Chapter 57

CHAPTER 57

P ike had managed to convince the Bearton Fire Department that the crash of Geoffrey's hearse was an accident. He'd driven up with a flashing light on top of his old rust bucket and wearing a blue windbreaker that actually said "Sheriff" on it. He'd kept the curious away while we cleaned up.

The fire department hadn't believed a word of it, but the old chief in charge had known Ozzie. Also, turns out the brand-new, fancy emergency-rescue vehicle they got three years ago had been a gift from Rocky Start, aka Ozzie and Pike; who knew? Luke said the accident was a thin cover story, but people tended to believe what they wanted to believe.

There hadn't been much left of Geoffrey. We'd quickly grabbed the still-smoking body before calling the fire department and incinerated what was left in the basement of Melissa's funeral home. Pike was beating himself up for assuming Ozzie had died naturally and not having an autopsy done, and Poppy was subdued, and Rose . . . Rose was finally letting herself grieve for an old man she'd loved.

Me? I went to meet Rowan Masters and find out what the hell had been going on with Geoffrey Nice.

"It's not the world record," Rowan said when we were seated on the picnic table by the Little Melvin, cradling takeout coffee from Coral's in our hands. "There's a guy in South America who is suspected of killing over three hundred." He frowned. "Although, to be honest, since he was able to go undetected for so long, who knows who else is out there? The best, or the luckiest, don't get caught."

I nodded. "So the reason I called you here was to threaten you so that you will never breathe a word about Rocky Start. Not because I will do anything to you, but because somebody else will definitely have you removed."

"I understand the threat." Rowan looked toward town. "Lian has told me enough to give me a good idea what Rocky Start is. She sort of explained this Herc fellow. Sounds like a real piece of work, but I guess someone like that has to exist in the shadows. It makes sense there would be a place like this." He sighed. "Be a hell of a story. As big as Geoffrey Nice." He held up his hand. "I know, I know. Herc will wipe me off the face of the earth if I write about it. A downer of a guy."

He had no idea how down Herc could get. But he was enough in the ballpark to believe the threat was real, so that might hold off his writing about it for a couple of decades until the major players were dead.

"How about a compromise?" he asked.

"There is no?—"

"Hold on, hold on. Listen, I'm not asking this so I can write an article or make money. It's about the quilts. Those represent people. The way Geoffrey Nice killed, he never hid the bodies; he actually posed them, although many weren't seen that way. Plus, he seemed to prefer poison. Often untraceable. Most have been written off as accidental or natural, like Ozzie was. But I'm willing to bet more than a few, given the number, are open homicides. Some cold cases. Families who have lost loved ones and their cases haven't been resolved. They need closure."

I hadn't thought of that. "What are you suggesting?"

"Give me the quilts." He went on quickly, before I could object. "Those squares will match crime scenes. Close a lot of cases."

"And when you're asked how you got them?"

He smiled. "I'm good at what I do, Max. I can work out a cover story for how I found them that will be believable and backstopped and will in no way implicate or mention Rocky Start. And close out the Director forever. Think of the families."

"Give me a break." But he had a point, although finding out Ozzie had been murdered hadn't made Rose or Poppy any happier and had just about broken Pike and put Coral back in her black mourning dress. "Only if the cases are open homicides. If families think their loved one died of natural causes or in an accident, you leave it alone."

He frowned. "That will be a lot harder."

"You're good at what you do," I said.

"I suppose there's a way I could do that," he said.

While he talked on, I looked down and saw the old initials in the wood.

GN and RM.

I felt a chill pass through me.

Geoffrey Nice and Rosalie Malone.

It had been right here.

And then I heard Maggs howling like all hell, far away, on the other side of the river.

Where Rose was.

And then I heard Rose scream.

I got to my feet and stared across the river.

Why would Maggs bark like that with Rose there? Why had she screamed? Did it fucking matter?

"What's wrong?" Rowan said.

"Rose is at the cottage. Call Luke!" I yelled at Rowan.

Then I ran along the riverbank.