Lucky for me Luke’s been saving for a pickup truck, a used one he spotted for sale at the local gas station. I’ll write a check in the morning, one hefty enough to bump up the total in his passbook to almost match the asking price. I figured out the math during one of our breaks this morning. Working for a living is expensive.
I look into the rearview mirror, catch Luke’s eye, and fire a silent reminder into the backseat. He nods back at me, then rolls his eyes to the Thunderbird’s roof. Chill, he’s telling me; he hasn’t forgotten. His assignment, tonight, is to find out what Maggie’s saving for. Let’s hope it’s not a condo on the Riviera.
“It’s beautiful, Maggie.” Patty holds a small white box in the dashboard lights, a glittering necklace dangling from its dark blue velvet lining.
“It is,” I agree. And it is. “Where in the world did you get it?”
“Luke and I found it today. At Pedro’s Pawn Shop. Have you ever been there?”
Patty and I both shake our heads.
“It’s on Main Street in Hyannis,” Luke volunteers. “You should check it out. Pedro cuts great deals.”
Triple the guilt. My son cruises pawnshops while I’m working. Calls the owners by name. Cuts deals.
Patty snaps the box shut and returns it to Maggie. “Well, your mom is going to love it. What a nice present to have waiting when she comes home.”
Silence. It’s the coming home idea. It shuts us all down for a beat.
Patty recovers first. “He’s pretty intense, isn’t he, that prosecutor?”
I laugh. “J. Stanley Edgarton the Third? Intense? What gives you that idea?”
Patty laughs too. “Does he do all the murder cases?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. But eventually he will. He used to work in the New Bedford office; he was their lead homicide attorney. He’s new to Barnstable County; he’s only been here about a month.”
She laughs again. “So for now he’s specializing in Forest Beach, I guess.”
I don’t get it. “Forest Beach?”
“Buck and Sonia. Probably the only two Forest Beach people in history to be accused of murder.”
I still don’t get it. “And?”
“And the intense guy is prosecuting both of them. Seems like a specialty, doesn’t it?” Patty smiles over at me.
I glance back at her, but I can’t return the smile.
“I’m kidding,” she says.
I know she’s kidding. But my stomach isn’t laughing. On some visceral level, her words unnerve me. “Why did you say that?”
My mind starts racing without a road map. My eyes alternate between Patty’s face and the winding, snow-covered road.
“It was just a joke. Honest. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Patty looks at me as if I’m scaring her. I probably am. I’m scaring myself too.
I pull onto the shoulder, stop the Thunderbird under the ENTERING CHATHAM sign. INCORPORATED 1712, it says. A nearby streetlamp casts a glow on Patty’s features. Luke and Maggie lean forward between us.
“Patty, listen to me. It’s important.”
Her eyes grow wide.
“Why did you say Stanley’s prosecuting both of them?”
She shrugs. “Because he is.”
“Sonia Baker?”
“Sure,” she says. “I saw him there on Monday, shortly after”-she glances sideways at Maggie-“it all happened.”
I have an enormous urge to grab her by the shoulders, but I resist. “You saw him where?”
“At the cottage.”
“Whose cottage?”
Another glance at Maggie. “Sonia’s.”
“When?”
“Right around two. I know because the kindergarten school bus went by, the one Billy rode last year.”
“Why were you at their cottage?”
Patty frowns and looks at Maggie again.
“Go ahead,” Maggie says. “It’s okay.”
“I heard the commotion earlier, so I thought I’d check in. Make sure Sonia and Maggie were all right.”
“Did you go inside?”
“No. I didn’t dare. Sonia’s car was gone and Howard’s truck was in the driveway, so I figured he was in there alone. Lord knows I didn’t want to deal with him.”
Good instincts. “So how did you see Stanley?”
“I saw him leaving. I was glad. I thought Howard had been arrested, thought Sonia had finally turned him in. I had no idea about…you know.”
“How did you know who he was?”
Patty shakes her head, looks at me as if she’s worried about my well-being. “Stanley? I knew who he was. I attended pretrial motions, remember? On Friday?”
Of course she did.
The Thunderbird does a U-turn on its own and retraces its tire tracks in the snow. I flip open my phone, though I don’t know why. I’ve no idea whom to call.
And then my stomach knots, and I do.
With almost no hassle, the hospital operator connects me to the nurses’ station in the ICU. I will myself to ask for Alice Barrymore, not Annie Wilkes. The unit secretary tells me to hold, she’ll put me through.
Annie Wilkes picks up at once and listens to only a few words of introduction. “I know who you are,” she interrupts. “You’re the sassy one.”
Not how I’d hoped to present myself. I press on the accelerator.
“The one telling us all to shut up.”
Oh, that. “Where are you, Nurse Barrymore? Are you in Judge Long’s room?”
“Yes, I am, as a matter of fact. He’s sitting up nicely, thank you, having a bit of broth. And there’s no one here telling me to shut up, I might add.”
“Listen, Ms. Barrymore, I need a favor.”
“Oh, do you now?”
“Yes. Ask the judge, please, if he was trying to say the word tassel last night.”
“Now you listen,” she says, “you lawyers have got to leave this man alone-all of you.”
“What?”
“The three of you in here carrying on late last night and then another one here before dawn. When is the judge supposed to rest?”
“Before dawn? Who was there before dawn?”
“An entirely new one. Short, balding fellow. Why don’t you lawyers talk to each other?”
The knot in my stomach doubles. “Did he say what he wanted, the short, balding fellow?”
“Certainly. The same thing you all want. He wanted to ask more questions. Marched into the room as if he were the chief of surgery, telling me he’d need a few moments alone with the judge.”
Panic tightens my grip on the phone. “And?”
“And I told him he’d be spending more than a few moments alone with security if he didn’t turn around and march right out again. The judge was sound asleep. I think that lawyer would have wakened him if I hadn’t been there.”
My gut tells me Annie Wilkes is wrong about that. Terribly wrong.
“Nurse Barrymore, please. One question. From you to the judge. It’s important.”
Silence on her end.
“Ask if he was trying to say the word tassel last night. Remember? We couldn’t understand him. Harry made the Irish joke because it sounded like ’tis.”
“Oh, for the love of Peter.”
“Please.”
Silence again. And then a rustling sound.
Annie Wilkes covers the mouthpiece, but I can still decipher her words. “Judge,” she says, “it’s the woman from last night, the younger one, the one telling us all to shut up. Damned if I understand it, but she wants to know if you were trying to tell them about a tassel of some sort…”
Annie’s words trail off. “Oh, for the love of Peter,” she says again, speaking to the receiver once more. “Listen, Miss, I enjoy a good word game as much as the next person…”
“What did he say?”
“Not a blessed thing. But his head’s bobbing up and down like one of those little statues people put in the backs of their cars.”
“Thank you, Annie. Thank you.” I snap the phone shut. It takes a few seconds for me to wish I hadn’t called her Annie.