She snapped on her seat belt and turned the key in the ignition, then opened the windows to let out the air that had been cooking inside the closed car despite the fact that the car had been parked in the shade.

“Biggest thing that’s happened in St. Dennis since the British shelled it during the War of 1812.”

She stopped at the entrance to the parking lot to allow a TV news van to enter.

“Keep going,” he told her. “We’re not doing the news thing right now.”

“Which way?” she asked when they reached Charles Street.

“Take a right.”

“I’m going to need to hear the tape he left inside Colleen Preston’s wrappings,” she said as she made the turn. “And I want copies of the photos from both crime scenes.”

“What else?”

“The interviews, I told you that.”

“Anything else?”

“I want to walk your neighborhood at night. The Prestons’, too. I want to see it the way he did.”

“As best we can figure out, he must have been at the Prestons’ between eight and eleven. My place, sometime between one and five.” He glanced over at her. “You go walking around St. Dennis at that hour, I want to know about it.”

“Worried about my safety, Chief?”

“Not funny, Agent Shields.” He turned his face to the window. “Not funny at all.”

“It wasn’t meant to be. For the record, I’m well trained and I’m well armed.”

“Good for you. But you’re also the right age for this wacko to go after. Don’t put yourself in harm’s way.”

“I never do.”

“Make the next right,” he told her.

Sinclair’s Cove was marked by a white sign bearing the name of the inn and adorned with a painted great blue heron that was life-size and expertly done. The drive was tree-lined and reminiscent of the old South. It wound through a forest of azaleas to a clearing, at the far end of which was a house that took Mia’s breath away.

“Wow,” she said. “Take a look at that.”

“It is something,” Beck agreed.

The front of the large white structure was three stories high, with a porch that spanned the entire length, and was adorned with three pillars that went from the porch to the upper roof line. Tall windows graced either side of the front door. The circular drive off to one side of the house left the entire lawn unspoiled, and Adirondack chairs were scattered here and there for the guests to enjoy one of the many views of the bay.

“How old is this place?” she asked.

“Early eighteen hundreds, I think, but you can ask the owner.” Beck pointed to the porch where a well-dressed man stood watching. “Daniel Sinclair the…I don’t know, eighth? Tenth?”

“Come on.” She laughed.

“No, seriously. The house has been in the same family since it was built.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Crazy but true. The guy who owns this place is a direct descendant of the one who built it.”

She parked in front of one of the outbuildings and turned off the engine.

“That’s the river? Or the Chesapeake?” She pointed to the water flowing beyond the rear of the grounds.

“The bay. Most people are surprised when they realize how wide it is.”

“I live almost directly on the opposite Shore,” she said as she opened the door and got out of the car. “No surprise here.”

“Chief Beck.” The man who’d stood on the porch now strode across the well-tended lawn. “Thanks for coming out right away.”

“That’s what we’re here for.” The two men shook hands, then Beck introduced Mia. “Dan, this is Special Agent Mia Shields from the FBI.”

“Called in the big guns, did you?” Daniel Sinclair then offered a smile and a hand to Mia. “Good to meet you, Agent Shields. Glad to know I live in a town where the police aren’t afraid to ask for help when they need it. I have to admit I’m surprised that neither Cameron nor Ballard had the sense to call in the feds.”

“Well, I’m sure the cases are going to overlap,” Mia told him. “We’ll certainly share whatever information we feel is relevant to their respective cases.”

“Good, good.” Sinclair nodded agreeably. “The sooner this bastard is locked up, the better off we’ll all be.”

“Dan, why don’t you tell us about your missing employee?” Beck prompted.

“Holly Sheridan. As I told you on the phone, she asked if she could take a little time off to attend a family wedding in Colorado. At the time, I understood her to mean a long weekend, as in Thursday night through Monday. Of course I said yes. When Wednesday arrived and she did not, I figured I’d misunderstood how much time she’d asked for. When this past Monday came and I hadn’t heard from her, I was getting a little pissed off.”

“You tried her cell phone?” Mia asked.

“Yes, but it always went straight to voice mail. Finally, I figured, enough already. A family wedding’s one thing, but we’d gone beyond the amount of time I felt was reasonable. So I called her parents-we have everyone’s next of kin on file here-but they were as surprised as I was that she wasn’t here. More, maybe, because they’d seen her off the day she left to drive back here.”

“And you said on the phone that was the Monday after the wedding, which would have been July second,” Beck reminded him.

“Right.”

“So we’d give her a few days to drive back from Colorado…” Beck paused, then turned to Mia. “We should check her credit cards, gas cards, ATM withdrawals…”

“And find out what route she was following, check with the state police, see if her car’s been found.” Mia nodded. “Mr. Sinclair, do you know what kind of car she was driving?”

“Holly drove a Ford Explorer. About four years old, I think. White, had some kind of tree-hugger bumper sticker on the back and a thing on the window from the University of Delaware, where she’s in grad school. Hotel and restaurant management. That’s why she was working here, she wanted the experience. Wanted to own her own bed-and-breakfast someday.”

“Was she friendly with anyone here, any of the other workers?”

“Beck, Holly was friendly with everyone, but no one in particular. I can give you a list of everyone who worked her shift, if that would help.”

“It would.” Beck nodded. “Do you know if anyone was bothering her? Or if she was seeing anyone?”

“Tell you the truth, I don’t know anything about her private life. She was living in one of my cottages with one of the other girls, but I never really saw her socialize with anyone in particular outside of work. Holly didn’t seem much for partying. She might go out at night once in a while with a group, maybe to the movies, but if there was any partying going on, I didn’t know about it.”

“What was her job here?” asked Mia.

“Sort of an apprentice chef,” Sinclair told her. “She worked all three meals, wanted as much experience as she could get this summer. Up at the crack of dawn for breakfast, worked straight on through the day until dinner was over.”

“So she really had no time for much of a social life,” Mia said.

“That’s what I was saying. If she was seeing someone, I don’t know when that could have been. She worked her tail off. Sunup to sundown. Her choice, by the way. Like I said, she wanted as much experience as possible.” Daniel Sinclair’s voice dropped. “She used to tell me she’d be the first in line to try to buy this place, if I ever wanted to sell it. Which of course, I never would.”

“Dan, while we’re here, maybe we could take a look at the cottage where Holly was staying,” Beck said.

“Absolutely. It’s the third one from the end, down near the bay. I think her roommate, Elise Hawthorne, is off this afternoon, so let’s walk down and see if she’s in.” Sinclair motioned for Mia and Beck to follow him down a brick path that led in the general direction of the water.

“Maybe while we’re talking with the roommate, you can get to work on that list of employees,” Beck suggested.

“Sure. I’ll take a run up to the office and have it printed off the computer for you.”