sense. State Road, where Jacy would’ve been hitching, was, if not exactly busy that early in the season, at least well traveled, and you could never be certain another driver or walker or jogger wouldn’t appear at exactly the wrong moment. And even if Troyer, fueled by rage, had been willing to roll the dice, to what logical end? He was a big guy, so sure, if he somehow got Jacy into the car, he could overpower her, but then what? If he meant to rape her, he’d have to take her someplace where there wouldn’t be any witnesses, but again, then what? How would he keep her from going to the cops afterward? Well, he could threaten her. That often worked on terrified young women who felt not just fear but shame. But often wasn’t always, so how could he count on it? And what if, instead of going to the cops, she returned to Chilmark and told her friends? Mickey had already laid the asshole out cold for—compared to rape, at least—a relatively minor transgression. What sort of punishment would he mete out for the greater offense? No, to keep his victim quiet, he’d have to kill her, but kill her how? Dispose of her body how? And later, when she was reported missing, the cops would question Lincoln and Teddy and Mickey, who’d be quick to tell them about the incident in the kitchen, after which he’d be the prime suspect.
No, it was a fever dream. Loathing Troyer, he’d turned a lout into a monster so as to explain the inexplicable.
“Turns out I was looking for a ghost,” he reluctantly admitted to Beverly.
“Oooh, tell me,” she said, motioning for him to take a seat. “I love ghost stories.”
No, he told himself. Just leave.
“Unfortunately, this one lacks an ending,” he said, taking the offered chair.
“That’s okay, I’m excellent at endings.”
And so, keeping Troyer out of the narrative, he gave Beverly the short version of that long-ago holiday weekend and Jacy’s disappearance. As he spoke, she made notes on her blotter, as if there might be a quiz later. When at last he finished talking, she said, without hesitation, “She’s here on the island.”
Lincoln swallowed hard, feeling his face go white. For a moment he was unable to locate his voice.
“In a story, I mean. You and your friends look for her all over the world, only to discover that she’s been right here the whole time. That’s how I’d write it.” Then, having apparently registered his expression, she winced. “Ouch. I forgot we were talking about an actual person. Somebody you—”
“It’s okay,” Lincoln assured her, though what she’d said had given him the bends, as if she’d recognized Jacy today from his description of her in 1971 and knew right where she lived on the island. As if her name and phone number were waiting there on Beverly’s Rolodex. As if they could all meet for lunch. “It was a long time ago. Who was it who said to let the dead bury the dead?”
“That would be Jesus, I believe.”
“Right,” said Lincoln, glad that Dub-Yay wasn’t here to witness this lapse. Except that of course he was. Like many fathers, Lincoln’s now had two permanent residences—one in Dunbar, Arizona, the other in his only son’s head. This right here is what comes of attending college in New England and marrying a Roman Catholic, he heard the old man say in his whine. I’m glad your poor mother didn’t live to see this day. “I’m not sure what he meant, though, Beverly. Are you?”
“Maybe that we should focus on what we can change and not what’s beyond our sphere of influence?”
“Not bad advice,” Lincoln said, getting stiffly to his feet. Too much sitting in front of that damn microfilm machine.
Beverly’s handshake was warm and firm. “Why don’t you leave me your cell number,” she suggested. “I’ve got a couple reporter friends on the Cape. Maybe a follow-up ran in one of the papers there.”
At the door, he paused. “While I’m here,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, “I wonder if you know a neighbor of mine out in Chilmark. Mason Troyer?”
Immediately her expression darkened with suspicion and, unless he was mistaken, fear. “Is he a friend of yours?”
“Barely know the man. He wants to buy my house.”
“He’s fifty different kinds of trouble,” she said. “If you tell him I said that, I’ll deny it.”