"It was just unfair, is all," Dan chimed in.

"Why's that?" Frank kept his face stern. He was interested in their side of the story, but he didn't want them to think they were off the hook yet.

"We couldn't make heads or tails of the blueprint for this section we were supposed to be framing. We went to look for Sean, but we couldn't find him," Richie explained. "Finally we just said, screw this, and did it the way that made the most sense to us. Then Sean shows up and has a s.h.i.t fit and fires us."

"But what really griped my a.s.s," Pete picked up the story, "is that Doug Penniman was there working with us the whole time and Sean didn't fire him."

"Why not?"

Pete shrugged. "Doug seems to know the Man himself. I saw him driving Extrom's Land Cruiser one day."

"Did you ask Doug about it?"

Pete shook his head. "I saw him after we got fired. He caught sight of me and headed in the other direction. I figure he's embarra.s.sed he hung us out to dry. But I ain't beggin' to be taken back up there. I don't need the work that bad."

"All right." Frank looked long and hard at the three of them. "Just see that you all stay away from the Extrom place. I don't want any more trouble."

Muttering and nodding, they returned to their game. Frank watched them for a moment longer. "Say, just out of curiosity, where did you see Doug driving Extrom's SUV?"

Pete leaned on his pool cue, watching his friend shoot. "He was coming out of the road right next to the sign for Beth Abercrombie's shop."

Frank left the tavern and cruised slowly toward town. Might as well make one last patrol before heading home. He pa.s.sed the Stop'N'Buy-all the lights were on, but it was empty except for the new girl Walter had hired to replace Mary Pat. The sign for Beth's shop loomed in his headlights. He looked down the dark road that led to her home, and wondered if Doug Penniman might be down there. But he kept driving-he wouldn't stoop to spying on the woman.

The neon sign for Mountain Vista illuminated the next rise. The NO VACANCY part was lit-business must be good. A racc.o.o.n scrambled across the road in front of him, still fast enough to escape the wheels of the car despite fattening up for winter. Frank glanced into the woods where the racc.o.o.n had disappeared. Were those headlights back there?

He slowed the patrol car and turned around in the Mountain Vista parking lot for a closer look. A few years ago a developer had bought this land with the intention of building some homes on it. But he'd gotten only as far as clearing some of the trees and creating a rough track into the property before he ran out of funding. Now couples drove back there to park, and kids hung out and drank. Mr. Patel had complained more than once about noise and broken beer bottles thrown in the road. Frank positioned the patrol car so the headlights shone into the trees. He could see a car, sure enough.

He got out and prepared to walk back there with his flashlight. He couldn't see anyone in the car-either it was empty, or he was about to get an eyeful. A few steps closer, he could distinguish the color and make of the car. Beige, a small Ford. Another step. A Ford Escort. Good grief, it was Earl's car! What was he...?

Frank stopped and began to laugh. Earl was here with Melanie. Both of them lived with their parents, so there was precious little privacy at home. And though it was getting nippy out now, he supposed the inside of the Escort was warm enough.

Frank sat alone at the Formica table in front of the big plate-gla.s.s window at the Store. The generically named emporium in the center of town carried just about everything except what you really needed. Dusty valentines and St. Patrick's Day cards stayed on the rack year-round; there were toothbrushes but no toothpaste; baking powder but no flour; grated cheese but no spaghetti. Frank hated to buy milk there, ever since he discovered the little Styrofoam deli containers on the same shelf held nightcrawlers, not cole slaw. But you couldn't beat the Store's coffee.

A fruitless morning spent trying to track down the Finns, interspersed with nagging doubts about Beth Abercrombie, had driven Frank out of the office in search of a fresh cup and a sticky bun to clear his jumbled thoughts. Mercifully, the place was empty except for Rita cleaning up behind the deli counter.

The sugar and caffeine weren't helping him come up with a logical reason for why Doug Penniman should be driving Extrom's car past Beth's place. He could have been going somewhere else on the road, but the only other homes back there were vacation places. He might have a carpentry project lined up with one of the homeowners. But why would he be driving Extrom's expensive vehicle to a moonlighting job?

Why did he care, anyway? Was he jealous that Doug and Beth might have something going on? Doug was good-looking, in a way, but he didn't seem Beth's type. Right. Not like me.

Frank watched Augie Enright emerge from the side door of the church and head toward the Store. You could set your watch by that man: morning coffee break at 10:15, afternoon break at 2:45. Frank wasn't in the mood to gulp his coffee, so he resigned himself to the handyman's company.

