Presumed Guilty

state. She’d lost her house, her possessions; she was left with no sense of order to her life. What she needed was a safe place, a cocoon where no one could hurt her….

“Uh, Mr. Tremain? You think you could maybe try and cooperate?”

Chase looked at Ellis. What was the point of fighting? he thought wearily. Ellis Snipe looked like the kind of robot who’d follow orders to the letter. If he had to, he’d sit there all night, waiting for Chase to talk.

For the second time that night Chase told the story. He took it back to the cottage, the evidence of a breakin, the secret files. This time he left out the information about Lorne Tibbetts and his fling with the librarian. Some things, he thought, should remain private.

Ellis wrote it all down in a weird, spidery script that couldn’t possibly be produced by a normal personality.

When Chase was finished, Ellis asked one and only one question. “Was there anything in those secret files about me?”

“Not a thing,” said Chase.

Ellis looked disappointed.

After Ellis had left, Chase sat alone at the table, wondering what came next. A third cop, another go-around with the story? The whole affair had taken on a surreal quality, like some never-ending nightmare. For ten minutes he waited for something to happen. Then, fed up with being ignored, he shoved his chair back and went in search of Miranda.

He found her in the same interrogation room where he’d first laid eyes on her over a week before. She was sitting alone. A smudge of soot blackened her cheek, and her hair was dusted with ash.

She gazed at him with a look of utter exhaustion. “The cop station from hell,” she murmured.

He smiled. Then he saw her hand. It was encased in bandages. “Is it as serious as it looks?”

“The doctor just believes in doing a thorough job.” She looked in wonder at the free-form sculpture of surgical gauze and tape. “I was afraid he’d amputate.”

“A hand as nice as yours? I wouldn’t have let him.”

She tried to return the smile, but couldn’t quite manage it.

“You have to leave the island,” he said.

“I can’t. The terms of my bail—”

“To hell with the bail terms! You can’t wait around for the next accident, the next fire.”

“I can’t leave the county.”

“This time you were lucky. Next time—”

“What am I supposed to do?” She looked at him in sudden anger. “Run and hide?”

“Yes.”

“From what? I don’t even know who’s trying to kill me!” Her cry echoed in the stark room. At once she flushed, as though shamed by the sound of her own hysteria.

“If I leave, I’ll never know what I’m running from,” she said quietly. “Or if I’m still being hunted. What kind of life is that, Chase? Never knowing if I’m safe. Always waking up at night, listening for footsteps. Wondering if that creak on the stairs is someone coming for me….” She shuddered and stared down at the table.

Lord, he thought. How did I ever get involved with this woman? She’s not my problem. I’m not her white knight. I should get up and walk right out of this room. Who would blame me?

And then a voice inside him said, I would.

He pulled out a chair and sat across from her. She didn’t look up. She just kept staring at the ugly tabletop.

“If you won’t leave, then what are you going to do?”

She shrugged. It hurt him to see the hopelessness in that gesture. “Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

“Why?” The look she gave him made him want to say things he knew he’d regret. That he cared whether she lived or died. He cared what happened to her. He cared too much.

He said, with unassailable logic, “Because what happened tonight is somehow tied in with Richard. The breakin at Rose Hill. The fire. And you.”

She gave a dispirited laugh. “Yes, somewhere in all this mess, I seem to fit in. And I haven’t the faintest idea why.”

The door opened. Ellis said, “There you are, Mr. T. Lorne says you both can go. Says he can’t think of any more questions.”

I hope I never see this place again, thought Chase as they followed Ellis down the hall, into the front office. Lorne was sitting at one of the desks, talking on the phone. He glanced up as Chase and Miranda walked past, and motioned to them to wait.

“Oh, hell.” Chase sighed. “He just thought of another question.”

Lorne hung up and said to Ellis, “Bring the car around. We got us another call.”

“Man, oh, man,” Ellis whined as he headed out to the garage. “This is one heck of a Thursday night.”

Lorne looked at Miranda. “You got a place to stay?”

“I’ll drive her to the hotel,” said Chase.

“I was thinking along the lines of someplace safer,” Lorne said. “A friend’s house, maybe?”

“There’s always Mr. Lanzo,” said Miranda.

“No, I’ll take you over to Annie’s house,” said Chase. “At least her faculties are still intact.”

“Yeah, that’d be better,” said Lorne, reaching for his hat. “Considering.”

“Considering what?” said Chase.

“The two empty gas cans we found over by Ms. Wood’s house. Plus the two-by-fours nailed over the cellar hatch.”

Miranda stared at him. There it was. Undeniable proof someone was trying to kill her. Her body seemed to sag against Chase. “Then you believe me,” she whispered.

Lorne reached for his hat. “Well, I’ll tell you what I believe, Ms. Wood. I do believe this is one of the weirdest nights we’ve ever had here on this island. And I do not like the trend.”

“What else is going on?” asked Chase.

“An assault. On Miss Lila St. John, if you can believe it. She just called in the report.”

“Someone attacked her?” said Chase, shocked. “Why?”

“She claims she tried to stop a breakin.” Lorne, obviously skeptical, started for the door. “At Rose Hill Cottage.”

“So,” said Annie Berenger, pouring out three tall whiskeys. “Do I get to write all about the juicy details? Or is this baby-sitting job another gratis deal?”

“I thought you and Miranda were friends,” said Chase.

“Oh, we are. But I’m a reporter, too.” She handed Chase a glass. “It’s my job to take advantage of the situation.” She glanced at the closed door to the bathroom, where Miranda was showering. “You know, Chase, she looked pretty beat-up. Shouldn’t she be in a hospital or something?”

“She’ll be fine right here, Annie. As long as you keep your eagle eye on her.”

“Terrific. What I always wanted to be. A mommy.” She tossed back a quick slug of whiskey. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. I like Miranda. I used to be a lot like her. About a century ago.” She poured herself a second glass. “But women grow up fast these days. We have to. It’s the men who age us. Take my boyfriend, Irving. Please. I’ve been waiting a year for him to pop the question. It’s giving me gray hairs.” She took a sip of whiskey, then turned and looked at Chase. “So how much trouble is she in?”

“It could get dangerous. Are you ready for that?”

“Ready?” She went to an end table and opened the drawer. Casually she pulled out a revolver. “Little souvenir I picked up in Boston. I’m a lousy shot, but sometimes I get lucky.” She tossed the gun back into the drawer. “Good enough?”

“I’m impressed.”