She heard the doorbell ring and Bill ended the call, saying someone was at the door and so far they had received six loaves of banana bread, but only one with chocolate chips, which he was eating.
“I should take out an ad,” she told Ted and Phyllis. “No more banana bread, please!”
When she fired up her computer, she wondered if Link and Jason had actually seen the arsonist, but mistook him for someone else. When you thought about it, you realized there were a number of fair, tall young men in town.
That impression was confirmed that evening when she was driving home from work. Lucy was approaching the stop sign at the intersection of Main and Summer streets when a speeding car shot right through, causing her to brake abruptly. She was thinking it was a good thing she hadn’t been going too fast, and strained to see who was the reckless driver. At first she thought it was Hank, then remembered he was supposed to be in rehab in New Hampshire and also that he certainly wouldn’t be driving a shiny new Audi. It was probably Tag Franklin, she decided, wondering if he could possibly be the arsonist who firebombed the pub. He seemed a more likely suspect than Link and Jason, if he subscribed to his adoptive father’s anti-immigrant views. But it was also a terribly dangerous thing to do, and why would he risk blowing himself up, or getting caught and going to jail? All indications were that he had a cushy lifestyle as the pampered offspring of wealthy parents.
When she reached home she saw a MINI Cooper parked in the driveway and figured that Bill had yet another visitor. Poor guy, he certainly wasn’t getting much rest, she thought, opening the back door and finding Rev. Marge standing in the kitchen.
“I was just leaving,” she told Lucy. “But Bill and I worked it out that the youth group will come on Friday afternoon to clean up your yard.”
“Great,” said Lucy. “We really appreciate the help.” Her eyes were traveling over the kitchen table and counters, which were loaded with every imaginable form of baked good.
As Bill had told her, there were indeed six loaves of banana bread, as well as three loaves of cranberry bread, numerous Bundt cakes, plastic containers of cookies, even a few pies. The freezer, too, was loaded to bursting with homemade soups and casseroles.
“I don’t know what to do with all this,” she said. “Can you use some for coffee hour at the church?”
“Coffee hour is all set,” said Rev. Marge. “Why don’t you take it to the jail?”
“The jail? Will they take donations of food?”
“Sure,” said Rev. Marge. “As long as there’s no saws or chisels inside.”
“Not that I know of,” said Lucy, chuckling.
“I visit there every week as part of my ministry and I often take day-old baked goods from the IGA. Joe Marzetti donates them and I drop them off around back at the kitchen. The gals really love the sweets, especially anything chocolate, but the men like them, too. They get good food, but it’s very plain, institutional cooking. They appreciate the sweets. I think it’s also the fact that somebody is thinking of them and believes they deserve a treat.”
“I’ll do it,” said Lucy. “There’s somebody there I ought to visit, anyway.”
“Bless you,” said Rev. Marge by way of farewell.
Next morning, Lucy ran in the woods despite a chilly drizzle. When she got home she asked Bill to pick a few baked goods to keep while she showered, then she loaded the rest into the SUV and drove off to Gilead and the county complex. She had never gone around back at the county jail as Rev. Marge had suggested, but found there was no problem at all gaining admission to the delivery entrance. A guard was stationed at the gate in the fence, which was topped with razor wire, but when she explained her mission and showed him the baked goods he opened the electronic gate and waved her in.
She pressed the buzzer at the door marked for deliveries and it was promptly opened by another guard, who summoned several prisoners assigned to work in the kitchen and supervised as they unloaded the goodies. Lucy had visited the prison many times before, but only to visit individual prisoners involved in stories she was covering who were awaiting trial; she had never had much contact with actual convicts. She knew that the prisoners in the county jail were usually serving sentences for lesser offenses, those convicted of serious felonies were sent to the state penitentiary. At first, she was somewhat wary of the men, but gradually realized that these criminals were folks just like the people on the outside, except for the fact that they had made a mistake that got them into trouble. The guys joked as they carried in the foil-wrapped desserts, and made a point of politely thanking her for the donation.
As she drove around to the front of the jail, she felt the happy glow of knowing that she’d done her good deed for the day. She parked in the visitors’ lot and made her way to the forbidding entrance. There she presented identification and allowed the guard to search her bag, then walked through a metal detector before she was buzzed through a second door that led to the visitor’s room. That area was busy on weekends as family members usually visited then, but on this weekday morning the large room was empty. She seated herself at one of the cafeteria-style tables and waited for Matt.
When he appeared and saw her she noticed that his face fell in disappointment, and she suspected he had expected to see Zoe, not her mother. He quickly recovered, however, and greeted her with a big smile as he seated himself opposite her on the round stool attached to the table.
“Thanks for coming,” he said. “How’s Zoe?”
“She’s fine. She’s
