CHAPTER SIXHe slowed the jag to a stop in front of a white picket fence surrounding the white cottage where young Leola Martin had posed with her small dog. The photograph was in his wallet but he didn’t need to check it because nothing had changed. Except the house was larger than it had appeared to be in that snapshot and seemed farther back from the street.
He left his car and stood for a moment on the sidewalk, looking up at the white clapboard house with its dark green door and shutters.
Swung the gate open and no dog barked as he started up the brick walk. The lawn had been mowed recently and flowers bloomed in neat beds edged with more bricks. He had expected the house might be shabby but, of course, this was New England, where people cared for things.
He went up the steps to a s
