"I lost my wife two years ago, Meredith. It's strange how your habits start to change."

Meredith's gaze met his. "Yes," she said softly, her mask of perfect composure slipping a bit.

He'd come prepared to quiz her; the tug of empathy he felt surprised him. "I'm impressed at the way you've thrown yourself back into your work. I guess it helps to stay busy."

"Yes, it does." Her briskness returned. "Absolutely the best way to honor Nathan's memory."

He could feel Edwin observing him, probably expected him to make some snide comeback. Instead, Frank said, "There's something I meant to ask at the town meeting the other day, but it ended before I had a chance. I'm a bit of a bird-watcher, myself..." Edwin began coughing. "And I just wondered, how did you folks know about the Bicknell's Thrush being threatened? It's not a very well-known bird."

He thought Meredith hesitated before she answered, but maybe she just had to swallow. "We're in constant communication with other environmental organizations. A group called Species Watch publishes a quarterly report of threatened species worldwide. The Bicknell's Thrush was on it."

"But what made you connect that bird with Raging Rapids?" Frank persisted.

Edwin set his fork down and leaned forward, waiting for the answer. Lucy leaped up. "Meredith, have some more wine. Edwin, is that second bottle open?"

"I have plenty, thanks." Meredith turned to Frank. "I believe one of our supporters in the area pointed it out to Nathan. Once we visited, we could see how damaging the place was to the natural ecosystem on several fronts."

"Who-" Frank began.

"Have some more couscous, Frank." Lucy shoved the bowl into his hands. "Edwin, tell Meredith all you had to go through to get the ingredients for this salad."

Frank backed off. Both Katie and Beth claimed that Nathan had contacted them, not the other way around. Who was this other local supporter? Surely not any of the moms from Katie's nursery school-but no one else local had partic.i.p.ated in the protest. He waited for another opportunity to bring the conversation back to Green Tomorrow, but Lucy kept up a steady stream of chatter about the Inn, the weather, books she had read, movies she would never get to see. Frank had to admire her determination to protect Meredith.

Finally, as Lucy chirped on about remodeling plans, Frank saw his opening. "If you want to see a big building project, you should check out the new Extrom house. Have you been up there, Meredith? All those trucks rumbling up and down the mountain must be scrambling a few thrush eggs. I'm surprised you're not protesting that."

"Frank!" Lucy scolded. "Meredith is our guest. She shouldn't have to defend her position at dinner."

"That's quite all right, Lucy." Meredith turned on her "Meet the Press" smile. "A good question, Frank. Of course we're aware of the Extrom project, and you're right, the construction does have a short-term negative impact on nesting patterns. But we feel that in the long-term, the Extrom house will actually be beneficial to the environment."

"Oh?" Frank sat back. This he wanted to hear.

"You see, the land on Beehive Mountain was owned by five different people, all with hunting cabins or plans to eventually build homes there. Extrom came along and bought them all out at a good price. Now there will just be one home at the top of the mountain, and the rest of the land will be undisturbed. The wildlife will return once the construction is finished. It may not be the ideal situation"-Meredith offered a world-weary smile-"but sometimes you have to compromise."

d.a.m.n, she was good. Enough with gentle lobs over the net; let's see if she could return a spike. "I understand Mr. Extrom made an offer to buy Raging Rapids a while back. Any idea why he'd want it?"

Meredith neatly used her knife to push the last of her couscous onto her fork. "I wouldn't know," she said, meeting Frank's eye without hesitation. "I've never met the man, although I believe Nathan may have spoken to him at one time. Or perhaps it was Barry Sutter, our lawyer."

She had an answer to everything, except when she didn't want to reveal something. Then she fell back on the "only Nathan handled that" routine.

As they settled back with coffee and pie, Meredith turned to him again. "So, Frank, what can you tell me about the investigation into my husband's murder? I get precious little information from the state police, and none from the FBI."

Lucy stopped with the coffeepot poised over Edwin's cup. They all stared at Frank, waiting.

He took his time pouring cream and sugar into his coffee. He wasn't sure how far he could go without bringing Meyerson's wrath down on his head. Well, he could always claim stupidity; Meyerson would have no trouble accepting that.

"They've ruled out a number of suspects," Frank said. "The major players opposing your logging action out in Oregon, Nathan's sons, his ex-wife, you. But I don't think they have a new prime suspect. They seem to be focusing now on the people involved in the Raging Rapids protest. But I don't know...that had hardly gotten under way when he was killed." Frank tapped his spoon lightly on the tablecloth. "Who do you think did it?"

In Frank's experience, the victim's family always had a theory. Sometimes it was right on, even if they lacked solid proof. Other times it was completely irrational. And if the family was involved in some way, it might be intentionally deceptive. But they always had a theory.

Meredith was true to form. "I'm worried," she said. Her face had lost that PR-woman's Teflon confidence. She looked smaller than she had just a few minutes ago. "I made it my mission to raise the profile of Green Tomorrow. To make it a national player in environmental politics. I'm afraid that something I did, something I urged Nathan to say, unintentionally provoked some-some unstable person to..."

