Facing forward again, Hannah stirred the ice in her soda with her straw. “I’m sure he can make his own meals. He’s probably just grabbing a quick bite so he can get back to work, right? He’s knee-deep in a murder investigation.”
“You mean another murder investigation.”
“He is the only police officer in the area. Who else is going to investigate?”
“No one would need to investigate if Evelyn Talbot hadn’t come to town! Because none of this would be happening. This type of thing never occurred here before. It’s the psychos she’s brought to the area. She’s putting us all at risk. Whoever killed Sierra Yerbowitz and that other woman could kill any of us.”
“Not you.” Hannah stabbed one of the slices of chicken on her salad. “You can use a gun as well as any man. Heaven help the burglar or rapist who tries to break into your house.”
Having her skills recognized would normally have brought her some pleasure, but Samantha was too morose today. Amarok seemed to be drifting further and further away from her instead of wanting her back, and yet, when she’d returned to Hilltop, she’d been sure they’d find the love they’d lost. “You’re not a bad shot yourself,” she told Hannah, adding a few more crackers to her clam chowder although she had little interest in eating it. “And you’re getting better all the time.”
Hannah gave her a salute. “Thanks to you.”
The guns and ammo shop Samantha had opened when she returned to town last winter was doing well. She taught others how to shoot as a sideline business but helped Hannah, who was like a sister to her, for free.
“Did he notice you when he came in?” Hannah asked. She’d been in the bathroom when Amarok arrived, so she hadn’t seen him wave.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“He acknowledged me.” Barely. She’d hoped he’d walk over and say a few words, but he didn’t. Even Makita, after a quick tail wag to suggest he recognized her, stayed with his master.
She’d never experienced the kind of pain she’d endured since losing the only man she’d ever loved. It felt like he was putting her heart through a meat grinder every time she saw him.
Hannah set her fork down and leaned forward. “Have you told him how you feel, Sam? Maybe you should. Maybe it’ll make a difference.”
Samantha had tried, but he’d shut her down immediately, and she had too much pride to admit it, especially to Hannah, who’d always looked up to her. He was making a mistake, but he didn’t realize it. That was all. Samantha didn’t only want to be in his bed; she also wanted to be his wife, have his children, spend the rest of her life with him—and she felt she should have that opportunity. After all, she was willing to give him everything Evelyn denied him. Why couldn’t he see how much happier he’d be with her? “He’ll come back to me eventually.”
“I’m sure you’re right. You two are perfect for each other.”
“I’m better suited to him than Evelyn is.”
Hannah lowered her voice. “I know! I can’t imagine what he sees in her! I mean, she’s pretty, but so are you. And she’s seven years older than he is!”
“Not only that, she’s completely caught up in her work. When she first got here, he didn’t even want Hanover House in the area. If it wasn’t for everyone else talking about the jobs and the prosperity it would bring, he would’ve fought it much harder.” Samantha had been living elsewhere during that time, but she’d heard how it had all gone down—from the townspeople who, like her, were unhappy about the fact that they now had hundreds of psychopaths living a stone’s throw away. “She needs to go back to Boston.”
Hannah popped a crouton into her mouth. “Well, even if she doesn’t, you might not have to worry about her for much longer.”
Samantha held her spoon suspended in midair. “What are you talking about?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Her friend leaned forward so that no one else in the restaurant would be able to eavesdrop. “Everyone’s saying the psychopath who slit her throat when she was sixteen has come back to finish her off. That’s what these murders are all about. He’s leading up to the main event.”
Soup splashed as Samantha let her spoon clatter against the edge of her bowl. “Ugh! I wish that was true,” she said as she grabbed her napkin to wipe her hands. “I wish he’d kill her and get it over with!”
Hannah looked shocked. “You don’t mean that!” she chided, but Samantha wasn’t so sure. Evelyn had her man. She had to figure out how to get him back.
“Of course I don’t,” she said to avoid Hannah’s disapproval. “But Amarok needs to relax and let her fight her own battles. He’s running himself into the ground, even though she’s the one who’s waging a war against the ‘conscienceless,’ as she puts it. He never signed on for that.”
“With any luck he’ll find Jasper Moore or some shred of proof that it’s someone else who murdered those women, someone who isn’t a specific threat to Evelyn or our community. Then he’ll be able to relax.”
Samantha eyed Amarok again. Maybe Hannah had a point. Maybe the situation would resolve itself and things would return to normal. But she couldn’t tolerate “normal” anymore, couldn’t tolerate having Evelyn in the area.
What if the snooty psychiatrist stayed indefinitely?
It would ruin the rest of Samantha’s life!
“She doesn’t belong here,” Sam insisted. “Allowing Hanover House to be built, and having her and the other shrinks in Hilltop, it’s all a big mistake, and what’s happening proves that.”
“I agree. It was only last winter that Sandy was murdered, and a year and a half earlier two other people were killed!”
“Exactly! So we should quit complaining and do something about it,” Samantha said. “Stop letting her call all the shots.”
Hannah took a sip of her Coke. “There’s nothing we can do about it.”
“I’m not going to give up that easily,” Samantha said, especially because there was one way to get rid of her. If only Samantha could figure out how to hand Evelyn over to Jasper, he’d take care of her once and for all.
*
“Why don’t you tell me how you got here,” Evelyn suggested.
Mary Harpe, a heavyset middle-aged woman with a narrow, pointy nose, brown frizzy hair and thick glasses—a former pediatric nurse—sat across from her, behind a plate of plexiglass. Their own Nurse Ratched, Evelyn thought. She didn’t feel Mary was much of a threat to her. From what she’d been able to determine so far, not just from Mary’s file but also from speaking to the prosecutors on her case and some of Janice’s staff when they were making the decision to have her transferred, she only took advantage of the very young. And she was sneaky about the harm she caused. She could be sullen and uncooperative but rarely confronted her enemies outright, which made Evelyn respect her even less than the men she dealt with who were openly menacing or hostile. Evelyn would’ve been willing to meet with Mary in a regular room, but, due to the nature of her crimes, Mary was classified as high risk, so Evelyn had decided to adhere to the proper protocol. She figured that was probably best. If she’d learned anything about psychopaths, it was that she couldn’t trust a benign appearance.
Ms. Harpe folded her arms and glared through the glass. “You know how I got here. I flew into Anchorage, and the marshals delivered me from there.”
Evelyn took her glasses out of her briefcase and slipped them on, simply to look busy while she let the conversation lapse. She’d found that talking less and listening more produced the best results. What was said when someone was trying to fill awkward silences could be revealing.
“Is that what you meant?” Mary asked, wearing a smirk.
Evelyn opened Mary’s file, which she’d brought with her, before glancing up. “What do you think I meant?”
“I think you know how I got here.”
“And you’d be right, of course.”