“That’s true,” Greta said hoarsely. “She’s… she was a good little worker. But she needed more hours than I could give her, so I helped her get that job with the school district.”
“You two were close?”
“If by that you’re wondering whether we were mixed up in some form of unwholesome, incorrect, same-sex physical relationship, the answer is yes,” Greta said bluntly. “And in answer to your next question: Yes, I did care about her. What else do you want to know?”
“Did Colin know about you two?”
“We have no secrets from each other.” Greta’s voice suddenly sounded very tired and old. “I told you that already.”
“And I didn’t believe you. Everyone has secrets.”
Greta got up out of her chair and went over to a landscape painting by Hangtown’s grandfather that hung over the fireplace. It depicted the tidal marshes near Lord’s Cove at dawn, with the steam rising off the water and the early-morning sunlight slanting low. “I love the light in this painting. Every time I look at it I feel as if I’ve never truly seen the dawn before.” She gazed at it a moment longer, then shook herself and turned back to Des. “I was devastated when Colin moved out. It made me realize that you really can’t count on anyone else in this world. We’d had our ups and downs, naturally. But I’d still expected that he’d be there by my side when I got old and decrepit. Now…” Greta trailed off, shaking her head. “Now I’m not so sure. He’s not sure. And so I find myself living these days in a constant state of paralyzing fear, I’m ashamed to say.”
“Fear’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m one of the reasons why the school board wants Colin out, you know,” Greta pointed out bitterly. “I didn’t want to say anything to you about this last night, in front of him, but they don’t approve of me-the concerned young mothers. They don’t think I am a suitable school superintendent’s wife. It’s the Salem witch hunt all over again, you know. The intolerant and self-righteous are taking over, and they’re imposing their mean, narrow vision of correct behavior on everyone else. If you’re not one of them, then you are someone to be shunned, someone evil. The new school building is just a smoke screen. The real reason they want Colin out is that he’s a bisexual depressive with an aging bull dyke for a wife. They don’t want him or me anywhere near their dear, precious kids, twisting their dear, precious minds. These are scary times, trooper. These are not the enlightened sixties and seventies of my youth. I was fooled. I thought we had become more open-minded, more accepting of other people’s differences. We didn’t. The pendulum has swung back the other way, and now we are hurtling back to the dark ages all over again, fighting the same old battles. Only now we’re losing.” She came back to her desk and sat down again, her eyes beginning to puddle with tears. “Poor Melanie… Poor cow.”
“Where did you go last evening after the lieutenant and I spoke with you at your house?”
“I was home with Colin all evening,” she answered, cocking her head at Des curiously.
“You didn’t leave?”
“No, I didn’t leave. I was concerned about him. So we threw another log on the fire and we worked on a jigsaw puzzle together-Fountain Head. We do that one every year. We went to Hawaii on our honeymoon, you know. Doesn’t that just quaint you to death?” Greta broke off, her chest rising and falling. “Now if you’ll please excuse me, trooper, II have a lot of work to do.”
Des thanked her for her time and started for the door. By the time she had closed it behind her she could hear Greta Patterson sobbing.
“Can I buy you a round, trooper?”
Dirk Doughty was drinking hot cider all alone at a tavern table in front of the fire in the Frederick House’s wood-paneled pub. On the table before him was a copy of The Sporting News, opened to the waiver-wire page with its long columns of agate type detailing which teams have signed or cut which players. In the world of journeymen ballplayers, old habits apparently died hard.
“I think I’d like that,” said Des, taking a seat across from him. An older couple was sipping brandy at one of the other tables. Otherwise, they were alone in the pub. “But let’s put it on my tab, because I never did get my dinner tonight.” She ordered a roast turkey sandwich to go along with the cider, then said, “I’m real sorry to bother you again, but there are some other things I need to ask you.”
“That’s okay by me,” he said, squaring his broad shoulders. “I’m always better off when I’m talking to other people. I don’t do well if I sit by myself for too long. I think too much.”
“I guess we can all do that.”
Dirk sat back in his chair, folding his arms in front of his chest. He wore a navy-blue fleece top emblazoned with the logo of a sneaker maker. “How can I help you?”
“By telling me what you know about Melanie Zide.”
Dirk reddened slightly. “Melanie? Well, sure. We went to high school together. In fact, I ran into her just the other day over at Doug’s Texaco. We stopped and got caught up. She was real glad to hear I’ve remarried and I’m staying sober and all.”
The pink-cheeked barmaid returned now with Des’s sandwich and cider.
Des dived in hungrily. “Were you ever involved with Melanie?”
“Why are you so interested in her?”
Des told him why. “Naturally, the lieutenant’s asked me to find out as much background about her as I can,” she explained.
Dirk sat there staring grimly into the fire for a moment, a thumb absently stroking his square jaw. “I can help you out, I guess. But I want you to know this is not something I would talk to you about under normal circumstances, and I take no pleasure in doing so now. I always liked Melanie, understand?”
“I do.”
Dirk shot a furtive glance over his shoulder at the other couple in the pub, then leaned across the table toward Des, lowering his voice. “The real deal is that everyone was involved with Melanie-me, Timmy Keefe, Timmy’s brother, Will… Back when we were fifteen years old, Melanie was a rite of passage, I guess, you’d call her. Everybody’s first. You got yourself a couple of joints, a six-pack, and you hit the beach after dark with Melanie Zide. It wasn’t like she’d do just anybody. If she thought you were stuck-up or phony, she wouldn’t let you anywhere near her. But if she thought you were okay then, well, you were in.” He trailed off, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “I can’t believe somebody shot her. You say her body washed up on Big Sister?”
“It’s possible that someone took her out on their boat and dumped her.” Des took another bite of her sandwich, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. “You mentioned you’ve been out on Tim’s Boston Whaler.”
“That’s right. He and I…” Dirk’s eyes suddenly widened in alarm, his body tensing. “Wait, you don’t think I did it, do you? I swear I didn’t. You’ve got to believe me.”
“It’s not my job to believe or disbelieve you, Mr. Doughty,” Des said, calmly sipping at her cider. “I’m simply recanvassing, that’s all. Since I’m the lowly resident trooper, I’ve been given the longest of the long shots. But I have to do my job, understand?”
“I guess.” Dirk relaxed a bit, although his big calloused hand was still gripping his cider mug so tightly that his knuckles were white. “As long as you understand I had no reason to kill Melanie. I mean, hell, why would I?”
“In theory? Because she knew something that could hurt you.”
“Like what?”
“Like, say, the identity of Colin Falconer’s male cyber lover, Cutter.”
“Why the hell would I care about that?”
“Because you’re Cutter.”
Dirk gaped at her in shock. “Now look, I know I use a laptop, but that’s to keep track of my billing, not to carry on some… some
… Hey, we are still talking theory here, right?”
“All we’re doing is spitballing,” Des assured him.
“That’s good,” he said, pausing to sip his cider. “Because I honestly can’t think of a single reason why I’d want to carry on with Falconer that way.”
“I can-to ruin his career.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because he was having an affair with Moose Frye, and you still loved her. You never stopped loving her. That’s why you came back to Dorset-to try to win her back.”
