Forbidden Falls (Virgin River #9)(98)

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Noah said. “Not only the padlock deal, but he followed Ellie and I at a deadly pace—we were in her little PT Cruiser and he was in a huge, black SUV with darkened windows. There were only inches between us. No telling what he’s capable of.”

“The scariest thing is, I’d put my son in his school in a second. The only good news is, John didn’t like him, almost on sight.”

“But why?” Noah asked.

“The handshake, he said. First of all, it was too firm, and second, it was a politician’s shake—Gunterson used two hands and squeezed John’s hand real hard. Who would dare do that to John? What if he squeezed back? And John said that while Gunterson smiled, his pupils shrank to pinpoints. So, look through this stuff. It’s all yours. I hope it tells you something.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Paige. We have to figure this out, get ahead of him, for Ellie’s sake.”

“Didn’t you tell me Ellie said he came from Southern California?” Paige asked.

“That’s what she said, yeah.”

“Well, not this Arnold Gunterson. He came from Maine.”

“Maine?” Noah repeated. “Maine?”

“Yeah,” Paige said. “Think he could’ve gotten any farther from home? You know, every time I hear some news story about a creep who’s hurt or molested a kid, he or she’s in a position to work with kids and they were supposed to be fingerprinted, but they weren’t. Do you think maybe it’s possible that this guy should have been checked out and wasn’t? Because he can be convincing?”

“I’ll look into that,” Noah said.

“Well, go get ’em, Noah.”

Noah looked at his watch—it was only noon, which meant 3:00 p.m. on the East Coast. He looked through Paige’s collected papers and notes. Then he called the private university in Maine where Arnold Gunterson had obtained his degree in early-childhood education. He was directed to the office of the dean.

“Hi, my name is Reverend Noah Kincaid of the Virgin River Presbyterian Church in California. I’m looking at a private elementary school in Redway, California, for some children in our church, and the director and principal is a graduate of your college. I just want to verify that, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all, Reverend,” the woman on the line said. “We’re a small school. The name?”

“Man by the name of Arnold Gunterson,” Noah said.

“Yes, he’s a graduate with an advanced degree in clinical psychology. He specializes in children’s art psychology.”

“Wow,” Noah said. “You looked that up fast.”

She laughed. “I’m afraid you must have the wrong Arnold Gunterson. Dr. Gunterson is still here, teaching.”

Noah felt ice dash through his veins. “Will you check and see if there was, by chance, another Arnold Gunterson who graduated with a degree in early-childhood education?”

“Dr. Gunterson is an old friend, Reverend. I’d know if there had been another student in his field with his name. Did the man you’re researching graduate more than thirty years ago? Because that’s how long I’ve been here, as well as Dr. Gunterson. We’re both sixty-two and I’m thinking of retirement, but he’ll never stop. Now, who is this man?”

Noah sighed. “Obviously not who I think he is. You might want to give my number to Dr. Gunterson and have him call me. He might be the victim of identity theft.”

While he waited for a call back, Noah did an Internet search of a couple of the private schools Arnie had listed on his résumé and found that they’d closed. One of them was an Arizona school and there was an article in an Arizona newspaper archives online. Small private schools are very hard to keep going. A regular infusion of money was required—high tuition, lots of fund-raising and often corporate sponsors. There was no shame in having worked for an accredited private school that couldn’t keep the doors open. And this particular Arizona school had a successful fifteen-year history. And no one around to answer questions about teachers who had worked there years ago.

Could Arnie have convinced the current board of this new school of his positive role at the old school and his grief over its closure?

Noah immediately told Ellie what he’d learned—or not learned—about Arnold Gunterson. That night after her kids were tucked in at Jo’s, he showed up at her apartment with Lucy in tow, as usual. She was confused by his information, but not surprised. Of course, after the things Arnie had done, it hadn’t come as a shock that he was a liar. “But why?” she asked Noah. “What does he hope to get by doing that?”

“There’s no innocence in this, Ellie. There’s no reason to take on a false identity without a motive. We’ll take this information to Brie at once. You have to tell Jo and Nick and be extra careful until the facts are in. Okay?”

“Of course!” she said.

“If he calls you or comes around here, get away from him fast and don’t tell him what you’ve found out,” Noah said. “Promise?”

“You can bet on it. The shitbag,” she said. “Oh, there was another swearword, not even on the cusp, even though he is definitely a shitbag.” She smiled at him. “I bet you’ve just about had it with me, huh?”