The Edge

“Oh yes. Jenny and I were in the same high school class. I went to college and got my teaching certificate, and went back and taught science at the high school for a while. Then I got the necessary degrees before coming to work here. Jenny was the cream of the crop. We all knew she was destined for bigger and better things.”

“Yeah, so I keep hearing. Did you see her during her last visit?”

“No. I had no idea she was here.”

Right, just like everybody else in this town. “Okay, well, thanks.” Devine started to take his leave but then turned back. “‘And Sons’?”

“What?” said Guillaume.

“The sign out front says ‘Bing and Sons.’ I was just wondering who the other sons were.”

Bing said, “Oh, our uncle, John, and our father, Ted Bing. Our grandfather Frederic — I’m his namesake — founded the business. Our father and uncle worked for him until he passed, and they ran the business until they retired. That’s when we took it over.” He looked at his sister. “Françoise and me. We should probably change the sign to ‘Bing and Associates.’”

“Or ‘Bing and Guillaume,’” suggested Devine. “I guess that’s your married name?”

“It is, but I’m not married any longer.”

“So it’s just the two of you left?”

“Yes,” said Guillaume before her brother could answer.

Devine glanced at Bing, who was looking confusedly at his sister. “Great, thanks.”

Devine walked out. He had collected a lot of data, and very little that made any sense. But somehow he needed to make meaning of it, all while someone was gunning for him.

Why do I suddenly miss being deployed to Iraq? At least there I was pretty sure of who I was fighting against. Here, not so much.

Chapter 26

Only real food was a hopping place, Devine discovered as he turned the corner onto Hiram Silkwell Boulevard after walking from the Putnam Inn. Cars lined both sides of the street, and there were some folks milling about the entrance. The brick building occupied about a half block and looked to have once been some sort of warehouse or industrial space. The sign for the restaurant was formed from chunky welded metal, with the letters done in calligraphy. Two gas flames encased in glass lanterns flickered on either side of the double wooden door.

Inside, the floor plan was wide open, with wrought iron pipes and other metal fittings ornately bent into enormous light fixtures dominating the walls and the ceiling, the latter of which was open to the rafters. There were about thirty tables of varying sizes, most of them full of hungry customers and the accompanying noises of conversation and clatter of glasses and utensils. The kitchen was visible through large windows, and the professionally clad cooks and staff could be seen working behind large stoves and in front of commercial ovens, with huge pans and skillets and dishes in use, and orders digitally flying across computer screens.

Waitstaff emerged through double doors with large platters of food or armloads of drinks. Piped-in music wafted over the clientele, and a small bar set up along one wall was doing a healthy business.

In a town of fewer than three hundred people, thought Devine. But then Dak Silkwell told me about the thousands who live in the surrounding area.

But still, what made Putnam such a happening place?

As he looked around the room trying to find Silkwell, he noted two large paintings that were mounted on one wall. He walked over and eyeballed them. One was of a fisherman with a large net filled with... yes, it was mermaids, he concluded. The other painting depicted a storm blowing in off the coast and in the foreground a large home with a widow’s walk, where he could see the image of a woman looking anxiously out to sea.

The house, he easily noted, was Jocelyn Point. He looked down at the signatures at the bottom of both paintings.

The initials ADS. Alexandra Silkwell? With the D being her middle name, probably. The style was definitely hers. He could see that even though he’d only viewed a few of her pieces.

“Hey.”

He turned to see Dak striding toward him. The man had exchanged his muscle shirt and jeans for a tailored two-piece dark suit with an open-collared white shirt. His hair was slicked back and wound up in a ponytail. He looked like a totally different person, Devine noted. And maybe that was the man’s intent.

“You like them?” Dak asked, pointing at the paintings.

“Yes. Your sister’s work, right?”

“How the hell did you know that?”

“I saw some of Alex’s work when I spoke to her at her studio. But these are different. The mermaids I don’t really see her doing. I mean, catching them in a net like—”

“—fish? Yeah. She didn’t want to do it, actually. It was the owner’s idea, and the money they were willing to pay was too good.”