"What does Meredith Golding have to say about it?"

"Get this-she has a master's degree in some field I can't even p.r.o.nounce, but when the Feds questioned her about the books, she suddenly turned into a bimbo who wouldn't know how to write a check to pay the gas bill. 'I have no idea,' " Meyerson mimicked in a high-pitched voice. " 'My husband handled all that,' or 'You'd have to ask our lawyer, Barry Sutter.' "

"So where does that leave you?" Frank asked.

"Nowhere." Meyerson plopped back down in his chair. "The Feds are pressuring us to come up with more local suspects, now that none of their West Coast possibilities panned out. But we're working in the dark-they won't share much of what they've discovered on the financial end." Lew snorted. "It's cla.s.sified."

"Local suspects? Like who?"

"The Fenstocks, of course. All the women who were at that protest march. All the people who spoke up at that town council meeting."

"Now, wait a minute, no one from around here..." As the words came out of his mouth, Frank knew he sounded just like a Trout Run native and he changed tacks. "Abe Fenstock didn't even know about Green Tomorrow's plans until after Golding was killed," he pointed out.

"So he claims-we'll check on that a little further. And Beth Abercrombie and Katie Petrucci knew the score before Golding was killed. Maybe they're-"

"What? Double agents?"

Meyerson bristled at the sarcasm. "I thought you wanted to help. Guess I was wrong."

Now he and Lew were back to their familiar antagonism.

"I do want to help. But let's follow the most likely leads first. I just..." Was he trying to use his influence to steer Meyerson away from Beth? Ridiculous-she had nothing to hide. Did she?

"I just think," Frank continued, "that we've never gotten to the bottom of what brought Green Tomorrow to Trout Run in the first place. If we could figure that out, we might make progress on who killed Golding."

Lew relaxed a bit and nodded. "You've got a point."

"Doesn't Golding have kids from his first marriage? Are they involved in the organization?"

"Two sons." Lew stood up and bounced on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet. "Daniel, in San Mateo, California, and Neil, an orthodontist in Nyack. Both estranged from the old man."

"Nyack's only four hours away. Did you check him out?" Frank knew that they must have, but Lew tended to reveal more information when he thought he was setting Frank straight.

"Ironclad alibi. Was with his nurse and a steady stream of patients from eight A.M. on. Not enough time to kill Golding and get back to Nyack by eight."

"What did he say about his father's personal life? Maybe this murder has nothing to do with Golding's environmental work."

"Says he hasn't spoken to his father in over a year. I don't think he knows anything."

Maybe not, but Frank had seen Meyerson interviewing suspects, and he felt the trooper had a tendency to charge ahead, trampling any subtle innuendoes. He wouldn't mind talking to Neil Golding himself, and it didn't hurt that Nyack was only twenty-five minutes away from Chappaqua. Following up the lead would give him a very good reason to drop in on Caroline and figure out what the h.e.l.l was going on there.

"Well, I'll keep poking around here," Frank a.s.sured Myerson. "I'll see what I can turn up on why Green Tomorrow's so interested in Raging Rapids."

"Thanks, Frank." Meyerson nodded curtly. "I know I can count on you."

The next day Frank pulled into Caroline's driveway right behind her minivan. Good, that meant she was home, and he was quite sure the boys would be in nursery school. He went up to the back door and raised his hand to knock, but lowered it again as he looked into the house. He could see his daughter standing in profile, holding a mug in her hands and gazing out the kitchen window. He watched her for quite a while; she never drank from the mug or turned her head toward him. Then she rubbed the back of her hand against her cheek, as if brushing away a tear.

He knocked.

Caroline jumped, then smiled as she came to answer the door. At least she looked happy to see him.

"Daddy! What are you doing here?"

He pulled her into a tight embrace, glad that her curly, dark-haired head still fit right under his chin. She returned the hug, but when he didn't let her go, she pulled away and looked at him with her head c.o.c.ked.

"What's wrong?"

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong."

Frank banged his fist on the doorframe. "G.o.dammit, Caroline, don't lie to me. You've been avoiding me and cutting me short on the phone. I know something's wrong. That's why I came down here. You're sick, aren't you? And you don't want to tell me."

"Daddy, don't be silly." Caroline spread her arms. "Look at me-I'm as healthy as a horse."

True, she didn't look ill, but she didn't look great, either. Her face seemed strained and taut, and her pants drooped on her slender hips, like she'd lost weight.

"It's one of the boys, then, isn't it? Something is worrying you, I know it."

"The boys are fine." They faced each other stubbornly, as they had so many times when she'd been a teenager. Frank remembered how she'd once stuck insistently to the story that she was sleeping at a girlfriend's house when he had incontrovertible proof that she'd been drinking and dancing at a club downtown. She didn't crack easily under pressure, so he shamelessly hauled out the parents' personal grenade launcher: guilt.

