“If he’s been here for a long time, why hasn’t he killed people around here sooner?”

“We don’t know that he hasn’t. We don’t know that every girl who comes to the Eastern Shore in the summer has made it home. We don’t know that he hasn’t been traveling around and killing somewhere else. The truth is, we don’t know jack-shit about this guy.”

He paused, thinking about what Mia’d said earlier.

“Except that maybe he has a thing about being in control of women.”

“Sounds like my ex-husband,” Vanessa said. “Come to think of it, it sounds like just about every guy I’ve met since I was fourteen.”

“Don’t joke about it.”

“Who’s joking?”

The bell on the door rang and a middle-aged woman poked her head inside the shop.

“Are you closed?” she asked.

“I’m open till nine,” Vanessa said brightly. “Come on in.”

Beck slapped a hand lightly on the glass counter. “I’ll be running over to Lola’s for dinner, then back up to the department for a meeting at eight. If I’m out by nine, I’ll stop by and see you home.”

“Not necessary,” she told him. “I’m grabbing a bite to eat with Rocky after I close up.”

“Rocky Simon who owns the art gallery two doors down?”

“Uh huh. He just got some really nice stained glass in and he said I could stop over and be the first to take a look.”

“Is that sort of like ‘Come on over and I’ll show you my etchings’?”

Vanessa rolled her eyes and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Rocky is gay, Beck, and even if he weren’t, he’s like, my best friend.”

Beck frowned. “Rocky Simon is gay?”

Vanessa rolled her eyes again and walked to the back of her shop to tend to her customers.

The man sitting at the table next to the front window of Lola’s Café watched as the chief of police went into Bling and closed the door behind him. From where he sat, he could see the counter where the cash register stood-he knew precisely where, because he’d been inside on several occasions-and he watched Vanessa moving behind it as she completed a sale for the two women who had just left the shop and now stood on the sidewalk. Debating where to go next, he figured. A little more shopping, or maybe a little dinner. Maybe just ice cream; maybe a stroll down to the docks and a plate heaped with crabs and a cold beer.

They turned and walked several storefronts down to Bookends and went inside.

Excellent choice, he told them silently. The new mysteries were put out today. He’d been in there himself around five, and chatted with Barbara, the owner, about the latest blockbuster thriller. He’d ended up buying the book-“A really scary serial-killer book,” Barbara told him as she’d handed a copy to him right out of the box-and they’d discussed the likelihood of there being a real serial killer right here in St. Dennis.

Barbara was adamant in denying that such evil could invade their town. “He has to be from someplace else,” she’d told him. “No one in St. Dennis is that depraved, that cruel…”

He’d agreed solemnly that surely the killer was from out of town. Perhaps Cameron, he’d suggested with concern, or maybe Baltimore. Maybe one of the summer people.

“That’s what we were thinking,” she told him. “Nita Perry and I had lunch today down at the Captain’s, and Rexana was saying that she’s watching everyone who comes and goes through their place. She and Walt get real busy on the weekends-let’s face it, it’s the crabs that bring so many people down here to the Chesapeake in the first place-but she’s keeping an eye on things. Watching for someone suspicious looking, you know?”

He’d nodded, but couldn’t help adding, “I don’t think you can really tell by looking at someone if they’re a killer or not, though, Barb.”

“That’s pretty much what Nita said. She said one time-this was years ago, when she had her first antique shop, back in Virginia-she had a guy come in and buy a couple of Oriental rugs. Before she could have them delivered, she found out he’d shot his next-door neighbor right through the head because the guy’s dog kept peeing on his wife’s roses and she’d been bitching about it day and night.”

“I wonder why he didn’t just shoot his wife.”

Barbara had looked momentarily shocked, then slapped his arm playfully and said, “Oh, you!”

He watched Beck exit the shop and walk directly across the street. He waved and greeted the chief when he came through the door into Lola’s and made some idle chitchat before the waiter interrupted by bringing him his check. He was still chatting with Beck as he took several bills from his wallet and placed them on the table, then stood to leave. They exchanged a few more friendly words, then he left, waving good-bye to the owner and leaving the chief of police to his dinner.

He walked outside and stretched, glancing over at Bling. Now there was a fancy piece. He smiled to himself. The thought of playing house with the chief’s sister was unbearably tempting.

Might be prudent to wait to see how Beck handles things these next few days, see how good he is. Him and that pretty little FBI agent. Talk about a fancy piece. He shook his head, remembering how her hips had swayed as she’d walked in those high heels across Charles Street earlier in the day. Oh, yeah, that back porch had a real pretty swing, as his grandfather used to say.

Right now, though, there was the matter of that little cutie from over in Cameron to deal with.

She’d been a real firecracker, hadn’t she? he thought fondly as he poked at one of his eye teeth with a wooden toothpick he’d grabbed on the way out of Lola’s.

Well, all good things must come to an end.

He waved to a pedestrian across the street as he walked around the corner to his car, where several rolls of plastic wrap and an eight-pack of audiotapes were tucked into the trunk of his car.

He took his time, enjoying the peace of a perfect summer night.

Salsa or cheese?

Mia stood in front of the open refrigerator and debated the meager dinner choices. She hadn’t eaten since she’d picked up a muffin and a cup of coffee on her way into St. Dennis that morning. It was a little after eight and she was too tired to cook and too lazy to go for takeout, so she was stuck with what she had on hand.

She decided to go with the salsa, having snacked on cheese last night. Besides, it would go nicely with the bottle of red wine she’d opened and taken out onto the screened porch, where she’d set up a sort of temporary camp. The file she’d brought home lay open on the wicker table and the lamps had been turned on and repositioned where they’d shed the most light for reading. She poured some of the salsa into a bowl, grabbed the box of crackers from the counter, and with her foot pushed open the door that led from the kitchen to the small porch. She moved the table closer to the loveseat and sat, placing what would serve as dinner to the right of the file and surrounding herself with the extra cushions.

She filled the wineglass, then raised it in a mock toast and said, “Here’s to you, all wildlife lurking outside the fence. The pool is all yours. I’ve work to do. Tonight, however, snacks are not included.”

The setting sun left streaks of color in the low clouds that hugged the horizon, so she sipped her wine and watched until the last bits of lavender faded into the darkness.

“Time to work.”

She opened the file and began to read, then looked around for her phone before remembering she’d left it in her bag on the counter.

Mia retrieved the bag, found the phone, and set it next to her. She wiggled a bit to find a comfortable spot, then tucked a few more pillows behind her. Leave it to Connor to find a sofa with seat cushions that felt like concrete.

Well, she reminded herself, he does spend most of his time in places where-let’s face it-even this uncomfortable thing would seem like a luxury.