“Want to earn a Pulitzer?” Miranda turned, squarely faced her. “Help me find out who killed him.”
“You’ll have to give me a lead, first.”
“I don’t have one.”
Annie sighed. “That’s the problem. Whether or not you did it, you’re still the obvious suspect.”
Miranda picked up the box and headed up the stairs. Annie trailed behind her.
“I thought real reporters went after the truth,” said Miranda.
“This reporter,” said Annie, “is basically lazy and angling for early retirement.”
“At your age?”
“I turn forty-seven next month. I figure that’s a good age to retire. If I can just get Irving to pop the question, it’ll be a life of bonbons and TV soaps.”
“You’d hate it.”
“Oh, yeah.” Annie laughed. “I’d be just miserable.”
They walked into the newsroom. At once Miranda felt all those gazes turn her way. Annie, oblivious to their audience, went to her desk, threw her locker keys in her drawer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “You happen to have a light?” she asked Miranda.
“You always ask me, and I never have one.”
Annie turned and yelled, “Miles!”
The summer intern sighed resignedly and tossed her a cigarette lighter. “Just give it back,” he said.
“You’re too young to smoke, anyway,” snapped Annie.
“So were you once, Berenger.”
Annie grinned at Miranda. “I love these boy wonders. They’re so damn petulant.”
Miranda couldn’t help smiling. She sat on the desktop and looked at her ex-colleague. As always, Annie wore a wreath of cigarette smoke. It was part addiction, part prop, that cigarette. Annie had earned her reporter’s stripes in a Boston newsroom where the floor was said to be an inch deep in cigarette butts.
“You do believe me, don’t you?” asked Miranda softly. “You don’t really think…”
Annie looked her straight in the eye. “No. I don’t. And I was kidding about being lazy,” said Annie. “I’ve been digging. I’ll come up with something. It’s not like I’m doing it out of friendship or anything. I mean, I could find out things that could hurt you. But it’s what I have to do.”
Miranda nodded. “Then start with this.”
“What?”
“Find out who bailed me out.”
Annie nodded. “A reasonable first step.”
The back office door swung open. Jill Vickery came out and glanced around the newsroom. “Marine distress call. Sailboat’s taking on water. Who wants the story?”
Annie slunk deep in her chair.
Miles sprang to his feet. “I’ll take it.”
“Coast Guard’s already on the way. Hire a launch if you have to. Go on, get going. You don’t want to miss the rescue.” Jill turned and looked at Annie. “Are you busy at the moment?”
Annie shrugged. “I’m always busy.”
Jill nodded toward Miles. “He’ll need help. Go with the kid.” She turned back to her office.
“I can’t.”
Jill stopped, turned to confront Annie. “Are you refusing my assignment?”
“Yeah. Sort of.”
“On what grounds?”
Annie blew out a long, lazy puff of smoke. “Seasickness.”
“I knew she’d confuse you, Chase. I just knew it. You don’t understand her the way I do.”
Chase looked up from the porch chair where he’d been brooding for the past hour. He saw that Evelyn had changed out of her black dress and was now wearing an obscenely bright lime green. He knew he should feel sorry for his sister-in-law, but at the moment Evelyn looked more in need of a stiff drink than of pity. He couldn’t help comparing her to Miranda Wood. Miranda, with her ill-fitting black dress and her windblown hair, so alone on that cemetery hillside. He wondered if Richard ever knew how much damage he’d done to her, or if he’d ever cared.
“You haven’t said a word since you got home,” complained Evelyn. “What is going on with you?”
“Just how well did you know Miranda Wood?” he asked.
She sat down and fussily arranged the folds of her green dress. “I’ve heard things. I know she grew up in Bass Harbor. Went to some — some state university. Had to do it all on scholarship. Couldn’t afford it otherwise. Really, not a very good family.”
“Meaning what?”
“Mill workers.”
“Ah. Dregs of the earth.”
“What is the matter with you, Chase?”
He rose to his feet. “I need to take a walk.”
“Oh. I’ll go with you.” She jumped to her feet, instantly wreaking havoc on all those nicely arranged folds of her dress.
“No. I’d like to be alone for a while. If you don’t mind.”
Evelyn looked as if she minded very much, but she managed to cover it gracefully. “I understand, Chase. We all need to mourn in our own way.”
He felt a distinct sense of relief as he walked away from that front porch. The house had started to feel oppressive, as though the weight of all those memories had crowded out the breathable air. For a half hour he walked aimlessly. Only as his feet carried him closer to town did he begin to move with a new sense of purpose.
He headed straight for the newspaper building.
He was greeted by Jill Vickery, the sleekly attractive managing editor. It was just like Richard to surround himself with gorgeous women. Chase had met her earlier that day, at the funeral. Then, as now, she played the part of the professional to the hilt.
“Mr. Tremain,” she said, offering her hand. “What a pleasure to see you again. May I show you around?”
“I was just wondering…” He glanced around the newsroom, which was currently occupied by only a bare- bones staff: the layout man arranging ads, another one staring at a computer screen, and that sloppy reporter puffing on a cigarette as she talked on the phone.
“Yes?” asked Jill.
“If I could go over some of my brother’s files.”
“Business or personal files?”
“Both.”
She hesitated, then led him into the back office and through a door labeled Richard Tremain, Owner and Publisher. “These aren’t all his files, you understand. He kept most of them here, but some he kept at home or at the cottage.”
“You mean Rose Hill?”
“Yes. He liked to work out there, on occasion.” She pointed to the desk. “The key’s in the top drawer. Please let me know if you take anything.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
She paused, as though uncertain whether to trust him. But what choice did she have? He was, after all, the publisher’s brother. At last she turned and left.
Chase waited for the door to shut, then he unlocked the file cabinet. He flipped immediately to the
He found a file on Miranda Wood.
Chase carried it to the desk and spread it open. It appeared to be a routine personnel record. The employment application was dated one year ago, when Miranda was twenty-eight. Her address was listed as 18