"This rift between us is killing me, Caroline. I know if your mother were here, you'd be able to tell her. Can't you just tell me? No matter how bad it is, it's better than not knowing."

Immediately she was crying and clinging to him. "Oh, Daddy, I'm sorry," she gasped through her tears. "I just didn't want to worry you. Besides, it's nothing you can help with."

He sat her down at the kitchen table and handed her a box of tissues. "Don't be so sure."

She bristled. "You always think you can fix anything, Daddy. This is different."

He did have a tendency to think he could fix anything, from broken toasters to broken hearts. And Caroline wasn't the first person to find it annoying. He reached out and took her hand. "Tell me. Please."

She wiped her face and looked down at her trembling fingers. "It's Eric. Things aren't working out. We're separated."

He might have known it; he'd never trusted that pompous jerk. "What is it?" he demanded. "Is he running around with another woman?"

Caroline looked up in amazement. "Daddy! Of course not. Eric would never do that."

"Well then, what?"

Caroline shrugged. "We just have different values. He wants me to get rid of my minivan and replace it with some big, stupid SUV. And you know why? Because it's a status symbol. The van embarra.s.ses him."

No one got divorced because they couldn't agree on what car to buy. She wasn't telling him the whole truth. A terrible thought popped into his mind. "He didn't hit you, did he?"

Caroline jumped up from the table. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm telling you, we just can't agree on anything anymore. Like, for instance, he wants the boys to get special tutoring so they'll pa.s.s the test to get into this ritzy private school. Can you imagine anything so insane? They're three years old, for G.o.d's sake."

"Private school? I thought you bought this house because it's so close to that nice elementary school in town."

"Exactly. The public schools here are terrific." Caroline paced around the kitchen, waving her hands as she spoke. "But suddenly Eric says the boys won't get into Harvard if they don't go to the right prep school, and they won't get into the right prep school unless they go to the right kindergarten. It's crazy, and I want no part of it."

Frank happened to agree with his daughter about the SUV and the private school, but surely this wasn't enough to end a marriage. "All married couples have disagreements, honey. Maybe you should see a marriage counselor."

"I found a wonderful counselor. We went once, and Eric said he didn't like her and wouldn't go again."

"So you're divorcing him?" Frank couldn't keep the disapproval out of his voice.

"It's not the car and the school, per se," Caroline tossed the wild tumble of curls out of her eyes. "They're symbolic. It just shows how far apart we've grown."

Oh, symbolism. Now they were wading into deep water. All he knew was that his grandsons were about to become statistics, part of the fifty percent of children brought up in a broken home. And he didn't like the symbolism of that, not one little bit.

He studied his daughter silently as she stormed around the kitchen, collecting sticky cups and spoons and slamming them into the dishwasher. All her life he'd tried to protect her from her own headstrong impulses, rarely with any success. He'd lectured and threatened and cajoled, but she'd always had to make her own mistakes before she learned anything. He supposed she'd inherited that from him. He didn't want to sit back and watch her make this mistake, but he didn't know how to stop her.

He wanted to deliver a sermon about the sanct.i.ty of marriage vows, the necessity of commitment, the obligation she bore to her sons.

"Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?"

The anger drained out of her and she stood before him with her head hanging. "I didn't want to disappoint you. You've always been so proud of me. I've never screwed up like this before. And you and Mom had the perfect marriage-I never thought it would be so hard."

It was true; she had led a charmed life. Even when he'd thought she'd fail, she hadn't. He rose and held her in his arms, rubbing her back like he used to when she was a child. Eventually he began to tell her a story. A story about another young woman who had made a mistake, and hadn't wanted her parents to know. Another girl who hadn't wanted to disappoint the parents she loved, and had paid the ultimate price.

Caroline pulled away and dried her eyes. "Oh, Daddy, that's so sad. What would you have done if I'd gotten pregnant when I was single?"

"We would have supported you in whatever decision you made: keep the baby, give it up, have an abortion. Just like I'll support you now, whatever you decide."

She smiled at him shakily. "But you do have an opinion."

"I think you should try a little harder. Find a different marriage counselor. Keep working at the problems."

Her eyes welled up again. "I don't think it will do any good. I'm not sure I love Eric anymore."

"Your mother wasn't sure she loved me, but she stuck with me."

"Oh, Daddy, Mom adored you and you know it."

"Sure, all the time you can remember. But our early days were rough. We got married too young, had you too soon, never had enough money. I was always working, or in school. I remember your mother looking me in the eye and saying those very words. 'I'm not sure I love you anymore.' "

He had her hooked now. "What did you do?"

"Luckily, we were too overwhelmed to start a divorce, and eventually things got better. I finished my degree; she started to teach. We had more money. Most of all, we each stopped trying to win every argument." Frank studied the pepper mill he'd picked up from the table. "I guess when all the other stuff dropped away, your mom decided she loved me after all. Thank G.o.d."

Cautiously he looked up.

Caroline's eyes blinked rapidly. "I love you, too."

