CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Twenty minutes later, May drove into the town of Misty Vale, where Shelby Ryan had lived. This small town was further away from where they were, on the opposite side of Eagle Lake.
She had no idea where Kerry and Adams were working and hoped to goodness that she didn't end up bumping into them while on her illicit investigation.
"The Ryans live at number five, Pine Avenue," Owen said, reading from the case notes he'd called up on his phone.
"Number five," she said as she reached a cul-de-sac.
She pulled into the driveway and switched off the engine.
"This it?" Owen asked.
"Let's go," May said firmly. This time, breaking the rules felt marginally easier.
She walked up to the door and knocked.
A few moments later, the door was opened by a stressed looking man in his forties, with a gaunt face. He was wearing a creased plaid shirt, his hair was tousled, and his eyes were red from crying.
"Mr. Ryan?" May asked sympathetically.
"That's me," he said. "What is it? Are you the police?"
"I'm Deputy Sheriff Moore, and this is my colleague, Deputy Lovell," May explained.
"How can I help you?"
He was clearly too distracted to invite them in, but that was okay. May was comfortable asking the questions on the doorstep.
"We're looking to identify some common threads in these crimes," she said gently. "I know Shelby moved out a few days before she disappeared, but it would really help us if you could tell us what she did and where she went before that time. If she attended any events, went camping, went sailing?"
"She loved to do arts and crafts, and she was a keen runner. She was part of a club. She socialized a lot with her friends. She had a busy calendar, with it being springtime."
"Do you remember the name of the club she joined?"
"The Running Wild Club," he said. "She went on a few camping trips with friends last summer, but she hadn't been on any this year. She went out on a boat with friends a few weeks ago, for her birthday."
"Where did she hire the boat from?" May asked, exchanging a quick glance with Owen.
"Lake Adventures. At the marina in Caspian," he said.
"Anything else?"
"I can't recall anything else. But our relationship was strained some of the time, because she was a rebellious girl, as many teens are. She might have been to other places without telling us," he said sadly.
"I'm so very sorry for your loss. And thank you for the information," May said.
They turned away as the front door closed behind them.
Walking back to the car, May felt excited. She thought they were onto something important.
They had identified a common thread. In the past few weeks, both the victims had hired boats from the marina in Caspian, Lake Adventures.
"Let's go to the marina," Owen said. "Seems like that should be our next step, to find out who works there, and whether this killer might be operating at the marina and picking victims from the clientele."
*
It was a quick drive to Lake Adventures, because Caspian neighbored Misty Vale. As May and Owen drove through town, heading for the marina, she thought it was an attractive place. In a locality flanked by woods, hills and water, it had well-kept sidewalks, pretty yards, a small school, and signage for campsites and hiking trails.
The marina was even more scenic. Flotillas of brightly colored boats of all shapes and sizes marked its presence at the lake's edge. She parked nearby and they climbed out.
"Let's find out what we can," she said, feeling hopeful that this thread of logic might lead them to the killer.
"How do you want to play this?" Owen asked.
"We need to speak to the owner. Find out more about him. Is it a one-person business; does he have help? Let’s assess him as a person and see what we feel."
There was a small office building right at the marina, with a few vehicles outside. She and Owen walked down the wooden walkway.
The office building also proved to be a well-stocked shop, offering outdoor gear and equipment.
The manager, a man in his forties, was behind the till, ringing up a purchase for a customer.
He was a grim-faced man who didn't look as if he smiled a lot, May thought, on first impressions. He sure wasn't as bright and cheery as the business was, she decided, with her suspicion intensifying.
She waited until the customer had left. Then she and Owen moved to the till.
"Good morning," she introduced herself and Owen. "Deputy Sheriff Moore and Lovell. We're here to ask some questions regarding the recent murders."
His gaze slid away. May felt her stomach tighten.
"I'm Harry Bridges, the owner here," he said. "I've heard about these murders. What do you want to know?"
"Did you have any recent interaction with either of the victims?"
"Well, yes, I did," he said.