Still Lake - Anne Stuart [67]
There were a hell of a lot of maybes.
Alice Calderwood’s grave was at the very top row of the cemetery, tucked beneath an apple tree. The flowers were fresh, the headstone scrubbed free of moss and bird droppings. Someone still mourned Alice, just as they mourned the other young women.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, looking at the stone, before he realized someone had joined him. He looked up into the kindly blue eyes of one of the people who had put him in jail. Doc Henley was the last person he wanted to run into—those eyes might be friendly but they were still bright with intelligence. Sooner or later he’d recognize Griffin.
Maybe sooner. “I thought I recognized you up here,” he said, genial as ever. He nodded toward the tombstone. “Sad, isn’t it? Did you know her?”
“I’ve never been to Vermont before,” Griffin said automatically, and Doc didn’t seem interested in arguing the point. Griffin had already planned his excuse if anyone asked him why he was visiting graveyards, and he presented it without Doc asking. “I’m doing a little genealogical research. There were rumors that a branch of my family lived in the area, and I thought I’d check it out while I’m on vacation.”
“Really?” Doc raised one of his bushy white eyebrows. He was as tall as Griffin, only slightly stooped with age, and their eyes were level. “What’s the family name?”
“Smith.”
“That’s going to make research a little tough,” Doc said wryly. “We’ve got a lot of Smiths in town.”
Griffin shrugged. “It’s not important. Just something I thought I’d look into while I’m here.” He glanced back at the grave. “What happened to her? She was awfully young to have died. Car accident?”
“She was murdered,” Doc said, not hiding the pain in his voice. “She and two of her friends. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of the Colby murders since you’ve been here. People still talk about them.”
“I haven’t been socializing much.”
“Just Sophie,” Doc said.
Griffin hid his reaction with admirable control. He shrugged. “Can you blame me? She’s available, she’s pretty, and I’m bored. A little fling will do us both good. She’s too straight-laced. She needs to loosen up a little.”
“I don’t think she needs a stranger coming into her life, disrupting it, and then leaving,” Doc said. “I’m assuming your intentions aren’t particularly honorable?”
Griffin laughed. “Hardly. What are you, her guardian?”
“Just a friend,” Doc said, his disapproval tempered with understanding. “She’s a wonderful young woman, hardworking, decent, responsible. I don’t want her to throw it all away.”
“Sleeping with me doesn’t constitute throwing a responsible life down the drain. Life hurts,” Griffin said. “At least she’s doing better than that poor soul.” He nodded at Alice’s grave.
“Is that where Sophie was last night? With you?”
For a moment Griffin wondered whether Doc, with his stately, old-fashioned manners, was going to challenge him to a duel, or at the very least horsewhip him. “What makes you think she spent the night with anyone?” he hedged.
“Marty was worried about her. She said Sophie called her from your place, and then didn’t come home for hours.” Doc hesitated. “I don’t want to see her hurt.”
“I think if you want to know about who Sophie’s having sex with, you better ask her yourself,” Griffin said.
Doc looked at him. “I don’t need to do that, do I?”
Griffin shrugged. He never considered himself a particularly decent man, but Doc was making him uncomfortable with his questions. He changed the subject. “Those yellow flowers are pretty. Ever seen them before?”
Doc didn’t bother trying to pursue the subject of Sophie. “They’re not very common around here,” he said dismissively. “You don’t strike me as someone who’s interested in gardening, Mr. Smith. Any more than you seem the type to care about genealogy. Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here.”
“Why does everyone think I have an ulterior motive?” Griffin said. “I’m here on vacation, nothing else.”
“Then leave Sophie alone,” Doc said.
There