Ben
Carmody was on his cell phone; Chips Madigan was
leafing through a coffee-table book on Pacific Northwest photography; a disconsolate Winifred Best was
sitting in what had once been Grandpa Grover’s favorite armchair; Dade Costello had gone out through
the French doors and was standing on the back porch.
Winifred’s head snapped up as Bill, Judith, and Joe
entered the living room. “What’s going on? What happened to Angela? Is she dead?”
Joe explained the situation, somehow managing to
leave out the part about a cocaine overdose.
“Was it a cocaine overdose?” Winifred demanded,
looking as if she were about to collapse.
Joe didn’t flinch. “That’s possible.”
Winifred wrung her thin hands. “I knew it. I knew it.
She can’t get off the damnable stuff. How many times
have they—” She stopped abruptly. “Where’s Dirk?”
“He rode to the hospital with Angela,” Joe replied.
“I believe they’re taking her to Norway General.”
The siren sounded as the medic van pulled away.
Judith went back into the entry hall and looked outside. A second van, apparently a backup, was also
turning out of the cul-de-sac. The neighbors, who
were accustomed to the occasional burst of mayhem
at Hillside Manor, were well represented by the
Porters, the Steins, and the Ericsons, who stood on
the sidewalk with Arlene Rankers. Across the street
on the corner, the elderly widow Miko Swanson sat at
her usual post by her front window. However, there
was no sign of Vivian Flynn, whose bungalow next
door to Mrs. Swanson’s typically had its drapes
closed during the daylight hours. Feeling obligated to
keep her fellow homeowners informed, Judith started
onto the porch just as a black limousine pulled into
the cul-de-sac.
Vito Patricelli emerged with Morris Mayne and Eugenia Fleming. With a weak wave in the neighbors’ direction, Judith ducked back inside, where she collided
with Winifred, who was hovering right behind her.
“Sorry,” Judith murmured.
Winifred ignored the remark as she hastened to
greet the newcomers, who barely acknowledged Judith’s presence as they entered the house.
“Dirk called me on his cell,” Vito said, his mouth set
in a grim line and his sunglasses hiding the expression
in his eyes. “We have to take a meeting. Now.” He
marched straight for the living room. “Ben, shut off
that damned TV. Where’s Dade? Where’s Ellie?”
“Dade’s out back,” Chips replied, his tone indifferent. “I think.”
Vito’s head turned in every direction. “What about
Ellie?”
