'I know You don't deal in ghosts - except of course for the Holy one - but maybe in a dream? I know it's a lot to ask, but... oh God, there's such a hole in me tonight. I didn't know there could be such holes in a person, and I'm afraid I'll fall in. If You do this for me, I'll do something for You. All You have to do is ask. Please, God, just a touch. Or a word. Even if it's in a dream.' She took a deep, wet breath. 'Thank you. Thy will be done, of course. Whether I like it or not.' She laughed weakly. 'Amen.'
She opened her eyes and got up, holding the desk for support. One hand nudged the computer, and the screen brightened at once. He was always forgetting to turn it off, but at least he kept it plugged in so the battery wouldn't run down. And he kept his electronic desktop far neater than she did; hers was always cluttered with downloads and electronic sticky-notes. On Howie's desktop, always just three files stacked neatly below the hard-disc icon: CURRENT, where he kept reports of ongoing investigations; COURT, where he kept a list of who (including himself) was down to testify, and where, and why.The third file was MORIN ST. MANSE, where he kept everything having to do with the house. It occurred to her that if she opened that one she might find something about the generator, and she needed to knew about that so she could keep it running as long as possible. Henry Morrison from the PD would probably be happy to change the current propane canister, but what if there were no spares? If that were the case, she should buy more at Burpee's or the Gas & Grocery before they were all gone.
She put her fingertip on the mousepad, then paused.There was a fourth file on the screen, lurking way down in the lefthand corner. She had never seen it before. Brenda tried to remember the last time she'd happened to look at the desktop of this computer, and couldn't.
VADER, the filename read.
Well, there was only one person in town Howie referred to as Vader, as in Darth: Big Jim Rennie.
Curious, she moved the cursor to the file and double-clicked it, wondering if it was password protected.
It was. She tried WILDCATS, which opened his CURRENT file (he hadn't bothered to protect COURT), and it worked. In the file were two documents. One was labeled ONGOING INVESTIGATION. The other was a PDF doc titled LETTER FROM SMAG. In Howie-speak, that stood for State of Maine Attorney General. She clicked on it.
Brenda scanned the AG's letter with growing amazement as the tears dried on her cheeks. The first thing her eye happenec on was the salutation: not Dear Chief Perkins but Dear Duke.
Although the letter was couched in lawyer-speak rather than Howie-speak, certain phrases leaped out at her as if in boldface type. Misappropriation of town goods and services was the first. Selectman Sanders's involvement seems all but certain was the next. Then This malfeasance is wider and deeper than we could have imagined three months ago.
And near the bottom, seeming not just in boldface but in capital letters: MANUFACTURE AND SALE OF ILLEGAL DRUGS.
It appeared that her prayer had been answered, and in a completely unexpected way. Brenda sat down in Howie's chair, clicked ONGOING INVESTIGATION in the VADER file, and let her late husband talk to her.
7
The President's speech - long on comfort, short on information - wrapped up at 12:21 a.m. Rusty Everett watched it in the third-floor lounge of the hospital, made a final check of the charts, and went home. He had ended days more tired than this during his medical career, but he had never been more disheartened or worried about the future.
The house was dark. He and Linda had discussed buying a generator last year (and the year before), because Chester's Mill always lost its power four or five days each winter, and usually a couple of times in the summer as well; Western Maine Power was not the most reliable of service providers. The bottom line had been that they just couldn't afford it. Perhaps if Lin went full-time with the cops, but neither of them wanted that with the girls still small.
At least we've got a good stove and a helluva woodpile. If we need it.
There was a flashlight in the glove compartment, but when he turned it on it emitted a weak beam for five seconds and then died. Rusty muttered an obscenity and reminded himself to stock up on batteries tomorrow - later today, now. Assuming the stores were open.
If I can't find my way around here after twelve years, I'm a monkey.
Yes, well. He felt a little like a monkey tonight - one fresh-caught: and slammed into a zoo cage. And he definitely smelled like one. Maybe a shower before bed -
But nope. No power, no shower.