“It makes sense, if you think about it,” said Rachel, who had majored in psychology. “Like minds attract and, let’s face it, this town is too small for both of them. They either had to get together and make peace or one of them was going to have to leave.”
“This is going to be good for Sue,” said Lucy. “She definitely needed a new interest.”
“Those two are bound to make a success of it,” said Pam. “Do you think we can get in on the ground floor, before they go multinational?”
Lucy was in good spirits when she got to work, but unlike the week before, this Thursday the phones were ringing like crazy. And it wasn’t because of Lucy’s two-inch story about the possible identification of the homeless man based on the discovery of the driver’s license, which was all Ted agreed to print without more information.
“Ted got the tax rate wrong,” said Phyllis. “He printed $66.87 instead of $6.87 per thousand.”
“Oops,” said Lucy, uncomfortably aware that she had proofread his story on the new rate and hadn’t noticed the mistake. “I think it must’ve been a typo at the printer’s,” she said hopefully.
“Uh, no. It’s right here in the dummy. I don’t know how we missed it.” Phyllis slapped her forehead. “I looked at it, too. Never noticed.”
“Oh, well, these things happen,” said Lucy philosophically.
“It isn’t the irate taxpayers that are so bad. It’s the town treasurer. He’s fit to be tied and Ted’s over there now, trying to calm him down.”
“I don’t suppose he’ll be happy with a correction?”
“No. Blood. He wants blood.”
“Poor Ted.”
“Poor us, you mean,” said Phyllis. “I don’t want to be here when Ted gets back.”
“Neither do I,” said Lucy, planning her escape. She was thwarted, however, by a phone call from Will Esterhaus, Fred’s lawyer.
“That was some cheap trick,” he said, skipping the formality of a greeting and getting right to the point.
“Well, if you think about it, the tax rate couldn’t possibly be nearly seventy dollars per thousand, that would be ridiculous. If people took the time to think about it they’d realize it was a mistake. A typo. We’re human after all. Mistakes happen.”
“I don’t mean the tax rate, though that’s just typical of the sort of sloppy journalism you practice. I’m talking about the article about the homeless man. It’s absolutely irresponsible to link him with the Stanton family like that.”
“Well, I did find his driver’s license,” said Lucy.
“You have absolutely no proof of any connection between the license and the man whose body was found in the harbor.”
“It was in his campsite,” said Lucy, defending her story. “And I made it quite clear that the ME will now be looking for dental records or DNA to make a positive identification.”
“It was in the woods. Anybody could drop a wallet there, it may have been there for years.” He paused. “The most likely case is that Mimi herself dropped it there.”
Lucy was beginning to feel less sure of her discovery. Esterhaus had a good point.
“That would be some coincidence, wouldn’t it? I mean, years ago, some guy who was related to Mimi Stanton was wandering around in the woods where her husband was eventually going to build a home for their family? I don’t think so.”
“I’m warning you. We expect a full retraction or we’ll be seeing you in court.”
Lucy swallowed hard. The little bell was jangling and Ted was just coming through the door. “I think you better talk to my editor,” she said, putting him on hold.
“Call for you on three, Ted,” she said, grabbing her bag. Sometimes there was really no option except retreat, if you wanted to live to fight another day.
Outside, Lucy paused to sniff the crisp fall air. The temperature was finally dropping and a few trees had already changed color. Fall was definitely on its way and she was looking forward to the drive to New Hampshire. Opportunities like this, when she could spend time alone on the open road with her thoughts, rarely came her way. She started the car, turned the radio to her favorite oldies rock station, cranked up the volume, and checked the gas gauge. Before she went anywhere, she was going to have to fill up the rental car.
Lucy was standing at the Quik-Mart self-serve pump watching the numbers scroll upward and congratulating herself that she wasn’t driving a Hummer, not that she’d ever seriously considered the idea, when Preston roared in on his Harley. Now that would get even better mileage, she thought, giving him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he wasn’t a reckless hooligan with no regard for other people’s desire for peace and quiet; maybe he was a responsible steward of the planet.
“I thought it was you,” he said, pulling to a stop behind her car. “Who do you think you are?”
“What do you mean?” she asked calmly, trying not to react to Preston’s angry tone.
“That story. Saying the homeless guy was related to my mother.”
Lucy felt her throat tighten. “I said it was likely, since your mother’s maiden name was O’Toole and she came from the same Boston neighborhood. Plus the fact that he was in town at the time of her funeral. But I made it quite clear that only the medical examiner can make a positive ID.”
“That could all be coincidence. I don’t know this guy, I never heard of him and neither did my dad.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re not related,” said Lucy, replacing the hose on the pump. “Maybe there’s some reason they drifted apart.”
“Yeah, and I bet you’d like to find out all about it, wouldn’t you?” Preston was jabbing his finger angrily at her.
Under the circumstances, Lucy thought it wisest not to mention her plans for the day.
“Well, listen, you,” he said, snarling at her. “You leave my family alone—or else!”
Then he gunned the motorcycle and sped off, raising a cloud of dust.
CHAPTER 17
“Don’t you threaten me!” yelled Lucy, but she knew the gesture was futile. He certainly couldn’t hear her over the noise of his engine. Her words only served to vent her anger and frustration, and her fear. She didn’t like being threatened, especially after two murders. He certainly didn’t mean that she might be next, did he? The thought gave Lucy pause. Was Preston the murderer? Did his father go to jail to protect him?
What exactly did that “or else” mean?
Lucy started the car, but driving to New Hampshire no longer seemed like such a good idea. For one thing, Zoe would be coming home from school in an hour or so and she didn’t want to leave her alone in the house, not with Preston’s threat hanging over them. It would be far more sensible, she decided, to make the trip tomorrow morning when the girls were safe in school.
But even that plan seemed doomed to failure when Sara refused to eat any breakfast Friday morning, complaining she was too nauseous.
“Maybe you should stay home,” suggested Lucy. She was already rearranging her schedule and planning to work from home.
“I can’t,” moaned Sara. “There’s a game today and I can’t miss it.”
“Why not rest this morning and if you feel better I can take you to school later?”
“It’s an away game and there’s a pep rally first thing this morning.”
“They never had pep rallies before,” said Lucy.