Tips for Living(43)

Gubbins scowled. “Now, listen to me. Keep a low profile. Stay away from the press until the police find the murderer, which they will. This is a small town. Someone will have noticed something that will lead them in the right direction.”

Gubbins’s optimism gave me back my appetite. I told him I’d meet him at his office in a few minutes to sign the papers that said I was officially hiring him. When he left, I ordered a large container of Eden’s legendary clam chowder at the register. While I waited for my soup, my own voice began speaking from the TV set. I glanced over my shoulder. On the screen, a deranged-looking version of myself was making a statement. I wanted to fall through the floor. What a stupid mistake I’d made taking on the press. The other patrons in the coffee shop were turning their heads from me to the TV and back again, stunned. I lowered my eyes and focused on a bowl of mints by the register until the waitress handed over the container of soup. She took my cash in silence.

“Keep the change,” I mumbled and quickly headed for the door.

As I reached the street, a woman I recognized as the wife of Kevin, the Tea Cozy’s owner, walked by with her little boy. She pretended she hadn’t seen me and looked away nervously.

Pequod’s Pariah. That’s what I’d become. That’s what I’d remain until the police caught the killer. I cringed. I hadn’t been convicted, but I was already in solitary. How long would it take for the police to do their job? Judging by my interview with Roche, they didn’t have any suspects. If one of Pequod’s residents had “noticed something,” I wished they would hurry up and report it.

I crossed the street to the Courier building, planning to stop in and see Lizzie before going upstairs to sign Gubbins’s legal papers. She needed to know that Jeffrey Volani had an alibi. I purposely slowed down to see if I could spot Ben through the front window. He wasn’t at his desk. No jacket on his chair. No motorcycle out front, although he might have parked in the small lot around back. I felt like a schoolgirl with a crush.

I stepped into the office. Lizzie was at her desk in the corner just getting off the phone. Still no sign of Ben. It was probably for the best. Our first post-kiss encounter was going to be awkward. I’d rather not have Lizzie witness it.

“I just spoke to Gubbins,” Lizzie said, shaking her head, disappointed. “Looks like Volani was on the other side of the world. Too bad. I thought I had him.”

“It was first-rate investigative work, Lizzie.”

“Thanks.” She studied me and frowned. “Remember what Ben said. You sure it’s a good idea for you to come back to work today?”

It occurred to me why Ben would prefer I stay home. He could dodge the discomfort for a while longer.

“I’m not here to work. I have an appointment upstairs.”

“Oh.” She gave me a knowing look. “Going with local counsel. Good idea. Really good.”

Gubbins was in a conference, so he’d left the papers with his receptionist. I filled them out and then headed back downstairs. My phone rang as I reached the landing.

The caller ID read “Grace.” I picked up.

“Why can’t that Detective Roche control his people? Someone deliberately leaked your visit to the police station. They had to know the media would jump on it and label you a suspect. I’d like to strangle whoever it was. You were brave to go out and talk to the press, Nora.”

“How do you think I came off?” Like a guilty, mentally disturbed ex-wife?

“You seemed . . . sincere. To me, at least.”

“You’re not a very good liar. How’s Otis?”

“Better. Come for dinner.”

I was feeling too low. Like I might contaminate the kids with despair. “Thanks. Another time.”

“C’mon, Nora. Don’t isolate, honey.”

“I’m not. I’m just. I’m just . . . not in the mood.”

“Okay. I won’t push you today. But we’re here for you. Remember.”

“I know. You’re the best.”

I signed off. As I passed the Courier’s office door, I saw Lizzie’s dad through the glass panel. Mayor Latham was sitting across from Lizzie at her desk, talking animatedly.

About the murders, I was sure. That was all anyone was talking about.

Shoot me now.



Back at the Coop, I devoured the chowder and checked e-mail again. Still nothing from Ben. I berated myself for being na?ve. What I’d begun to think of as Our First Kiss was probably the result of too much vodka. While I stretched out on the couch with my laptop, trying to determine whether I was disappointed or relieved, an e-mail with the subject line Funeral arrived. I was stunned to see who the sender was: [email protected]. I clicked on it.

Dear Nora,

I caught your statement on the news and though we have never been close, your grief touched me deeply, along with your willingness to help the police. Christ, in his infinite compassion, forgives Hugh and Helene. I’m glad to hear you have forgiven them, too.

I’ve arranged for the funeral to be held at 10:00 a.m. this Friday here at the Charlotte’s Cove Chapel. There will be a larger memorial in NYC at a later point. This is exclusively for family and a very few local friends. I’m sending this in hopes you’ll attend. You were such an important part of Hugh’s life.