her wasn't there just to find out what happened to her sister, brother-in-law, and nephew. She was there for another reason. She felt guilty.
"How so?" Emily asked.
"Mark," she began, "had been troubled lately." She caught herself and stopped. Her words had come out all wrong. "I mean not to the extent that he'd do this .. " She paused, and finally said, "I don't know."
Emily could feel her pulse race. "But you must know something," she finally offered.
Marina Wilbur looked out the window, across the parking lot of pickup trucks and late model cars. All needed a good wash. Cherrystone was not a wealthy town. She wondered why her sister would want to live in a place like Cherrystone anyway. She knew Peg loved Mark and always said that Cherrystone was "out of the way" and a "great place" to raise kids. What a crock that seemed now. She couldn't think of the last time an entire family had been murdered in Dayton, a far larger city than Cherrystone could ever hope to be.
"They were having trouble. Peg told me. Mark was upset about something. Work maybe, I'm not sure. That was the impression I got. She didn't say so, but I'm her twin. We don't need to spell out every little thing, you know. Peg said that he'd been under a lot of stress and it was causing trouble with the boys, both Donny and Nick."
"What kind of trouble?"
"She was vague about it. Said that there was a lot of arguing going on between Mark and the boys, particularly Mark and Nick. I don't like to pry and my sister's pretty private-" She caught herself, leaving the present-tense reference to her sister to hang in the air for a beat, but neglected to amend her words. "There had been some kind of knock-down drag-out, I guess, a couple weeks ago"
"No clue about what it was about?"
Marina reached for another tissue. The first one had been wadded to the size of a peach pit. She looked around for a trash container, but when she didn't see one, set the paper ball on the corner of the desk.
"This is very upsetting. And very private. But I guess I can tell you, I mean my sister's not going to get mad at me, you know." Her tears returned. "I think it had something to do with Nick's adoption."
"I didn't know until recently that he was adopted," the detective said.
"Of course not. Why would anyone need to know? He was their son in every way."
"Was Donny adopted, too?"
Marina dismissed the question with the shake of her head. "Isn't that always the way? They'd tried having one of their own for ten years fertility clinics, counseling, you name it, they did it. They adopted Nick. They were so happy with a son to love. And bam, a couple years later, Marina calls up and tells me she's pregnant. On their own. No help from anyone. Donovan, Peg always said, was .... Her words stumbled from her lips, "was their miracle baby."
Emily opened her notebook and started writing, all the while keeping her eyes riveted to Marina Wilbur and her sodden tissue. She was unsure what this information meant for the Martin case, and what, if anything it meant for the subject that had most of her attention-her missing daughter.
She was going to get in touch with David and demand to talk to her daughter. Just what kind of relationship had she had with Nick anyway? Could she get in touch with him? Bring him in? Did David realize how vulnerable she was? He had to be warned that Jenna might be mixed up in something very, very dangerous.
Thursday morning, exact time unknown
The shack had been silent for almost two hours. Jenna Kenyon had sat quietly, alone in the shadowy building. Wind scraped the roofline and she pulled the cords on her hooded pale blue sweatshirt taut. How much longer would he be gone? She'd tried the doorknob, but it had been locked from the outside. The windows were too high up, and ultimately too small, even if she'd been able to hoist herself up there somehow. Her knee still throbbed. But more than pain, she felt a strange kind of uneasiness. It was fear. It was justified. She was alone in a strange place. Just waiting. Just wondering.
She heard the doorknob twist and she spun around; a bolt of light from the outside blasted its way inside. The silhouette of a figure stood in the doorway, stark and foreboding. Jenna put her hand to her mouth to muffle her involuntary cry.
"Sorry it took so long," he said, "but I had a hard time getting that beater going."
Nick Martin held a bag of food and a newspaper in one hand. He was pale and sweaty, but he tried to suck up enough courage so that he could at least appear to be calm. Jenna de served that consideration. He didn't want her scared any more than she already was. Fear breeds like a virus in a small, confined space.
Jenna got up to meet him. "I don't like being left here alone," she said, taking the bag of food. "I won't be left alone like that again. Trapped like an animal." She indicated the lock on the door.
"I had to do that," he said. "I didn't want anyone else finding you"
Jenna fished through the paper bag, found an apple fritter, and started eating. Nick took the other. He unrolled the paper and set it on the ratty sofa.
"Made the paper," he said. He indicated the front page of the Warwick Times. The town was about ten miles from Cherrystone. A headline ran just above the fold: