Page 138 of Hometown Girl

“Why is that interesting?”

“Because it’s a lie.”

Surprise skirted across his face. “What makes you say that?”

“Walter told me. It made me wonder why a man like you would go to all the trouble of pouring his hard-earned money into a local apple orchard for no return. Especially the same year the owners’ daughter went missing.”

“That’s not a secret,” Davis said.

“Were you just being a good neighbor, or did your sudden generosity have something to do with your son?” Beth pulled the sketch from her notebook and slid it across the table.

Davis looked at it, then slowly met her eyes. “What is this?”

“It’s a sketch of a man who was at the farm around the time of Jess’s disappearance.”

Beads of sweat gathered on Davis’s upper lip. “Of course he was there. Monty worked for Harold and Sonya. What’s your point?”

“He was seen hiding in one of the stables, watching the little girl play,” Beth said. “And a tenant in one of the barns remembers him. She never saw him working on the farm again after that day.”

“Is that Mrs.Chirper?” Davis said, his brows drawn down. “You can’t trust anything that woman says.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think she makes a lot of sense.” Never mind that Birdie was known for her conspiracy theories. She’d interrupted her share of city council meetings with her outlandish speculations—from chemicals in the water supply to toxic birds with cancer in their waste.

“Well, nobody in their right mind would believe her.”

“Maybe not, but they’ll believe me,” Drew said.

Davis narrowed his gaze, focusing on him. “I was wondering if you were the same Barlow who was there that day.”

“Does that make you nervous?”

“Of course not. I have nothing to hide.” Davis leaned back in his chair. “That case is twenty years old. Why drag it all back up now?”

“Because nobody ever paid for what they did to Jess,” Drew said. “And it’s about time someone did.”

Davis’s eye twitched—so slightly Beth almost missed it.

“Maybe we could speak with your son, Mr.Biddle?” she asked. “Do you know where we could find him? We’re told there’s a chance he still lives with you.”

Davis waved her off. “Not possible.”

“Why not?” Drew looked like he might come unglued.

“He’s not here.”

What if Davis was telling the truth? What if something had happened to Monty—would anyone in town even know?

The doorbell rang.

Bishop. He’d have other officers with him and a search warrant.

Beth took out a small photograph and slid it across the desk.

When Davis looked at it, irritation flashed across his face.

“That’s Jess,” she said. “She was nine when someone grabbed her out of her own yard, and her body has never been found.”

“I remember, Miss Whitaker. Why are you telling me what I already know?”

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