‘Oh?’
‘In pursuit of a suspect.’
She held up her hands in mock surrender. ‘I demand to see my lawyer.’ And there it was—the smile—clutching at his breast.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Home,’ she said. ‘For lunch.’
‘You want a ride?’
She glanced around her. ‘What ever will people say?’
‘You’re right. It’s more than your reputation’s worth.’
She laughed.
‘What?’
‘Well, you obviously know nothing about my reputation.’
True. He didn’t.
‘All right,’ she said suddenly, as if surprised by her decision. She crossed to the other side of the car and climbed into the passenger seat.
‘Where do you live?’
‘Three Mile Harbor Road.’
‘It’ll mean making another illegal maneuver.’
‘Not if you head up Dayton Lane there.’
This time she wasn’t joking.
The house was set some distance back from the road down a cinder track. It was a large, squat two-story farmhouse with a shed-roof extension on the side and two end-wall chimneys jutting from the shingled roof. Behind it stood a barn, dwarfed by an enormous tree with a dark crown. Beyond lay a paddock—a neat square of pasture hacked out of the dense oak woods and enclosed by a white post-and-rail fence.
‘A farm,’ said Hollis, pulling the patrol car to a halt.
‘That’s very observant of you.’
‘So where are all the animals?’
‘Well, there’s a truculent old goose called Eugene, but he takes a nap about now—lucky for you. He doesn’t like strangers.’
‘And your dog?’
She hesitated before replying. ‘She’s with my son. He’s staying with his father.’
Ah, thought Hollis, that is news; two big pieces of news, in fact.
‘Now I’m offended,’ said Mary.
‘How’s that?’
‘You really haven’t checked up on me, have you?’
He had done a bad job of concealing his surprise, and an awkward silence settled around them.
‘Thanks for the ride,’ said Mary, getting out of the car.
Hollis felt bad. He wanted to make amends for his reaction, to tell her that he didn’t care, but he couldn’t find the words.
‘Do you always drive so slow?’ she asked.
It was a fair question. He had meandered through the maze of roads north of Main Street, crawling along, the needle barely nudging fifteen miles an hour. He had asked her about the LVIS summer fair, less than three weeks off now, and she had pattered away indulgently.
‘I was enjoying myself.’ No lie there, he hadn’t wanted it to end, the low hum of the engine, her voice washing around him.
‘Well, if you’re lucky, next time we meet I’ll fill you in on the rummage drive we’ve got planned for September.’
He laughed, relieved that he’d been able to turn the situation around.
She was halfway to the side door when he called after her.
‘Mary.’
She turned back.
‘The times you saw Lillian Wallace down at the beach, was she ever with anyone?’
She weighed the question for a moment. ‘Once. About a month ago. There was a man, a young man, tall, rangy. Why?’
‘Blond?’
‘No. Auburn hair.’
