Lucy held the tea bag by the string and nervously jiggled it a few times to hasten the steeping. As soon as the water turned the proper shade of amber she handed the cup to Ruth, ordering her to drink it and telling her she had to go out but promising to return as quickly as possible.
Lucy hurried, winding her way through the rows of parked cars to the Range Rover, which was now illuminated by a spotlight. The crowd was still in place, refusing to disperse. She quickly snapped some photos, then drew close enough to hear what people were saying.
“We know who did it,” claimed Link, getting a loud buzz of approval from the demonstrators.
“No we don’t,” said Barney, planting himself firmly on his thick-soled regulation black oxfords and staring the crowd down. “You’ll get your chance to talk. The state police are on the way. Nobody leave. They’re going to want to question everyone.”
That silenced the crowd momentarily until Jason Sprinkle spoke up. “We got nothing to fear. It wasn’t any of us. It was that Mexican kid, Matteo, who shot him. I saw him standing right here in this spot,” he claimed, pointing at the Range Rover. “I even heard a pop, but I didn’t think nothing of it. It’s noisy here at the cove. Guys are prepping their boats for the winter, you know.”
“That’s ridiculous. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” declared Rey, who had left the restaurant along with Bill when the cruiser arrived. He’d heard Jason’s accusation.
“You calling me a liar?” challenged Jason, practically nose to nose with Rey.
“I’m just saying that my son would never shoot anybody,” said Rey, stepping back. “He doesn’t even own a gun.”
“Who was shot?” asked Bill, taking his place beside Lucy.
Relieved that he was in one piece, she slipped her hand into his.
“Ed Franklin.” She saw Rey start as if he’d received an electric shock, then quickly recover, adopting a serious expression. “Ruth Lawson discovered the body. She’s in the shack,” Lucy continued, speaking to Barney. “Is it okay if I take her home? She’s pretty shaken up.”
“No problem,” said Barney with a nod, taking down Ruth’s name in the leather-covered notebook he preferred to the electronic tablets recently issued by the department. “I know where you both live” He turned back to the crowd. “As for the rest of you, let’s keep it peaceful. The state police are on the way and they’re going to want to interview everyone, so nobody else leaves.” He surveyed the group, letting his eyes rest on each and every one there, letting them know they’d been seen and noted. “And I don’t have to tell you that the DA won’t hesitate to prosecute anyone interfering with the investigation or anyone taking the law into their own hands.”
Lucy sensed a certain rumbling hostility among the demonstrators, but took heart from the fact that the state police were on the way. After receiving a reassuring squeeze from Bill, she reluctantly withdrew her hand from his then went back to the shack. She wasn’t entirely comfortable about leaving the scene, feeling that it was her responsibility as a reporter to cover the shooting, but also aware that she had a rare opportunity to question the prime witness.
When she reached the shack she found Ruth sitting motionless in the desk chair, her mug of tea in her hands, untouched.
“We’ve got permission to leave,” Lucy told her. “I’ll take you home.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m absolutely sure,” said Lucy. “I told Officer Culpepper that you discovered the body . . .”
“Body!” whispered Ruth, trembling so violently that Lucy feared she would spill the tea. “You mean he’s dead?”
Lucy pried Ruth’s hands from the mug and set it down on the desk before answering. “I’m afraid so.”
“Oh, noooo,” wailed Ruth. “That’s awful!”
“I think we should get moving before the state police arrive and the parking lot is blocked off,” Lucy said, taking Ruth’s hands and pulling her to her feet. “Let’s get you home.”
“I still don’t feel right about leaving,” protested Ruth. “I was the one who found the . . . the body.”
“I told Barney all about it and he said they’ll interview you at home where you’ll be a lot more comfortable.” Lucy opened the door. “My car is right over there.”
Ruth stopped short in the doorway. “But what about my car?”
“You can pick it up tomorrow. I’ll drive you over if you want. But right now you’re in no state to drive.”
“Well, I don’t know—” protested Ruth.
“I do,” said Lucy, giving her a hug. “You’ve had a traumatic experience and you’re in shock.”
“So much blood,” said Ruth, allowing herself to be led out of the shack and across the parking lot to Lucy’s SUV. “I never saw so much blood.”
“It was awful.” Lucy opened the passenger side door and helped Ruth climb in.
She sat passively while Lucy fastened the seatbelt.
Then Lucy went around the car, got behind the wheel, fastened her own seatbelt, and started the car. “Did you see anyone near Ed’s car? Anyone at all?” she asked as she backed out of the parking space.
“No. I saw that bunch at the pub, the old pub, and wondered what it was all about. It made me think twice about parking at the harbor. I almost went back to my car to park it somewhere else. I was on my way to the church—I like to practice the hymns before Sunday, you know—and I knew I wouldn’t find a parking space there because the volunteers would be cleaning up after the Harvest Festival and folks would also be parking there for the pep rally parade.” Ruth was gaining strength as she spoke, finding relief in the distraction of conversation.
“The festival always attracts a big crowd and this year was no different,” said Lucy, turning
