The Edge

“O-okay,” he said, wondering why she would have a problem with sharing information like that. “I understand you teach art part-time at the public school.”

Her expression instantly brightened. “I do. Twice a week at the very end of the day. That’s all they could afford. They barely have books in the school library or computers for the students. When government budgets are tight they always cut education; the students can’t vote.”

“But they will one day,” pointed out Devine.

“The kids were uninterested in art at first. But their enthusiasm grew as they got better.” She looked around. “But the odds are stacked against them. Jobs are limited in this part of Maine, along with opportunity. Drugs are rampant, and grandparents are raising their grandkids because of it. Ninety percent of families are on some sort of government assistance. Many of these kids are being dropped into big black holes, never to be seen again.”

“But you might find an artist out there who you could lead to another, better future.”

“I doubt I have that ability in me.”

“Why don’t I believe that?”

She put her brush down and stared at him. “Believe what you want.”

“Okay, let’s talk about your sister.”

“I didn’t even know she was in town,” she said automatically.

Just like her brother told me. And I believe it even less this time around.

“Did she come here often and not tell you?”

“She didn’t come here all that often. Once or twice a year.”

“When was the last time?”

“During the summer.”

“Why not more often?” asked Devine.

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask her, and you can’t.”

“When was the last time you saw or spoke with her?”

Alex let out an extended breath and shook her head. “Saw her briefly when she came here during the summer. Spoke to her last? I can’t really remember.”

“Ballpark? Months, weeks, days?”

“Over a month,” said Alex.

“What’d you talk about?”

“Nothing important.”

“You two weren’t close?”

“She had her life and I had mine and they didn’t really mix well. She was off somewhere around the world while I was stuck right here in Putnam.”

“Stuck? By your choice?”

“Bad choice of words. It has everything I want as an artist. Solitude, incredible beauty, haunting images, a place that makes you think. It’s very inspiring.”

“I spoke with your mother. She thought you should be in New York, or California, or Europe.”

“Of course she did.”

“You see her much?”

“Not for years,” said Alex.

“I saw your father, too.”

Her expression grew firmer and seemed to be pulling her inward. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Your brother said he goes to visit him.”

“They have that military connection,” she said in answer. “I don’t.”

“I don’t think he has long left.”

“None of us know how long we have left,” she replied.

“So you didn’t know Jenny was in town and you hadn’t seen or spoken with her in a while?”

“That’s right. So I really can’t help you.” She turned back to her canvas. “And I have a lot of work to do. So...”

“Have you started selling your artwork? Your mother didn’t think you were.”

“I have an agent now. Over the last few years I’ve been commissioned to do a number of paintings and sculptures. You can tell my mother that my clients include people from New York and California and across the pond.”

“You should tell her yourself. I’m sure she’ll be very happy for you.”

“I’m not nearly as sure about that as you appear to be.”

“Are you sad that your sister is no longer living?” Devine had decided to ask this provocative question to get something from the woman that didn’t sound scripted.

“What the hell kind of question is that?” she said, her face flushing again and her thick eyebrows nearly touching.

“It’s just that, a question.”

“You found me sobbing my heart out at the inn.”

“I just don’t know why you were sobbing your heart out. You didn’t hang around.”

“Well, it was because of her. So now you know. Are we done?”

“Then why did you intimate that you would not be describing your sister to me as a person much loved by folks here?”

“I don’t remember saying that.”

Devine repeated back the account she had given him from the notes he had put in his iPhone.

“Does that jog your memory?”

“No.”

“Okay, one last thing.”

“What?” she snapped.

“I’d like you to go with me to where your sister’s body was found.”

“Why would I do that?” she said slowly. “And why would you want me to do that?”

“Because you know this area far better than I do. And you clearly possess something that might help me.”

“What, pray tell, is that?”

“An artist’s insight into the human soul.”

“I still don’t think I can help you,” she said, her tone and voice not nearly as assured.

“Let’s go find out.” He paused and added, “Please.”

Chapter 18

He retrieved his rental and drove it to Jocelyn Point to pick her up. Then it wasn’t that far to the spot where Jenny Silkwell’s body had been found. They walked over the same cold, rugged ground that Jenny had presumably trod during her last night on earth.