who also had problems. Paquin’s other brother was dying in an institution, and her mother (who emigrated from Manchester, England, to Manchester, New Hampshire) had slowly gone insane. Colorful people were always a part of her life, so Sheila LaBarre fit right in.
Paquin had been entertaining a friend, Sandra Charpentier, when Sheila arrived. Charpentier had bounced back and forth between housing in Manchester and Worcester, Massachusetts. She looked like Paquin’s younger sister, except her hair was longer and striking platinum blonde. Paquin and Charpentier were close, but nothing prepared them for the journey they were about to go on.
Immediately, Sheila worked her charm on the mother as she had on Paquin’s son and daughter. Paquin listened carefully to Sheila’s story about running away from her boyfriend and never inquired for further details. The guest was polite to a fault and full of flattery.
The Paquins were captivated by the affirmation the woman gave them. Sheila told them she was a multi-millionaire who had inherited a horse farm. The women never asked why a wealthy landowner like herself would seek out a place to stay from a stranger. They were too enthralled with the stories she was weaving. Paquin wanted to know more about the horses and could she come visit the farm sometime?
Sheila introduced everyone to the three rabbits who were now under the care of Paquin’s children. Sapphire was the gray one, the “alpha female,” as Sheila described her. She was pregnant by one of her two companions. Little Satin was white with a pink nose and very gentle. Snooky was the oldest and the one with the most character. Sheila found the male rabbit six years earlier in Hampton on land owned by Dr. LaBarre. He was brown, with white patches on his left paw, leg and ear. The little guy was suffering from pasteurelosis, the rabbit sniffles, an illness often brought on by stress in the animal.
Sheila sat with her legs curled up underneath her on the couch, watching television. Charpentier had stayed and laughed along with them. For most of the evening, the siblings had played with Snookster, Sapphire and Little Satin. The rabbits were in the cage that Sheila had them in while in the car. Paquin’s brother, Charlie, couldn’t take the clucking anymore, so he excused himself and went into his bedroom.
“Pam, I just don’t know what I’d do without you,” Sheila said to Paquin. The kindness from her voice flowed freely. “You are a true angel and a true friend.” It was a steady and powerful barrage of compliments and positive attention the woman had been showering her hosts with. Paquin felt more and more at ease with Sheila as the night went on. There was no talk about where the woman would go tomorrow or what would happen to her. The talk was of horses and rabbits…and sometimes of racy sex. They all seemed to be enjoying the moment.
A person of sophistication might have considered Paquin gauche. She was overweight, missing a front tooth and had dyed her short hair an unnatural shade of red. But she was kind and hospitable and Sheila LaBarre needed a friend now more than ever.
They felt the air come out of the room at 10:59. That’s when WMUR-TV launched the headlines of their evening news program. The sight of something on the television caused Sheila to place her hand over her mouth and tremble. Paquin didn’t know what the story was about yet, but Sheila knew instantly. With one hand she pointed to the young man’s photo on the screen. She covered her mouth with the other.
“That’s Adam,” she gasped.
Adam? Paquin thought. Who’s Adam?
Silence fell over the room as all eyes zoomed to the television set. An anchorwoman looked sternly back at them.
“Good evening,” she said to the room. “An investigation is under way tonight for a man who went missing in Epping.” The words “Missing Person’s Case” appeared on the screen above a photograph of a young man in a white shirt. The name listed was not Adam.
“Kenneth Countie moved to town just three weeks ago,” she continued. “And tonight the Attorney General’s office, along with the local police department, is actively searching for him.”
The screen divided into two pictures: the anchorwoman in one box, a field reporter in the other. She asked the reporter to provide details, and he introduced a taped segment. The first shot was of a uniformed officer holding a spool of yellow crime scene tape. He unrolled it, left to right, and tied it to a wooden post. Sheila recognized it as the hinge to her front gate.
“Authorities run tape across the entrance to a secluded farmhouse in Epping,” the reporter said. “It is here they hope to find clues in the disappearance of a local man…”
“That’s my house,” Sheila said, pointing to the screen. Paquin was stunned. How could this nice woman on my couch be involved in this?
A gentleman in a suit appeared on screen. The graphic that was superimposed over the lower third of the picture identified him as Peter Odom, an assistant Attorney General. His tone was plain, calm, almost unconcerned. “According to his family, it’s curious that he has not contacted them in several days. While we do have a concern, it would be premature to talk about foul play.”
The reporter’s voice continued over more evening shots of the property. “Odom says this farm on Red Oak Hill Lane is Countie’s last known address. Neighbors say the property owner is Sheila LaBarre…”
Paquin looked over at Charpentier at the mention of Sheila’s name. They both gauged the other woman’s reaction, which at the moment was minimal.
“Investigators,” continued the reporter, “would not comment on whether she, or anyone else, is cooperating with the search.”
The next shot was of New Hampshire State Police Lieutenant Russ Conte. “Certainly any information we can get on this individual—anyone who can give us any whereabouts, last sightings, any background information—we would welcome.”
Last sightings of who? Paquin thought. Kenny or Sheila? Or Adam?
“Authorities say this farm is not a crime scene.” The reporter was now standing in front of the yellow tape at the farm. “Investigators are hoping to collect any evidence that might lead them to Countie.”
They watched the scenes of police cars on Sheila’s property and of men cataloging items. Paquin still couldn’t believe it.
“Police say the last verified sighting of Countie was at an Epping business on March 17. Although police still believe he was around town in the following days, the formal search for him did not begin until the end of last week. The Attorney General’s homicide division is helping coordinate the investigation. But this remains labeled as a ‘missing person’s case.’ And right now, the hope is some clue found here will solve the mystery of where Kenneth Countie disappeared to.”
The story ended with the reporter giving the phone number to the Epping Police Department. It was a number that Sheila already knew by heart.
“Sheila, what is this all about?” Paquin finally asked. “Who’s Adam?”
The woman hunched over, weeping into her hands. “I don’t know where he is!” she sobbed. “And now everyone’s going to think I killed him!”
The room was silent. “Go to your rooms,” Paquin said to her children. Charpentier waited until it was just the three of them in the room before pressing her for more details. Sheila’s eyes were wide open and dancing between the two women as they alternated questions of her.
“Who is the man from the news report? Countie?”
“That’s
