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that when the sheriff called her she got mad…real mad.”
    Tony sighed. “Thanks for calling, Web. I appreciate it.”
    â€œYeah, no problem,” Web said. “I just thought you’d want to know. I remember you liked Whitman.”
    â€œYes, I liked him.”
    â€œSo…I guess I’d better get back to work. If you’re ever up this way, give me a call.”
    The line went dead. Tony hung up, then poured some of the coffee that had just brewed into a mug and carried it into the living room. He took a careful sip as he sank down into his favorite chair, then sighed and let his thoughts drift back into the past.
    He thought of the child Sarah Whitman had been, remembering the last time he’d seen her—standing at her mother’s grave with tears streaming down her little face. He’d been sixteen years old and uncertain how to comfort a ten-year-old kid, so he’d done nothing and, as a result, had never gotten over the guilt. Franklin Whitman had believed in Tony when no one else in the town of Marmet would give him a chance. His parents had both been drinkers—never holding a job for more than a few months at a time. Anthony DeMarco had run wild in the streets and more or less raised himself. By the time he was a teenager, he had a bad-boy reputation and the good looks to go with it. The nickname Silk had come from his male peers, who were envious of his sexual prowess and his smooth-as-silk manner with the opposite sex. But Silk DeMarco had been a boy on the verge of manhood and had known that being the high school stud wasn’t going to get him out of the depressing lifestyle into which he’d been born. He wanted more for himself.
    It was the summer of his sixteenth year when he strode into the bank where Franklin Whitman worked and asked him for a loan. He wanted to buy a lawn mower to start his own lawn service, knowing full well that even if he got the loan and bought the mower, there was a very good chance that the good people of Marmet might not trust him enough to hire him. To his surprise, Whitman had not only loaned him the money but became his first customer. Before the summer was over, Silk had acquired thirty regular customers and earned over three thousand dollars. It had been the first time he’d tasted success, and it had given him an appetite for more.
    He took another sip of coffee, grunting with satisfaction that it had cooled enough to enjoy. Something splattered against the windows nearby, and he glanced up. It had started to rain. He frowned, wondering what Sarah Whitman looked like now, wondering if she was married. He remembered the way she and her mother had been treated after Whitman’s disappearance. It had driven her mother crazy and ultimately caused her to take her own life. Web had said Sarah was going to Marmet to claim her father’s remains. The thought of her facing that task alone made him sick. He’d let her down once, but not again.
    He stood abruptly and headed for the phone. A few minutes later he was packing to go home.
    Â 
    Sarah held her breath as the plane touched down. Reluctantly she glanced out the window, imagining she could already smell the salt air, and then quickly looked away, dreading what lay ahead. Her aunt Lorett had offered to come with her, but Sarah had refused, asking her to oversee her restaurant, instead. It had been a feeble excuse, and they both knew it. Sarah had a very competent manager, and Lorett knew nothing about running a restaurant. Both of them knew Sarah needed to do this alone—she had to face the demons that had driven her away.
    Her legs were shaking as she got off the plane. She made her way through the airport to baggage claim on auto pilot, and by the time she got to Rent-A-Car to pick up the keys to the car she’d reserved, she was sick to her stomach.
    Sarah pointed to a display rack behind the clerk. “I need a map of the state, please.”
    The