“Where has he gone? Who with? Dish, you bad thing.”
Des left them to their gossip only to find Bob Paffin hovering right there outside the ambulance.
“Must you pull her license?” he pressed when she’d filled him in.
“Bob, the nineoneone call was logged, our emergency crews mobilized. I couldn’t cut her any slack even if I wanted to-which I don’t. She shouldn’t have been behind that wheel.”
“Sure, sure. Understood.” Bob pushed it no further, but he wasn’t done getting right up in her business. “Des, I think we ought to talk about your plans for tomorrow. It’s an awfully big day.”
“Is this the Kershaw brothers we’re talking about?”
“Folks are mighty uneasy about Stevie and Donnie coming home. I don’t have to tell you that.”
“You’re right, you don’t,” said Des, who knew all about Stevie and Donnie Kershaw. They were Dorset’s answer to Frank and Jesse James-if the James brothers had been lowlife swamp Yankee cheeseheads. Which wasn’t to minimize them. The Kershaw brothers were thieving louts, and their release after a twoyear stint in prison was sending genuine ripples of fear through Dorset. Everyone was wondering whether the current resident trooper could handle them. This would be a big test for Des. Not that she wasn’t accustomed to being tested. Or watched. She was a single young woman of color. She was sixfeetone, broadshouldered, highrumped and cut with muscle. In a closeknit, uniformly white New England village with a winter population of seven thousand, she did not exactly blend. “There’s no need to worry about this, Bob,” she assured him. “I’m on it.”
“I don’t doubt that for one second,” the first selectman said encouragingly. He was not patronizing her. No, he was not. “But I’ve been hearing from a lot of people.”
“Tell them to chill. This isn’t the Kershaws’ town-it’s mine.”
Claudia Widdifield pulled up now in her black Lexus SUV and got out, looking chilly and imposing. Des excused herself and strode over to her, instantly intimidated. In Dorset, it wasn’t raggies like the Kershaws who daunted her. It was vanilla ice princesses like Claudia-the poised, privileged blondes who had never wanted for anything in their entire lives. Des was not at ease around such ohsosuperior women. Mostly, she resented the hell out of them.
“Is mother okay?” Claudia demanded, her manner decidedly takecharge.
“She seems fine, although she won’t let the Jewett sisters take her to the hospital.”
“Of course not. That’s the sort of thing sensible people do. Not mother. Never mother.”
Claudia was in her late forties. Like her famous mother, she was tall, slim and strongjawed. Unlike her mother, Claudia was very carefully put together. Her earrings were lustrous pearls. Her makeup and lipstick were fresh. The length of yarn that held her blond hair in place was color coordinated with her red quilted Burberry jacket. By profession, she was an interior decorator. One of the top decorators in New England, in fact. Claudia’s specialty was English country casual. Absolutely nothing about the lady herself was casual. She was so tightly wrapped that she bristled.
Then again, Des did just hear that Claudia’s architect husband, Mark, had left her that morning. So she supposed the woman could be forgiven if she seemed less than jolly.
Bailey had started barking at the sound of her voice. Des let him out of the back of the cruiser and Claudia marched the aging dog toward her Lexus.
“I’m pulling your mother’s license,” Des said, following her. “Which, quite honestly, might not be the worst thing in the world. How would you describe her overall health these days?”
“My mother has the constitution of an ox.” Claudia eyed her probingly. “Why do you ask?”
“Because we need to have a talk,” Des replied, clearing her throat. “Our little phone calls are getting to be a habit.” Des showed Claudia the stash of candy bars in Poochie’s handbag. “Your mother claims she has no idea where these came from.”
“Trooper, I appreciate your concern but this is a family matter,” Claudia said stiffly, closing Bailey inside the back of her SUV.
“Mrs. Widdifield, look around you. Look at all these folks who’ve been called out of their homes on a cold night. This is not a family matter.”
The Jewett sisters were helping Poochie and Tolly out of the back of the ambulance now.
Poochie immediately caught sight of First Selectman Paffin standing there. “Hullo, Bob!” she roared cheerily. “Millie kick you out of the house again?”
“Heard you were having some problems, old girl.”
“Nonsense. Just missed that damned fork in the road.”
“Awfully icy out, too,” Bob Paffin added sympathetically.
Poochie gazed around at the emergency personnel who were gathered there, hands stuffed in the pockets of their coats. “By God, the lot of you look as if you’re ready for a parade.”
They laughed politely. All except for Doug Garvey, who was out in the middle of the icy pond hooking up his winch chain to the Isuzu’s rear axle.
“Come along, Mummy,” Claudia said, mustering a tight smile. “I’ll take you home.”
“Now don’t be cross with me, Claude,” Poochie chided her. “You seem cross.”
“I’m concerned. You’re lucky you didn’t drown.”
“Don’t be melodramatic, Claude. It doesn’t suit you.” Poochie paused to offer Des a firm handshake. “Thank you for your help, dear.”
“What I’m here for, Poochie.”
Dorset’s first lady let out a huge laugh. “We both know that isn’t true.” Then she strode regally toward her daughter’s ride, Tolly trailing along behind her.
Claudia started after them, then abruptly stopped and returned to Des, car keys jangling in her clenched hand. “Mother will be visiting an old friend up at Essex Meadows in the morning.” Essex Meadows was a highend assisted living facility. “She likes to stay for lunch because they often serve fish sticks, which she insists are very hard to find these days. She particularly likes their tartar sauce for reasons that, well, God only knows. I’ll be at my cottage across the courtyard from Four Chimneys. We can talk then.”
“That’ll be fine. Thank you, Mrs. Widdifield.”
Claudia shook her head. “A thankyou is not appropriate, Trooper. Trust me when I tell you this: You are about to be very, very sorry.”
CHAPTER 3
They were running through central park together. He was flying a kite. She was holding a great big lollipop. Her long, blond hair was flowing. It was a bright, beautiful summer day. It had never been so beautiful…
A Maisie dream. Mitch was having one of his Maisie dreams. Often, there were montage sequences:
Now it was raining and they were hugging under an awning on lower Fifth Avenue. Then it was sunny and they were strolling through the West Village carrying shopping bags from stores he’d never heard of. Now they were eating ice cream cones in Washington Square. Now Maisie was feeding hers to a puppy…
This montage is way sappy, Mitch couldn’t help observing. Which was something he did. He reviewed his own dreams in his own head as he was dreaming them.
Now they were in their big brass bed together. Maisie was over him, her beautiful hair gently grazing his bare chest.
“You won’t ever leave me, will you, Bear?”
“How could you ever think that?”
“I can feel you slipping away, that’s how.” She kissed his eyes, his cheeks, his chin. “You won’t, will you, Bear?”
“Maisie, I’ll never leave you. I’ll never go.”
“Yes, you will,” she insisted.
Which was not at all in character for Maisie. She was never the jealous type, Mitch noted as he lay there, savoring the taste of her, the smell of her. Although she did seem a lot smaller than he remembered. Hardly weighed a thing. And her nose was cold and wet. And she was:
Purring. Maisie was definitely purring.
