beat them off.
“It was kind of downhill from there. What made it prominent early on worked against it later. It was cut off from the mainland, and until the 1950s when the Bay Bridge was built, you had to take a ferry to get across. A lot of people made their living fishing, crabbing, oystering. As the water quality of the bay declined, so did those industries. Now they’ve got big chicken farms and some agriculture. But the same factors that kept down the population have also worked in its favor. It’s a quaint area that still has a lot of eighteenth-century charm. Particularly since the Bay Bridge was built, the main industry is tourism. It’s the lifeblood of Doncaster, and they have to make the bulk of their money in the warmer months, which is why the power structure is so protective of the town’s reputation.”
The man next to her didn’t comment.
“Ben?”
His eyes snapped open. “Sorry.”
“I’m putting you to sleep.” Just the opposite of what she’d intended.
“No. I was listening.”
To make sure he wasn’t concussed, she asked him a question. “Are we on the Eastern Shore or the Western?” she asked.
He hesitated for a minute. “Western.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s hard not to notice a bridge that’s over four miles long.”
She laughed. And in fact, they came to the toll booth a few miles later and crossed the high span to Kent Island, then continued down Route 50 to Doncaster.
As they approached, Sage felt her stomach muscles clench. When she’d been a young girl, she’d loved living in such a cute little town. Later, she’d felt the undercurrents of tension below the surface. That was one of the reasons she’d left. Her mother was another. Angel Baker simply didn’t have Sage’s values. As soon as she’d been able to make it on her own, Sage had fled. At first she’d shared an apartment with a friend who’d moved to Baltimore to work for the Social Security Administration. Then she’d been able to afford her own small apartment in the less gentrified part of Catonsville.
Leaving Laurel in Doncaster, she reminded herself. She hadn’t been back here since Laurel’s birthday six months ago. She’d intended to visit her sister, but she’d kept putting it off with one excuse after the other.
Now it might be too late.
She forced back a sob as her hands clenched the wheel. It wasn’t too late. Laurel was still alive. She had to be, and they’d find her before anything bad happened. She shuddered as her mind suddenly bombarded her with unwelcome scenarios. Rape and murder for starters.
When she glanced at Ben, she saw him watching her. “It’s going to be okay,” he said.
She hadn’t expected reassurances from him, and his words brought tears to her eyes.
“Thanks,” she whispered, unable to speak any louder past the knot in her throat.
They drove down Main Street past tee shirt and craft shops, restaurants and real estate offices. The sidewalks were crowded with men, women and kids in vacation attire, some carrying shopping bags.
Ben turned his head toward a family of four, all licking giant ice cream cones. “I see what you mean about it being a tourist town.”
“There are beaches all along the river. And it’s only a short drive to the bay. The ocean’s still forty minutes away,” she answered, glad to focus on something besides her own guilt.
“Give me the lay of the land.”
“Like how?”
“Drive down the street again. Tell me who owns the businesses and if the owners are part of the power structure.”
At the end of the commercial area, she turned into the Methodist Church’s parking lot and came back, driving more slowly this time.
When they passed the hardware store, she said, “Craig Fellows has been in the hardware business here since before I was born, and he inherited the store from his dad. It’s an essential part of the community. And he’s one of the wheeler-dealers in town.”
She pointed toward the bank.
“It was kind of downhill from there. What made it prominent early on worked against it later. It was cut off from the mainland, and until the 1950s when the Bay Bridge was built, you had to take a ferry to get across. A lot of people made their living fishing, crabbing, oystering. As the water quality of the bay declined, so did those industries. Now they’ve got big chicken farms and some agriculture. But the same factors that kept down the population have also worked in its favor. It’s a quaint area that still has a lot of eighteenth-century charm. Particularly since the Bay Bridge was built, the main industry is tourism. It’s the lifeblood of Doncaster, and they have to make the bulk of their money in the warmer months, which is why the power structure is so protective of the town’s reputation.”
The man next to her didn’t comment.
“Ben?”
His eyes snapped open. “Sorry.”
“I’m putting you to sleep.” Just the opposite of what she’d intended.
“No. I was listening.”
To make sure he wasn’t concussed, she asked him a question. “Are we on the Eastern Shore or the Western?” she asked.
He hesitated for a minute. “Western.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s hard not to notice a bridge that’s over four miles long.”
She laughed. And in fact, they came to the toll booth a few miles later and crossed the high span to Kent Island, then continued down Route 50 to Doncaster.
As they approached, Sage felt her stomach muscles clench. When she’d been a young girl, she’d loved living in such a cute little town. Later, she’d felt the undercurrents of tension below the surface. That was one of the reasons she’d left. Her mother was another. Angel Baker simply didn’t have Sage’s values. As soon as she’d been able to make it on her own, Sage had fled. At first she’d shared an apartment with a friend who’d moved to Baltimore to work for the Social Security Administration. Then she’d been able to afford her own small apartment in the less gentrified part of Catonsville.
Leaving Laurel in Doncaster, she reminded herself. She hadn’t been back here since Laurel’s birthday six months ago. She’d intended to visit her sister, but she’d kept putting it off with one excuse after the other.
Now it might be too late.
She forced back a sob as her hands clenched the wheel. It wasn’t too late. Laurel was still alive. She had to be, and they’d find her before anything bad happened. She shuddered as her mind suddenly bombarded her with unwelcome scenarios. Rape and murder for starters.
When she glanced at Ben, she saw him watching her. “It’s going to be okay,” he said.
She hadn’t expected reassurances from him, and his words brought tears to her eyes.
“Thanks,” she whispered, unable to speak any louder past the knot in her throat.
They drove down Main Street past tee shirt and craft shops, restaurants and real estate offices. The sidewalks were crowded with men, women and kids in vacation attire, some carrying shopping bags.
Ben turned his head toward a family of four, all licking giant ice cream cones. “I see what you mean about it being a tourist town.”
“There are beaches all along the river. And it’s only a short drive to the bay. The ocean’s still forty minutes away,” she answered, glad to focus on something besides her own guilt.
“Give me the lay of the land.”
“Like how?”
“Drive down the street again. Tell me who owns the businesses and if the owners are part of the power structure.”
At the end of the commercial area, she turned into the Methodist Church’s parking lot and came back, driving more slowly this time.
When they passed the hardware store, she said, “Craig Fellows has been in the hardware business here since before I was born, and he inherited the store from his dad. It’s an essential part of the community. And he’s one of the wheeler-dealers in town.”
She pointed toward the bank.
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