Page 64 of The House of Cross

She left and a few minutes later returned with a large manila envelope. She pulled out a plastic sleeve containing three snapshots.

Bree and Sampson recognized the Wheeler family from the coverage that had surrounded their murders. In the first and oldest picture, a formal family portrait, Norman and Patricia May Wheeler, sister to Theresa May Alcott, were proudly holding their babies.

The second, taken when the boys were roughly five, showed them with life preservers on sitting on a dock on what Bree assumed was Alice Lake. It was remarkable how much the twins looked like each other. The only real difference was their expressions: One twin was laughing. The other was staring at his laughing brother coldly.

In the third picture, the twins were seven or eight with buzz-cut hair; they were back on that dock again. One was holding up a big trout, and the other stared off, his fists clenched.

“That’s all you’ve ever seen of them?” Sampson asked.

“Well, except for the one who came in here over the … you know what? I think I remember he paid with a credit card last time he was in,” Mrs. Danvers said. She sat down behind the register and fiddled with a laptop computer. “I think it was Labor Day last year. Or was it the year before?”

“Mrs. Danvers?” Bree said. “It doesn’t—”

“No, my memory is shot in some places, but I remember him, I—”

She seemed to freeze for several moments, as if lost somewhere.

“Ma’am,” Sampson said. “We’re sorry we took up so much—”

The woman pivoted in her chair, her eyes glassy. “I remember now. He bought a dozen jars of huckleberry jam. My huckleberry jam.” Mrs. Danvers smiled in deep satisfaction. “My son. He bought all my jam.”

“That’s nice,” Bree said.

Her brow knitted. “What did you say his name was again?”

“Ryan Malcomb.”

She brightened. “Well, that should be easy.” She turned to the computer again. “I’ll show you. Big Ed keeps track of inventory. And every credit card payment goes to Quicken.”

Sampson looked at Bree and gestured to the front windows. It was almost dark. Snow peppered the glass.

“Mrs. Danvers,” Bree said, “with the weather, we should be going.”

“Won’t take but a second,” she said. “I know I’m—”

She seemed to freeze again.

They stood there for several more awkward moments before Bree said, “Mrs. Danvers, we’re going to leave our cards here. If you find what you’re looking for, you can let us know.”

The woman smiled uncertainly and nodded. “I lose track of what I’m thinking about.”

“We understand,” Sampson said. “Are you alone, ma’am?”

She looked up at the clock—it was almost half past five. “Oh, my daughter Kate will be along at six to help me close.”

“Well, then, you’ve got our cards.”

The older woman smiled at them. “My son bought all my jam. Wasn’t that nice?”

CHAPTER 46

SAMPSON AND BREE LEFTthe Danvers Country Store as full darkness fell and the snow came down in torrents. Bree glanced around before they climbed off the porch, saw Lucille Danvers back at her laptop.

“Poor lady,” Sampson said. “She’s young for that.”

“Too young,” Bree agreed as they crossed to their Jeep. “And I don’t know what to make of Ryan Malcomb coming here several times.”

“And buying all her huckleberry jam,” Sampson said, unlocking the doors. “She really lit up at that.”

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