head, and drop to your knees.”
“I’m getting sick of having guns pointed at me.”
“Ain’t that too bad.” He pushed me onto my stomach and began twisting my arms behind me. Cynthia stepped out of the office and saw us.
“What are you doing?” she said. “He didn’t hurt anyone. He
She told him what happened. Emmett uncuffed me and helped me to my feet. He offered a brief but insincere cop apology and made a beeline for Cabot. Cabot had come around enough to rub the side of his jaw. Emmett rolled him on his stomach and cuffed him. Cabot didn’t resist.
Cynthia stepped close to me. Her hands were shaking. “I have to go to the hospital. Will you drive me? I don’t think I can manage it right now.”
“Sure,” I told her.
The EMTs emerged with the mayor on a stretcher. They didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Emmett dragged Cabot to his feet and led him toward the door.
“I’m sorry,” Cabot said. “I’m sorry, everyone. I shouldn’t have done that.”
He went on and on like that. Hearing his meek, whining voice seemed to set Cynthia on edge, so I held her back to let the others get ahead. We stood on the front porch and watched them load the mayor into the back of the ambulance, and Cabot into the back of Emmett’s police car. They started their engines but didn’t turn on their sirens.
After they had disappeared around the corner, Cynthia turned toward me. “Do I look terrible?” she asked.
Her eyes were red and puffy from crying and her lip twisted down on one side as she fought back her tears. Her makeup was still perfect. “You can check yourself on the way. Do you have everything you need?”
“No, I’ll be right back.”
She rushed back into the house. I took the scrap of wood out of my pocket and laid it against the doorjamb.
Nothing. The design churned at its normal slow pace. The Hammer house was no different from any other. I looked at the other two on the cul-de-sac. If I were Charles Hammer the Third, heir to a timber fortune and own er of a wildly successful toy company, which would I live in? A tiny brick house or an empty stone one?
Neither, really. I started toward the brick house for no other reason than that it was slightly closer. I had only gotten a couple of steps when the door opened behind me.
“I’m ready. Let’s go,” Cynthia said.
She gave me the keys and I drove. She flipped down the passenger-side visor and studied her face. I tried not to pay too close attention as I wound my way through traffic, but I could see her hands trembling slightly.
“Are you all right?” I asked her.
“Yes. I think I’m going to be fine. What about you? Are you all right?”
The question surprised me. For a second I thought she’d known about me in the library toilet.
“You’re not really going to freak out, are you?” she said. “You’re just saying that to be nice.” I shrugged, and she laid her hand on my arm. Just for a moment.
It was my turn to shiver. Damn, it had been a long time.
We reached the hospital. I was glad to see that Ethan’s van was gone.
The receptionist told us that the mayor was in intensive care. Cynthia seemed to shrug this off, but I was confused. “I didn’t think his wound was that serious,” I said. “It looked like it just grazed him.”
“Well…” The receptionist looked around and then began shuffling papers on her desk. She looked up at Cynthia as though she was one of her supervisors. Maybe that’s what it meant to be part of a founding family-everyone treats you like you’re in charge. “I shouldn’t have told you that much. HIPAA rules.”
Cynthia leaned forward and said, “Look-“
“Is there someplace we can wait?” I interrupted. The receptionist called a volunteer, who led us to a waiting room on the third floor. We sat on a plastic couch beside a stack of bland supermarket magazines.
“His wife hates me,” Cynthia said. “She hates me already. I just hope she doesn’t take another swing at me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she brought a hatchet. Good thing we’re already in a hospital.”
She went on and on like that. Cynthia rambled, mostly about how much Farleton’s wife hated her. She didn’t mention Cabot at all, and I didn’t bring him up. Misery was pouring out of her, and I didn’t want her to shut me out. Not when I needed her to point me toward her brother.
The door at the end of the hall opened, and Emmett Dubois entered. Trailing along behind him was a tall blond woman, probably just a year or two older than Cynthia. She was long-legged and wore way too much makeup on her lovely face. She looked utterly distraught.
Cynthia jumped up. “Miriam, I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Miriam snapped. “I just want to see my husband.”
Emmett stepped between them. “Let’s find Frank’s doctor. Would you come with me?”
Miriam shot a withering look at Cynthia, then followed the chief down the hall.
Peter Lemly rushed in. He was red-faced and sweating, and I could hear him panting from down the hall. He followed the chief and Miriam Farleton.
