Now it was Lucy’s turn to chuckle. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“Not at all,” he said. “I respect people who work hard.”
“Is there anything you want to say about Ed Franklin for the story? I expect you’ve known him for a good number of years.”
“I have indeed,” he said in a thoughtful tone, “and I’m shocked and saddened by his death, especially so because it was clearly an assassination. I knew him well, personally and as a client, and I can think of no reason why anyone would want to kill him. This is a real tragedy. Ed’s death is a great loss to many, and most especially to his wife, Mireille, and his entire family.”
“Considering the fact that his daughter also died recently in rather suspicious circumstances, do you think there’s a vendetta against the Franklin family?”
“I fear poor Alison’s death was simply a tragic accident and unrelated to her father’s murder.” He paused. “I will overnight that press pass to you. You should have it in the morning.”
Lucy knew the call was over and there was no point trying to prolong it. “Thank you. I really appreciate this opportunity.”
Ted, however, wasn’t impressed when she told him she’d been invited to the funeral. “A funeral’s a funeral, even if it’s in Trinity Church,” he said, swinging around in his swivel chair and facing her. “There’ll be music and people will say a lot of nice things about Ed Franklin that may or may not be true and then they’ll party afterwards, glad it’s over.”
In her corner by the door, Phyllis gave an amused snort.
Lucy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “This is a big deal, Ted. There are going to be a lot of VIPs there, and maybe even his killer.”
“I’m sure the killer will wear a sign or something to identify him or herself. One of those smiley face stick-ons—Hello My Name Is Hit Man.”
Phyllis thought this was hysterical and she was struggling, shoulders shaking, to keep from laughing out loud.
Lucy, however, wasn’t amused. “The funeral’s by invitation only and I bet they haven’t invited any locals. I’d be representing the whole town.” She paused, dredging for something that would convince him. “We really owe it to his wife and the people Ed knew here, all the folks who worked with him on committees.”
“You mean all the folks he fought with,” said Phyllis.
“Well, yeah,” admitted Lucy. “He was involved with a lot of people. He affected a lot of lives here in town.” She could see Ted’s expression softening.
He was definitely considering letting her go.
“I’ll do it on my own time, Ted,” she offered, sweetening the deal. “I won’t even put in for gas.”
“Well, when you put it that way, I suppose we do owe it to our readers,” he said, turning back to his computer. Then, giving a little start, he slapped his hand against his head. “Did I hear you say something about his first wife challenging his will?”
“Yeah, that’s what Mireille’s mom told me.”
“I wonder, do you think she’s been blabbing to everyone who calls, or do you have a scoop? A scoop you’ve been sitting on since yesterday?”
“Well, if she told me, she’s probably told others,” said Lucy, defending herself. “She sounded like quite a character. Very chatty.”
“Yeah, but you know Samantha Eggers,” said Ted, naming the court clerk. “You wrote a flattering story about her, didn’t you, just a few months ago?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it flattering,” said Lucy, feeling the need to defend her journalistic integrity. “It was part of that series we did on the county court.”
“You did kind of suck up to her,” said Phyllis with a knowing nod.
“She was very helpful,” said Lucy, still defensive. “She’s nice. That’s not a crime, you know.”
“Well, get on over there and see if she’s got anything on this so-called lawsuit, okay?”
“Okay, boss,” said Lucy, only too eager to get out of the office . . . and out of town.
Ed Franklin was gone, but somehow the combative attitude he’d brought to Tinker’s Cove was lingering on. Paranoia and discord seemed to be spreading like some sort of infectious disease.
Heading back to Gilead for the second time in two days, Lucy stopped at the Quik-Stop for gas and picked up a hotdog for a quick lunch she could eat while she drove. It seemed to her that she was plying the same route to Gilead, the county seat, quite a lot. Fortunately, the trip was quite scenic, taking her past lovely old homes and giving her peeks at numerous coves and inlets dotted with pine-covered islands. As she drove and ate her hot dog, she thought about how Maine was changing.
When she’d first moved to Tinker’s Cove, lots of people sold homemade items like quilts and whirligigs, setting them out on their lawns for tourists to buy. Now, most of those displays were gone, replaced with neat signs advertising art galleries, acupuncture, and computer services. The region, indeed the whole country was experiencing a changing economy, and those who didn’t have college educations were joining Harry Crawford’s group of Left Behinds.
Approaching Gilead, which was nestled in a valley and dotted with tall white steeples, Lucy thought it was quite an attractive New England town, apart from the county complex that included the l960s brick courthouse and the grim granite jail with its chain link fence topped with coiled razor wire.
In the past, she had been able to come and go freely in the courthouse, but after 9/11 everything changed and now she had to present her bag for a search and step through a metal detector. Once inside, she went straight to the clerk of court’s office, where Samantha Eggers had brightened the atmosphere by stripping away the dog-eared and faded notices that used to be taped any which way on the walls and replacing the dusty old Venetian blinds with attractive striped valances and simple Roman shades. The budget hadn’t stretched to cover new furniture, however, so the
