Free Razzamatazz (A Crime Novel) by Sandra Scoppettone

wasn't going to interview the Coopers' neighbors or write his story; he was going up to the Sound, to sit and think.
    He took a left off Bay View's main street, drove up to the north road, and headed back to Seaville. There were several farms along the way. Most of them grew cauliflower and potatoes, he'd been told. The road was four lanes here, and you couldn't see the water until it narrowed. He noticed a barn set back from the highway. A sign for Antiques and Junque swung in the breeze at the entry road. He wondered if this was Jim Drew's place. It was funny he'd never taken it in before. He'd have to concentrate on improving his powers of observation.
    The north road became a double lane, and the houses more expensive. Some were old, turn of the century; others, big modern structures. Lilacs were abundant, their lavender blooms splashing color indiscriminately along the way. The purples, pinks, and whites of azalea bushes bordered paths and porches. Finally Colin left the greens of grass and hedges behind as sand became the front lawns of the beach houses.
    Flashes of blue caught his eye as the water became visible. Soon he passed the public beach, empty except for a lone fisherman. He crossed the invisible line between Bay View and Seaville, and the houses immediately became less opulent. A few minutes later, Colin slowed near Orlowski's, the big farm stand, and turned left onto Pointy Rock Road.
    At the end of the street, he parked his car. Sarah Griffing had shown him Snapper Cove a few days after he'd arrived in Seaville. She'd taken him to various spots, driving her own car with Colin following in his. It was amazing how understanding she was about his problem. But women were like that. It was men who couldn't deal with it, didn't want to talk about it. Like Mark. "No need to go into a bunch of details," he'd said when Colin tried to explain, then looked away as if he might catch something if his eyes met Colin's.
    Snapper Cove was in East Haven, the town on the other side of Seaville. Nobody lived on the cove, it was just a high point on the Fork where you could park and look at the view. Looking down at the big boulders on the pebbly beach gave him the feeling he was gazing at the Mediterranean. The water had a greenish cast to it, and the wind created small waves.
    There were no other cars today. Sarah had told him that he'd never be alone there or anywhere else once the season started. More than twenty thousand people swelled the Fork from Memorial Day to Labor Day. Colin didn't look forward to it.
    "A, my name is Annie..." The child's ditty started again. "A, my name is Annie, my husband's name is..." He'd meant to ask Mark what her status was, but had forgotten. The sadness he'd felt earlier pushed up into his chest. What was it? And then he remembered.
    The schoolyard of Our Lady of Sorrows, and Sister Mary Agnes grabbing him by the collar, pulling him away from Patti Ellen Fagan, whom he'd been teasing mercilessly because she couldn't get past "A, my name is Audrey, my husband's name is Arthur." She couldn't think of a place starting with A because Patti Ellen Fagan wasn't your brightest and all the kids knew it.
    "All right, Colin Maguire, that's enough now. You leave Patti Ellen alone."
    "I was just foolin', Sister."
    "You were just a fool, is what you mean. Oh, Colin, I don't know what's gonna become of you. Someday if I read in the paper that you've been arrested for murder I won't be surprised."
    Jesus, he thought, what a thing to say to a kid. He remembered feeling terrible when she'd said that to him, and he felt terrible now. Funny how you could feel the same thing twenty-seven years later, just from recalling a ditty, not even knowing the connection right away.
    But he knew it wasn't childhood rhymes, or Patti Ellen Fagan, or demented nuns that were bothering him. It was the murders, ugly and unsolved. He was wondering again.
    What if someone here, other than the Griffings, found out? What would