“Alastair? So he’s the—?”

The door banged open. In strode a man of about sixty, rail-thin but walking like a man twice his weight. He wore a uniform and his gaze was fixed on me.

I slid off my stool, hand extended. “Chief Bruyn. I’m—”

“Savannah Levine,” he said with a scowl. “Private investigator.”

Heads whipped my way. Lorraine stepped back fast, distancing herself. Bill scowled at me. Jacob looked confused, like a dog getting a kick after a treat.

“That’s right,” I said. “I left my card at the station. I wanted to let you know I’m here before I started investigating.”

“If you start investigating,” Bruyn said.

Actually, there was nothing he could do to stop me, but I kept my mouth shut.

“Well, you’re off to a hell of a start, Miss Levine, bothering these people.”

“She wasn’t bothering anyone, Chris,” said Jacob. “Just asking about Claire.”

“Oh, was she? Miss Levine? Come with me, please. You and I need to have a talk.”

six

As Bruyn marched me down Main Street, people gawked through windows, some even stepping outside for a better look. I might as well have been in handcuffs—and I was sure, in more than a few recountings of this story, I would be.

Now, as for why the local police chief was involved in an investigation that should have been handled by the county sheriff’s department, Jesse had said the county was officially investigating, but when the local leads went cold, they’d backed off and now the town looked to Bruyn for answers. Or something like that. It’d been a long explanation and I hadn’t paid much attention. All that mattered to me was that Bruyn was the guy I needed to impress. And I was doing a bang-up job of it so far.

When we reached the station, Bruyn ushered me inside.

“Beth?” he said to the receptionist.