25.

FRANK DROVE THE FIFTEEN MILES between Caroline's house and Neil Golding's, loudly singing his favorite old hymns.

"Sometimes I get discouraged, and think my life's in vain; But then the Holy Spirit restores my faith ag-a-i-n."

The stone that had weighed his heart for these last few months had crumbled. Not that he didn't worry about this crisis in Caroline's marriage. But now he had a focus for his worry, instead of being plagued by constant uncertainty. And now he knew the problem wasn't him.

"There is a balm in Gilead to soothe the sin-sick soul," he sang as he swung around bends in the road leading through the prosperous town. "Balm in Gilead" was the song that had brought him and Estelle together. She had heard him harmonizing on the tenor line as he sat behind her in church. She'd turned around and smiled. And the rest was history.

Estelle hadn't learned until much later that he'd only gone to church that Sunday to finagle an introduction to her. By that time she'd taken him on as a project, trying to train his voice and tame his ornery disposition. The poor woman hadn't had much luck with either, but she'd never stopped trying.

Frank reached a crossroads and took a left toward Nyack. Neil Golding had been quite friendly on the phone yesterday, almost as if he were hoping someone else in law enforcement would come to talk to him. In a few minutes Frank pulled into the circular drive in front of Golding's McMansion. He rang the bell and listened as the Westminster chimes echoed out to him. A man in his early thirties soon opened the door and ushered him into a cavernous, completely empty foyer. Through an archway Frank could see a preschooler gleefully riding a plastic trike on the polished hardwood floor of what would have been the formal living room, had it contained any furniture.

Neil Golding followed Frank's glance. "We let Joshua ride in there. After all, it's his house, too. Come on back here-I'll get you a soda."

Frank followed him to the rear of the huge house. Neil seemed awfully chipper for a man whose father had recently been murdered. They settled themselves on plush sofas in the family room. Toys encroached from every side-dolls and trucks galore, stacks of videos, bins of art supplies, a miniature kitchen, a tool bench, basketball hoop, and even a child-sized doctor's office.

Frank pulled out a GI Joe that poked him from behind a cushion. "This is quite a set-up you've got here."

"I know it's too much," Neil said. "My wife yells at me. But I want Josh to have everything I missed out on as a kid. My brother and I never had anything to play with but wooden blocks and this awful, homemade play-dough my mother used to mix up."

"Why's that?"

The floodgates opened. Probably Neil Golding's wife and friends were sick of hearing about his deprived childhood, but Frank was a fresh audience. He couldn't have shut Golding up if he'd tried. He heard about how Golding and his brother had been forced to attend a dangerous urban public school to show solidarity with the undercla.s.s, and had been denied every simple pleasure of American childhood, from Gilligan's Island reruns and Wonder Bread to Little League and Juicy Fruit gum.

Neil Golding leaned forward, breathless with his recitation of injustice. "Once, my little brother Danny wanted this stuffed dog. He looked at it every day in the window of a store on our block. A gentle, soft, cuddly puppy-what could be wrong with that? So my mother bought it for him for his birthday. When Danny opened it, he was so excited. And my dad took it away from him and returned it to the store. You know why?"

No choice but to bite. "Why?"

"Because it was made in China. The factory probably exploited its workers. That was my father-you couldn't f.u.c.kin' win with him. I've never forgiven him for that. And for what he did to my mother."

This was getting closer to the mark. "What was that?"

"For twenty years, she did his bidding-living in that crummy apartment in Red Hook, working in the Green Tomorrow office without pay. And how did he repay her? He dumped her for that b.i.t.c.h, Meredith."

"How did he meet her?"

"She was a Green Tomorrow volunteer, just like all the others. He'd had affairs before. My mother knew about them, but they always blew over. But not Meredith-she got him by the b.a.l.l.s. I don't know what she has, but for the first time in his life, my father was in the pa.s.senger seat and Meredith was behind the wheel."

"Well, she is attractive, and she seems like she might come from money, no?"

Neil snorted. "Pretty, rich girls from Va.s.sar and Smith were my father's stock-in-trade. No, I think it was because she's an even bigger bulls.h.i.t artist than he was.

"When he met her, he was just about burned out. He'd been doing this environmental protest gig for two decades, and what did he have to show for it? Everyone recycles their soda cans, meanwhile, the planet's burning up. Meredith came along with all these ideas for flashy, symbolic campaigns to get media attention and raise money. She breathed new life into Green Tomorrow, and she convinced my father that he couldn't get along without her."

"You seem to know all about it. I thought you were estranged from your father?"

"When I was in college, I used to work in the Green Tomorrow office in the summers." Neil rolled his eyes. "It was the family business. So I was there when Meredith first came on the scene. After he left my mother, I didn't speak to him for over two years. But when I started dating Robin, my wife, she thought I should try to patch things up." Neil sighed. "She comes from a nice, normal family-she just didn't understand.