Robert B. Parker’s the Hangman’s Sonnet

He reached out, putting his free hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay to talk about her, Molly. I like thinking about her sometimes. And you’re right, women are judged differently and it’s not fair.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

He decided against telling her about Tamara’s job offer. It wasn’t his place to make it public knowledge and it was his job to sort through his own feelings.

“I just told the mayor to fire me or to let me resign.”

“One day, Jesse, you’ll go to that well once too often and a mayor will call your bluff.”

“And then you’ll wear the crown.”

“Stop saying that.”

“You said you had something for me?”

“I’ll be in your office in a minute,” she said, reaching into the donut box.

He pulled the box away. “You shouldn’t.”

“Jesse Stone, when you’re the voice of my conscience, I’ll shoot myself. Now put that box back here.” She grabbed a jelly donut.

A few minutes later, their roles were reversed. Molly was standing in front of Jesse’s desk, holding the composition notebooks from Maude Cain’s house in one hand and a file in the other.

“Remember we met with Deanna Banquer and she described that nasty lodger—”

“Evan. Any luck?”

“Well, I looked through every page in these notebooks, Jesse, and there’s not a single mention of anyone named Evan. And the name didn’t ring a bell for anyone I spoke with on the phone.”

“I know you, Crane. You didn’t come in here to tell me you failed.”

“Evan wasn’t in the books because Maude Cain didn’t consider him a lodger, at least not a lodger like the other people who stayed in her house.”

“Why not?”

“Because he was her nephew.” She put the file in front of Jesse. “The day Maude’s body was discovered you told me to start searching for next of kin. Well, after the ME positively identified her, I dropped that search, but I got this back from the municipal clerk’s office in Blue Ridge, Vermont. That’s the town where Maude Cain’s older sister, Mercy Updike, lived.”

“Certificate of Live Birth,” Jesse said. “Evan Cain Updike. May twenty-sixth, 1946. I’m not sure this gets us anywhere, but it’s something. See if you can find him.”

“Gee, Poirot, I never would’ve thought of that on my own.”

“Wiseass. Get out of my office.” She left.

Jesse stood, stretching some of the weariness out of his muscles, staring out his office window. He would head over to Stiles Island in a little while, but first he wanted to have a chat with Roscoe Niles. The night before, Spenser had mentioned the guy who had worked as the engineer for The Hangman’s Sonnet recording sessions. If anyone might know the man’s name, it would be Roscoe Niles. Niles had an encyclopedic knowledge of those sorts of facts. He could tell you who played tambourine or triangle on obscure tracks. Jesse would ask Stan White the same question in a little while, but he didn’t trust White to begin with and trusted him even less after his reaction in the mayor’s office. Unfortunately, his calls to Roscoe’s house went unanswered. Jesse was in the process of leaving a voicemail message when Molly burst back into his office.

“Jesse, you better get over to the nature preserve,” she said.

“Why?”

“I just got a call on the station number. Said we’d find something in the old toolshed.”

“Same anonymous guy as before?”

“The number was blocked like before, but I couldn’t tell for sure. I sent Gabe ahead to secure the area.”

“Good. Did the caller say what we’d find?”

“Only that we’d find something in the shed.”

Jesse smiled. Whoever they were dealing with was getting impatient. Maybe too impatient for his own good.

66

Gabe Weathers was leaning against the front fender of his cruiser when Jesse pulled up.

“Did you approach the shed?”

“No, Jesse. The tape is still up from when the body was found over there, so I just stayed here to make sure no runners or hikers approached the shed. I haven’t seen a soul since I arrived.”

“Okay, you sit tight,” Jesse said, putting on a gloves. “Get Peter down here, just in case I find something in there.”

“Think it’s another body?”

“If it is, you’ll be calling Molly Chief Crane.”

Gabe laughed. When he saw that Jesse was serious, he stopped.

But for the sounds of chirping birds, small animals rustling the leaf litter, and the barking of angry squirrels, there was a strange stillness in the air. Jesse didn’t like it, but he hadn’t liked much of anything lately. From the morning of Suit’s wedding, when he hid his shaky hands as he listened to Bascom, White, and Bella go on about Terry Jester, to that moment in the woods, everything had seemed just a little off. He thought back to earlier in the day, to how Bella Lawton had just shown up at his door to offer herself up to him for the asking and he recalled how on his drive into town he’d had the sense he was being watched. He felt that way now. He ducked under the tape and felt the earth give under his weight.

“Did it rain last night?” he asked, turning back to Gabe.

“Sprinkled on and off for about a few hours, but nothing to speak of.”

“And you’re sure you haven’t seen anyone?”