Page 202 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

Chapter Thirty-Four

Nate stood in the spot where Samantha Fletcher had sat in front of the old stone church over twenty-two years ago then walked the path to the corner of Main Street and Seashore Drive—the last place Samantha Fletcher had been seen alive. He looked toward the docks a few hundred yards in the distance, then to his left and right, where pretty storefronts lined the tidy paved streets—like he had at least once a day for nearly two weeks. Over the last eleven days, any leads he’d been following in the Little Girl Lost case had completely dried up.

His trip to the mainland last Wednesday had netted him zero results. He’d shown Samantha’s picture to the librarians at the Dudley Branch of public libraries, then to the staff at The Greasy Spoon, but no one recognized her—and the old management team at the small restaurant establishment had long since passed on. He’d done the same at the Museum of Fine Arts and the housing complex where Samantha and Danielle had shared a place before he finally took a seat on one of the bar stools at On The Rocks. He’d been able to confirm that the big boss was still out at sea; he’d even scored a list of old coworkers’ names from the current manager, who also happened to be the owner’s daughter. Unfortunately, no one had been able to tell him much about Samantha, other than she’d been quiet, hardworking, and a talented artist.

To make matters worse, the lab had gotten back to him earlier in the day with the results of the fingerprints they’d been able to lift off Samantha’s jewelry box. The technician had conclusively matched Danielle to a few of the prints, but the others belonged to an unidentified source—most likely Samantha, but she couldn’t be found in any of the databases for comparison.

“Fuck,” he muttered, yanking his jacket tighter around his neck as he slapped a smile on his face and waved to the Millers driving by. He started toward the Tahoe parked close to the church and got in, slamming the door with more force than was necessary. Typically, this was his favorite time of the year. Normally, he spent a couple of hours each day poking his head in at the shops and restaurants—keeping up with what was going on in his town—but Callie’s case had him completely preoccupied. He’d heard of detectives falling victim to their cases—becoming obsessed until it ate away at them like some sort of nasty cancer. As Carter County’s sheriff, he’d never figured that would be one of his problems. “Fuck,” he said again, turning over the ignition. There was nothing more he could do tonight, but hopefully he would get his big break tomorrow—the mantra he’d reiterated every night as the frustration of constantly coming up empty drove him batshit crazy. “Kay, I’m heading home,” he said into his radio. “If Denny needs backup, let me know.”

“Sure thing.”

He started down Route 1, wondering if he would find Callie in the garage, where she spent most of her time these days. First she worked her four-hour shift at Molly’s now that the press was gone. Then she worked tirelessly to prepare for tomorrow night’s show. Every evening he was eager to see the progress she’d made on one of her pieces. He was still in awe that she could create such amazing detail with glass and solder—particularly at the pace she kept. She’d been right when she told him the stained glass brought her art to life.

Slowing, he turned down the dirt road, and moments later into the driveway. He walked inside, smiling when he met the blast of music coming from the living room. He moved to give the volume a twist in the opposite direction, then opened the door to the garage wider, watching Callie soldering a large navy-blue piece to the creamy gold she’d selected for the huge moon already in place—the last of her dream pieces he wanted to ask her about but refused to until after her big night was over. “Hey there, artist,” he said, smiling again, determined to shake off his less-than-stellar mood.

She paused with the soldering iron in her hand and looked up, blinking behind her safety glasses as she grinned. “Hi.”

He glanced around the space that had been crowded with her work. “It’s looking kind of empty in here.”

“Gemma came by earlier today with some of the guys from the gallery. They took everything away.” She set the iron on her table and walked to him, then pressed a kiss to his lips as she locked her arms around his neck. “I ended up taking a quick break to go over to the Inn and see what was what. It’s really coming together.”

He snagged her by the chin, sampling another taste of her. “You’re feeling good about tomorrow?”

She nodded. “I’m excited. Maybe a little nervous. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the idea that this is the last exhibition.”

He snuck his hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“Yes, it does.” She stroked her fingers along the back of his neck in the soothing way he loved. “How was your day?”

He could see it in her eyes—the questions she didn’t ask about whether he’d found any new leads on the case. Every day she waited, yet he had nothing. What he needed was an opportunity to pick her brain and see what she thought about repressed memories. Currently, he was in a holding pattern. A long. Frustrating. Waiting game. “Not bad.”

“No crazy stories?”

He shook his head. “Afraid not.”

She sighed. “Things are getting kind of boring around here now that Tobias is actually putting his dog on his run.”

He grinned. “When it comes to Fanny Marstens and that dog, I like boring. Love it.”

She laughed. “I need about twenty more minutes. Then I’ll get some dinner ready.”

He shook his head, sliding his hands along her hips. “Do what you need to do. I can get us something to eat.”

“I brought home minestrone soup and rolls from the bakery. If you want to make a salad, that would be a huge help.”

He nodded. “Sure.”

She kissed him. “Twenty minutes.”

“Take your time. I want to get in a quick workout anyway.”

“Okay.”

Leaving her to do her thing, he went upstairs, finding his dark mood creeping back. He made fast work of changing into shorts and a T-shirt, eager to hit the weights and blow off some of the steam that always seemed to be on the verge of exploding these days.

~~~~

Callie ladled Molly’s homemade minestrone into two big bowls as the water shut off in the bathroom upstairs. Her work had kept her much longer than she’d planned—an extra thirty minutes. When she stepped inside after a long day, she’d expected to see Nate preparing their salad or to hear the hum of the treadmill running in the gym. Instead, the kitchen had been empty and the house mostly silent. Putting their meal on the large wooden tray, she started up the stairs, finding Nate standing with a towel secured low on his hips as he stared out the window overlooking the woods. She sighed, set their dinner on the dresser, and walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist.