“I’ll see if he’s at the diner,” said Zander. “That seems to be a meeting place when the power is out.”

“Keep me updated,” answered the sheriff.

Zander scanned the diner but didn’t see the bald head of Harlan Trapp. He took the small hallway to the office and found Dory sitting in a chair, happily flipping through photos. He recognized the folder that Simon Rhoads had given Emily. Zander liked the woman he thought of as Aunt #3. She was a little spacey but good-hearted and kind. She wore the same pale-yellow, thick sweater he’d seen earlier on her sisters.

“Evening, Dory, where’s Emily at?”

Her fact lit up as she saw him. “Special Agent Zander! How lovely to see you again. We need to have you back to the mansion for tea soon—well, as soon as we get power back. One time we lost power for five days. It was horrible.” She held up a picture. “Can you tell which is me?”

The photo of the four elegant women made him smile. “You’re the third. You looked a lot like Madison at that age.”

“So you’re saying I was a hottie?” She winked.

“Definitely. Did Emily—”

“I don’t know where Emily got this file of photos, but it’s brought back so many memories of when we were young. Now we get the senile-citizen rate,” she said with laugh.

He winced, remembering that Simon had specifically asked Emily to not show it to Dory. “I imagine it has.” He glanced at the photos spread across the desk, and one caught his attention, bringing a grin. “Is that the sheriff?” The men in the picture portrayed a group camaraderie that Zander had never experienced. He estimated that most were in their thirties or late twenties, fishing poles and tackle boxes at their feet. The sheriff was easy to pick out; he was as gaunt as he was today.

“Oh yes. That is Merrill. Can you guess who this is?” She pointed at a man.

Considering he’d been in town only five days, Zander wasn’t surprised he couldn’t place him. He shook his head.

She shuffled the photos. “Here’s a better one.”

It had been taken at the same time with the same men, but the face of the man she’d indicated was clearer. He struggled to place it.

“That’s Lincoln. The girls’ dad.”

Now Zander recognized the man. He looked closer, recognizing that Emily had his eyes. Lincoln’s hand caught his attention, and Zander tensed, ice filling his limbs. He immediately checked the hands of the rest of the men.

“Fuck,” he whispered. He slid around the photos on the desk, finding two others that had been taken at the same time and comparing them.

“Dory, who is this?”

She studied the man. “Why that’s our mayor, Harlan Trapp. I forgot he used to have hair.” She giggled. “And there is Simon—he was a looker back then. Too bad he wasn’t interested in me then. I might have said yes.”

“Who are the other people?”

“Well, there’s Rod Barton—he’s Brenda’s brother. Merrill Greer. I don’t know the others.”

Harlan Trapp stood next to Sheriff Greer, his right hand in front of his stomach, pointing at the sheriff with two fingers and his thumb. Lincoln Mills and the two men Dory didn’t know were making the same gesture.

A KKK hand sign.

Harlan Trapp was a white supremacist. Along with Emily’s father.

It added a little weight to Billy’s assertion that Harlan had killed Sean Fitch.

Dammit. He wished Ava weren’t out of commission. Zander needed to discuss this with someone. Now.

His gaze locked on Sheriff Greer, clearly buddies with the other men. No hand sign.

Was he part of it?

Do I tell him what I just discovered about the mayor?

The photos were twenty-five years old. They could mean nothing.

“Dory, where is Emily?”

“She and Madison are running an errand in this cockamamie weather. Picking up a fabulous surprise for my sisters.”

“Madison went with her?”

“Yes.”

At least she had taken her sister.

Who can I trust? He felt ill that he now had doubts about Sheriff Greer.

Did the sheriff warn Harlan Trapp that we were going to his home?

Vina.

Emily’s aunt knew everything about everybody. But would she talk to him? Without holding back? “Thanks, Dory.”

He left the office and hunted down Vina. She was on the floor, chatting at a table with a large family. Five kids. “Vina, can I talk to you in the kitchen?” She excused herself and followed him. Thea noticed and tagged along. The two women had curious looks as he led them to a quiet corner and showed them the photos of the group of men. “Can you identify these men?”

The two women exclaimed over the photos, stating they’d never seen them before. They confirmed all of Dory’s identifications, and, like Dory, couldn’t name two of the men. “I think those guys were from the coast guard,” suggested Thea.

“No. I’m pretty sure they’re friends of Lincoln’s from Portland,” countered Vina. “I remember this person. He upset Brenda about something.”

Thea moved her nose nearly to the picture and then agreed with Vina. “Portland folks.” Her nose wrinkled as she said it.

“I’m Portland folks,” Zander said, curious as to the distaste in Thea’s tone.

“But you’re a nice guy,” Thea said earnestly. “You treat our Emily well.”

He nearly coughed.

Vina nodded. “We’ve seen it.”

“And these guys weren’t nice?”

“I wish Lincoln hadn’t hung around with them,” added Thea. “Things might have been different.”

“You need to explain.”

The women looked at each other and shrugged. “You know,” added Vina, as if that answered everything.

They know what he was.

“Look here.” Zander pointed at Lincoln’s hands. “See anything odd?”

The women studied the photo. “No.”

“What if I told you he’s making a white supremacist hand signal?”

Neither woman flinched.

That tells me more than anything they’ve said.

“If that’s so, then three others are doing the same,” said Thea.

“Correct.” Zander waited a long moment. “You once told me this town had an ugly underbelly, Vina. I took it as there was some racism, but did you know these men were associated with that sort of hate?”

The women were quiet.

He took that as a yes. “Your mayor, Harlan Trapp. What do you know about him?” He studied the women as he waited for an answer. Vina was better at hiding her thoughts, her appearance calm and serene. Thea was twitchy, her gaze unable to settle anywhere.

“There were rumors,” Vina finally said. “There are always rumors . . . about everybody.”

“I suspect you know which rumors to ignore and which to give a little more credence to.”

Thea licked her lips, her right leg bouncing. “Harlan attended those meetings.”

“What meetings?”

“In Portland. Lincoln went to them too. But he’d been raised by parents who believed the same. When he moved here from North Carolina, I think he felt like a fish out of water. He found what he needed with this group in Portland. And as long as he kept it to himself, we tolerated him with Brenda—we primarily had issues with the way he manipulated her. She wouldn’t stand up for herself. But every now and then, his group would come to the coast and be obnoxious—no hoods and white robes, of course. They didn’t do that sort of thing, but they’d drink and cause havoc in town—just blowing off steam like men do.”

Zander bit his tongue. He’d never blown off steam that way. But apparently the women had tolerated Lincoln Mills as long as he kept his active racism behind closed doors.

It was a different generation.

“Did this Portland group have a name?” asked Zander.

The women considered. “Not that I remember,” said Thea. Vina agreed.

“Did all the men in the picture belong to Lincoln’s Portland group?” he asked.

“Oh, no. I’m sure Lincoln and Harlan were just hamming it up,” said Vina. “Probably showing off. They liked to talk the big talk, you know.”

Boys will be boys.

“What about Sheriff Greer? What was his reputation?”

Vina tipped her head and looked at Thea thoughtfully. “Merrill was always a quiet one. Not the brightest man, but dependable.” Thea nodded in agreement.

“So you don’t know if he was a member of this Portland group.”

“Correct.”

“Thank you,” said Zander. The women went back to socialize with their guests, and Zander studied the pictures. Am I jumping to conclusions about Harlan?

He still couldn’t decide if he should talk to the sheriff.

I’m getting worked up about a twenty-five-year-old photo that shows a few jerks.

He took the photos back to the office, where Dory was looking frustrated.

“Agent Zander? The girls are taking way too long. I’ve tried to call them, but neither are answering their phones.” Her soft face was lined with worry.

Yesterday’s car accident flashed in his head. “Where did they go?”