Augie's eyes lit up as he came in and saw Frank. He poured his coffee, tossed fifty cents in the cigar box on the counter, and sat down next to him. "Hiya, Frank. What's new? Green Tomorrow planning any more demonstrations?"

"Nope."

"Any news on Mary Pat's baby?"

"Nope."

Augie would talk to a statue, so Frank's taciturn mood didn't discourage him. He chatted on about the weather, fishing, football, until a tall man and his little girl came in. But Augie's face fell when he called out, "Nice afternoon, eh?" and they walked right past him without answering.

The man was Rod Extrom and he'd committed the ultimate breech of Store etiquette-failure to greet all other customers, whether you knew them or not. Frank and Augie watched in silence as Extrom paid for a quart of orange juice and a candy bar. "Here, Alyssa," he said and handed the candy to the child, who had shiny black hair and almond eyes. Those were the only words he spoke, and then they left.

"Humpf," said Augie, before the door had fully swung shut. "I guess some people think they're too important to even say h.e.l.lo to folks."

"He's always like that," Rita said. "As many times as he's been in here, he looks right through me like he's never seen me before. And his daughter's just as bad."

"I guess she must be adopted," Augie speculated. "I seen the wife a few times, and she's not oriental. You can get lots of girl babies over there in China, you know, but they won't give up any of their boys. Guess Mr. Extrom'll have to go somewhere else if he wants a son."

Frank sat up, interested in Augie's prattle for the first time since he'd started talking, but the handyman had already turned his attention to the flyers taped up in the window. "I hear that garage sale at the Feeneys' this Sat.u.r.day is really going to be something. But some of these signs are awful old." Augie pulled down a yellow one with musical notes floating across it. "Don't need this anymore. The summer concert series is over."

Frank picked it up. He'd enjoyed the concerts, when everyone brought their lawn chairs to the green and listened to performers in the Gazebo, ate pie and coffee at intermission, and heard the last notes die away in the dark. "Some of those concerts were really good. I liked those four girls who sang in close harmony." He was willing to chat if it wasn't about his work.

"Yeah, they've gotten a lot better since Constance Stiler came back and took over organizing them."

"What do you mean, 'came back and took over'?"

"Constance Stiler's a local girl. She and her husband were both from Keene Valley, but they moved away for better jobs years ago. Then they came back after he retired, and she started organizing the concerts. She gets musicians from all over. But who knows if she'll do it for much longer."

"Why not?"

"Her husband's really failing. If he dies, maybe she'll go live near her kids. 'Course, she's friends with a lot of ladies at the church. And she does have her job."

"I thought they were retired?" Frank asked.

Augie leaned forward confidingly. "No sooner did he stop working than he got that Parkinson's disease. Insurance don't pay for all the special medicine he needs, so she went back to work part-time. She's a nurse over at the Cascade Clinic."

Now Augie had his full attention. "Really?"

"They say she practically runs the place. They'd take her on full-time but she don't want to be away from her husband all day, every day."

"Understandable," Frank murmured. It looked like another visit to the clinic was in order.

Augie sighed. "It's sad. You make plans, and sometimes life just don't cooperate."

Frank closed his eyes briefly and saw Estelle at the piano, Caroline tossing him a Frisbee, the command room at the Kansas City precinct house. "You can say that again."

Leaving the Store, Frank nearly tripped over a bundle on the steps. The bundle raised its head.

"Why, h.e.l.lo, Olivia. What are you doing out here?"

"No school today. Waitin' for my uncle to pick me up."

"Where is he?"

She shrugged. "The Mountainside, probably."

This could be a long wait, and it was getting gray and cold. "You can't stay out here in that thin jacket. Why don't you go inside and wait?"

Olivia shook her head. "Ain't allowed in if I'm not buyin' anything."

Frank tugged on her hand. "Well, come on-I'll buy you a cup of hot chocolate, how would that be?"

Olivia shook her head again. "Miz Sobel don't like me. She won't let me stay in there."

Frank looked up and saw Rita glaring from behind the cash register. Probably afraid the poor kid would lift a roll of Life Savers.

"Then you better come over to my office. We'll watch for your uncle from the window."

Olivia hesitated, but a strong gust of wind convinced her. She trotted across the green at Frank's side.

"Do you want a snack?" Frank asked as he settled her in an office chair.

"Okay." Her tone was indifferent, but her eyes darted around avidly, looking for where the food might spring from.

Frank didn't know what to give Olivia from the trove of junk food in Earl's bottom desk drawer. He felt justified in plying his grandsons with Oreos and peanut-b.u.t.ter cups, because their mother had convinced them that whole-wheat pretzels and yogurt were treats. But he could take no joy in offering Olivia candy and cookies, not when she probably subsisted on a diet of Hawaiian Punch and Devil Dogs and Cheetos. Her baby teeth were like two brown rows of Indian corn. No doubt her mother had put her to bed every night with a bottle of juice, or worse.

