* * *
The next morning, after Bill and the kids had left the house, Lucy pulled on a warm jacket and took the dog out for some exercise along the old logging roads that ran behind their house. Lucy walked at a good pace, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine. Kudo ran ahead of her, sniffing the ground and chasing rabbits, but returning frequently as if to check that she was still there.
Lucy picked up a stick and threw it. Kudo ran after it and brought it back to her, grinning proudly. She threw the stick a few more times, then realized it must be getting late. She checked her watch and discovered it was time to go home if she planned to go to Curt Nolan’s funeral service.
Back at the house she gave Kudo a fresh bowl of water and a dog biscuit, then hurried upstairs to change her clothes.
As she tugged on her black pantyhose, Lucy considered the best route to the Indian Meeting House in Hopkinton. The most direct way was along the back roads she had taken the day before, but remembering the dirt biker she decided to take the long way round on the highway. Chances were that the biker, whoever he was, was just some kid who’d been having fun at her expense. Sure, the leathers and helmet had looked menacing, but that was just the style. They all wore them. No doubt the biker was back in school today or maybe even back on the job.
Lucy slipped on one black leather pump and sat holding the other. Maybe the biker wasn’t a kid at all. Come to think of it, dirt biking was an expensive sport when you added up the cost of all the equipment, and there weren’t too many kids in Tinker’s Cove who had that sort of money.
But if he were a grown man, she wondered, what was he doing harrassing her like that? It was the kind of stunt a kid would find funny, but it wasn’t the sort of thing an adult would even think of doing.
She put the shoe down and slipped it on. Rocking back on her heels, she lifted her toes, then slowly lowered them and put her hands on her knees. Why had that biker been so interested in her and why had he followed her home? Had it been an intentional move to find out where she lived?
Even more disquieting was the thought that Bear Sykes might have summoned the biker, using his cell phone. What possible reason would he have for doing that? she wondered as she stood up and fastened her faux pearls around her neck.
Come to think of it, Sykes had seemed awfully interested in what she knew about the murder. That didn’t mean he was involved in any way, she told herself. As the tribe’s leader he would naturally want to know how the investigation was proceeding.
After one last check in the mirror to make sure her slip wasn’t showing, she decided she was ready. She was probably being paranoid, but she wasn’t about to risk another encounter. Today, she’d stick to the highway.
It was funny, she thought as she carefully closed the door behind so Kudo couldn’t get out. She hadn’t felt a bit nervous this morning when she was walking with Kudo; she had felt sure that the dog would protect her. But even in a car she didn’t want to risk the same deserted roads by herself.
As she started the car, she thought it might be a good idea to pay attention at the funeral and see who was there and who wasn’t and to keep an eye out for strange behavior.
* * *
Arriving at the plain little country church with only minutes to spare before the service was scheduled to start, Lucy felt a surge of sympathy for Ellie. Judging from the number of cars and the crowd of people, not to mention the large white trucks topped with satellite dishes bearing the logos of the Portland TV station and Northeast Cable News parked along the road opposite the church, it was going to be a three-ring circus. It was bad enough to lose someone you loved, but to have your private grief turned into a public spectacle made it all that much worse.
Lucy had to park at least a quarter of a mile farther down the road and had to hike back to the church in her uncomfortable high heels. She arrived, out of breath, just as the bell was tolling. As she drew closer she realized she hadn’t needed to worry about getting a seat—this crowd wasn’t interested in attending the service. The people gathered on the church lawn were demonstrators, content to stand outside in view of the TV cameras. A few were holding placards with a photograph of Nolan demanding Justice for Our Brother.
Lucy looked for a familiar face, but the only person she recognized was Bear Sykes. Dressed in a denim shirt with a beaded chestpiece worn over it, he was being interviewed by a TV reporter. As she mounted the steps, she heard him deliver a ringing declaration and stopped to listen.
“If Curt Nolan were white, you can be sure the police would not be dragging their feet in investigating his murder. We demand equal treatment—justice in life and in death!”
He raised a fist and the crowd of protesters erupted in cheers and applause. Placards were held aloft and someone began beating a drum.
The crowd began chanting, “Justice! We want justice!”
Watching the spectacle unfold before her, Lucy found herself reaching for her reporter’s notebook and camera. She didn’t have them, of course. She’d left her big everyday bag at home and had brought her small, dressy purse. Maybe Ted was here, she thought, hopefully scanning the crowd of reporters gathered outside the churchyard for his face.
There was no sign of him. Lucy wondered what to do.
