N.H. slaying victim had misgivings about small-town life

In this town some 60 miles from Boston, population about 2,400, there has long been a covenant of faith -- that small town ways meant civility, perhaps even a kind of gentility that kept away theft and robbery and bodily harm. To be truly of Mont Vernon, one had to abide the covenant and act accordingly. Not locking house doors is a common practice in town, announced with pride.

Yet now, many are rethinking that daily decision, and wondering if their town is the place they thought it was.

"I guess we were a little naive to think that Mont Vernon was any different from the rest of the world," said one woman, who like many residents, declined to give her name for fear of offending fellow residents.

By looks, Mont Vernon is a step back in time. Its winding roads are studded with ancient Capes and gingerbread Victorians. Its downtown is much as it was a century ago, when the town was ending its run as a summering destination, with a timbered library, white-washed town hall, general store, and not much else. And while most of its dairy farms are gone and some pasture land has given way to new developments' faux colonials, many residents are still keen on livestock; goats and horses and donkeys are not rare sights.

Today, many residents of Mont Vernon work for Fidelity Investments or BAE, the defense contractor, and the town is mostly well-to-do.

Cates, a nurse at a local hospital, lived with her husband, David, an engineer for BAE, and her 11-year-old daughter. Their street, Trow Road, is a dirt road, with just four houses. Yesterday, the only sounds that could be heard were the shots of a shooting range a few miles away and a dim insect buzz.

The road gets little traffic, but a resident of the street said it's a common shortcut to get to a favorite teen hangout -- Purgatory Falls, a series of waterfalls cascading off of slate-gray boulders. Come nighttime, teenagers can be heard hooting and hollering as they drive down it, on their way to the falls, she said.

The Cates home is a modern ranch, lit by tiers of windows that Cates liked to throw open, even on the hottest days, the ones that reminded her of home in Arizona. Several acres of woods stretched behind the house and David Cates had plowed trails with his Kubota tractor for snow-shoeing and hiking.

Kim Cates was always on the move, whether mowing the lawn or involved in some project or activity.

"She was a fixture around here," said Jim Peacock, owner of the Mont Vernon Karate Studio, above the police department in the center of town, where Cates's daughter had earned a black belt in karate in May. "She was not some drop-off parent."

Peacock said that Cates encouraged her daughter to pursue karate because of the values it taught: self-discipline, work ethic and respect for others.

Come summertime, Cates and her daughter would walk the mile-and-a-half uphill to the general store for ice cream. Last winter, they learned to snowboard together -- an undertaking that ended only when Cates hurt her wrist on the slopes..

"(Her daughter) respected her mom and Kim respected her," Chorney said.

Chorney said that she and Cates had moved into the neighborhood around the same time and had quickly bonded around their girls, who became dear friends, though Cates's daughter was six years older. "They were like sisters," said Chorney.

Chorney said she had seen Cates a few weeks earlier and they'd chatted like they often did, about odd quotidian tidbits of life -- on this occasion, tanning lotions. Cates hadn't mentioned that her husband would be going on a business trip, she said.

"I wish I had known," Chorney said. "I would have cracked a window."