Casting about the office, his eyes fell on a sack of Winesap apples he'd bought at the farmer's market. He quartered and pared one with his pocket knife, afraid that if he let Olivia bite right into the apple her rotten little teeth would break off in the crispy fruit.

"This is one of my favorite snacks," Frank said as he set the apple on a paper towel before her.

Olivia didn't seem to share his enthusiasm, but she reached out a grubby hand to take a slice. "What's that stuff?"

"Just some files I'm working on." Frank sat down at his desk and began to go through his paperwork, but he could feel Olivia's eyes boring into him. He looked up. "So, Olivia, what grade are you in?"

"Second."

"You like school?"

"I like the library. That's where I go at recess."

"Not out to play?"

"The other kids make fun of me." Olivia's hand traveled back to the desk for two more slices of apple.

Geez, this kid could take your heart and hang it out to dry. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Maybe that was a safer topic.

"I had a brother, but he went away."

He hoped she meant he'd left to get a job, not to go to prison.

Olivia pushed back from the desk and headed over to the shelves in the corner. "What's in here?" she asked over her shoulder, shaking a colorful bag from the bookstore in Lake Placid.

Before he could answer, Olivia had fallen to her knees and slid out the contents of the bag.

"I bought some books for my grandsons. You can read them if you like," Frank offered.

Olivia picked up the top book in the stack. "The Three Little Wolves and the Big Bad Pig," she read the t.i.tle aloud. "That ain't right."

"It's a joke-in this version, the pig's the bad guy, but it has a happy ending," Frank explained.

She shot him a dubious look. Olivia wasn't one to suffer fools gladly.

"What kind of books did Mary Pat read to you?"

Olivia's eyes lit up. "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory-that was a really funny book. It took us a while to finish it, because...because she couldn't come to my house that often."

"What other books did you read?"

"We read Little House on the Prairie. She brought it with her. To my house, I mean." Olivia dropped her eyes. "I'm going to read this book now."

Frank watched her lips move slightly as her stubby finger traced down each page. She seemed so jumpy.

Reaching the end, Olivia shut the book with a snap. "That was stupid."

Frank really liked the book. "I think they're trying to show that it's impossible to keep your enemies locked out, so you're better off making friends with them."

"It don't work like that," Olivia stated in a tone that ended all discussion. She crossed to the window. "There's my uncle. I better go."

Frank watched Olivia walk into the wind toward her uncle's truck. He tensed as he saw Ralph shaking his fist and stamping his foot, obviously irritated that she'd kept him waiting even a minute. If Ralph hit that kid, he'd find his a.s.s in the holding cell. But he simply flung open the pa.s.senger-side door and threw the truck in gear before Olivia could even sit down.

24.

FRANK DIDN'T HAVE LONG TO CONTEMPLATE the Veech family dynamics. A state police patrol car pulled up in front and Lew Meyerson got out. He saw Frank standing in the window and raised his hand. A moment later he was sprawled across an office chair in a most un-Meyerson-like pose.

The lieutenant kneaded his eyes. "This case is driving me crazy."

It wasn't like Lew to come looking for sympathy. Frank sat down behind his desk and put his feet up. "Tell me all about it."

"The FBI has interviewed everyone who has the slightest connection with the Green Tomorrow operation out in Oregon-both opponents and supporters. Everyone can account for their time-no trips to the East Coast, no unexplained absences."

"Could they have hired someone out here to do the job?"

Meyerson shrugged. "You know the kind of lowlifes who sign on to be contract killers. How could someone like that sneak up on Golding early in the morning on a hiking trail and kill him at point-blank range? How could they even know he'd be there?"

"You're right-it seems likely it was someone he knew," Frank agreed. "Have you learned anything more about the organization?"

"A bundle. The FBI auditors have been combing through Green Tomorrow's books. Get this-the IRS no longer cla.s.sifies Green Tomorrow as a tax-exempt nonprofit organization. Because of all their political activism, the IRS considers them a lobbying group. It was an enormous blow to their fund-raising. If you make a contribution to the Sierra Club, you get a tax deduction; if you make a donation to Green Tomorrow, you get squat."

"So how do they stay afloat? Neither Golding nor his wife has any other job."

Meyerson rose and began to pace. "The auditors are trying to follow the money trail. All they'll tell us right now is that it's not coming from the small donations of thousands of individual contributors."