Girls Like Us by Cristina Alger

Author:Cristina Alger [Alger, Cristina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Thrillers, General, Psychological, Women
ISBN: 0525535802
Google: EYebDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B07KDW3D4G
Barnesnoble: B07KDW3D4G
Goodreads: 42780284
Publisher: G.P. Putnam’s Sons
Published: 2019-07-02T05:00:00+00:00

12.

At Riverhead, Long Island splits into two tines. The Peconic River widens between them. The North Fork is farm country. Acres of berries, zinnias, lavender, and grapevines roll from the bay to the sound. The towns are mostly one-street, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it affairs. The sky is wide and the roads are quiet. It’s not uncommon to see horses and cows at pasture, a stone’s throw from the highway. The barns are dilapidated and workaday, nothing like the picture-perfect restored farmhouses you’ll find in Sagaponack and Bridgehampton. The paint peels from the wood. Shingles fall from the roofs like old teeth. No one replaces them. I find the barns here beautiful. As they decay, they become a part of the landscape; a touchpoint for a time when Suffolk County was more than just a summer playground for the über-rich.

Just past Riverhead is Aquebogue, a small hamlet known for wineries and farm stands and not much else. One of the most popular stands belongs to Harald Farms Nursery. In the fall, it’s a bustling operation. Apples, corn, pumpkins, cucumbers, and tomatoes are piled high in wooden crates bearing the Harald Farms logo. The crates are aesthetically arranged and the stand itself decorated according to season. Now, at the end of September, scarecrows are everywhere. Candied apples and jams are wrapped in cellophane and sold at a markup. On weekends, you’ll find hayrides and a corn maze out back to entertain children, and a small, man-made stream where they can pan for pre-purchased bags of fossils and gemstones.

It’s the kind of spot that attracts weekenders from the South Fork and day tourists from the city. Harald Farms itself is sprawling and picturesque and conveniently located along 495, the island’s central artery. Behind the counter there’s a white-haired woman wearing a gingham apron and a cheerful, apple-shaped nametag that reads “NANETTE.” The scent of fresh apple cider donuts suffuses the air. There is a refrigerator behind her stuffed with expensive cheese and a display of local wines from nearby vineyards.

Because of the rain, the stand is mostly empty. It’s twilight, and people are heading home to prepare for the storm. There are a few stragglers ringing up final purchases, but no one is browsing the stalls. A man in an apron is hauling crates of produce back inside. Another is lowering the awnings. A gust of wind rushes through the open sides of the stand, sending a chill through my body. I wish I was wearing wellies and a raincoat instead of a vest and sneakers.

The wind catches the banner that hangs from the rafters. It reads “Harald Farms Fall Festival, October 1.” The woman at the counter lets out a dismayed yelp as the banner floats, lifeless, to the floor.

Lee and Dorsey hustle over to help her collect it. My phone rings. It’s the medical examiner’s office in Hauppauge. I walk out back behind the stand before answering.

“Hello?” I answer, my voice low.

“It’s Jamie Milkowski.”

“Hi,” I say, surprised. “What’s up?”

“You were right. Marques was pregnant.”

“Really.” My pulse quickens.

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