She twisted away from the table and bit down on her thumb as two tears coursed slowly down her cheeks. Lucy looked ready to spring into action, but Meredith straightened up and dabbed her face with her napkin.

"I'm sorry. Sometimes I coast along for days, feeling like Nathan's just away on a business trip. And then it hits me that I'm never going to see him again. He's really dead. And maybe I'm responsible."

31.

FRANK TOOK HIS MORNING COFFEE OUT onto the screen porch. It was nippy, but the air carried the comforting smell of hardwood fires from his neighbors' fireplaces. The meadow that ran down to Stony Brook shimmered with goldenrod and asters. Above, as far as he could see, the sky stretched deep blue and cloudless.

He felt thoroughly out of sorts.

He'd meant to have some fun this fall. For the first time in two years he felt like having fun. Paddle through the St. Regis wilderness, climb Giant, maybe take the boys on that easy hike up Baxter Mountain and show them that blueberries don't come from little plastic baskets.

Instead, he'd let Mary Pat Sheehan and her baby, and all the craziness with Green Tomorrow, consume him. With Caroline avoiding him, he'd had no chance to take the boys out. Now the best days of autumn were already over. The blaze of autumn was so intense here, but it ended so quickly. A few freezing nights, a few big rains, and the show was over. You could still find spots of flaming color in odd, protected areas, but the gray and brown mountaintops told the story: the bleak days of winter were coming fast.

Still, today promised to be glorious. It was Sunday; why shouldn't he take a hike? He was still waiting to hear if Diane Sarens had returned home, but sitting by the phone wouldn't make the call come any faster. And the exercise might clear his mind, help him think straight.

He went inside and pulled out his knapsack and ADK trail guide. Hiking up Noonmark wasn't as tough a climb as Giant, and the guide promised a stunning view at the peak. A big water bottle, a sandwich, some snacks, a compa.s.s, his binoculars, and an extra sweater, and he was ready. He glanced at the phone. Maybe he should call Beth and see if she wanted to come. They'd traded a few awkward voice-mail messages since their night together, but they hadn't seen each other. He decided against it-he needed to relax, and time spent with Beth was a lot of things, but never relaxing.

Only two other cars were parked at the trailhead-that was one advantage of waiting until the tourist frenzy was over. Frank started off briskly, but it wasn't long before his heart thumped and he had to pull off one layer of clothing. He ought to do this more often; clearly his heart and lungs could use the workout.

Pacing himself, he paused more frequently to drink as the trail switched back and forth across the mountain. He reminded himself that this wasn't a race, and started to notice things like the bright orange mushrooms growing on a rotten log and huge holes hammered by woodp.e.c.k.e.rs.

But when he pa.s.sed a spry elderly couple, he couldn't help putting on a little burst of speed. It would be embarra.s.sing if they overtook him at the end. After two hours he was climbing, not walking.

Some young men pa.s.sed him on their way down. "You're almost there-ten more minutes," they said.

Frank thanked them, although he wasn't particularly encouraged. Ten minutes for them probably meant twenty for him. But sooner than antic.i.p.ated, he scrambled across the smooth rock face and pulled himself up the last ten feet to the summit.

A grin spread across his face. The trail guide hadn't lied.

Even in the midday sun, the wind made the summit a good ten degrees colder than the valley. He pulled on his extra sweater and sat there, taking it in. Peak after peak rolled away into a purplish haze, the distant glimmer of Round Point.... This is what the Algonquin must have seen as they hunted these trails and fished these streams, before white men ever suspected what lay on the other side of the Atlantic.

Frank rose and walked to another vantage point. Looking straight down, he could see the signs of civilization, if you wanted to call it that. Tiny, twisting black ribbons of roads. Roofs, a few open fields, a golf course-everything was out in the open now that so many leaves were down. He walked to the south side of the summit and looked out. Closer than seemed possible, he saw the vivid yellow-orange of a backhoe. He pulled out the binoculars, and the distinctive outline of the Extrom house loomed into view. He dropped the binoculars and got his bearings. Yes, Noonmark must have been the large mountain he'd noticed when he'd admired the view from Extrom's place. He looked down into the valley between Extrom's mountain and this one. What he saw made him step backward, and not just because of the dizzying drop.

Below, clearly visible through the bare tree branches, was Raging Rapids: the parking lot already filling up with belching buses, the big green building with the snack shop and the souvenir stand, the catwalks crisscrossing the brook. This would be Extrom's view seven months out of the year.

He must have bought the property impulsively, obviously in the summer or early fall, when the leaves masked the imprint of Raging Rapids on the land. When Extrom saw the problem that lay in his field of vision, he'd done what any rich man would do: He tried to buy it and fix it. He hadn't counted on the stubbornness of Abe Fenstock, hadn't taken into consideration that some people value their way of life more highly than money.

But an entrepreneur like Extrom wouldn't be one to give up easily. He and the Goldings must have crossed paths somewhere along the line, and the scheme to shut down Raging Rapids for environmental reasons was born. After all, Extrom didn't need to own the property-he just needed to get rid of the eye sore on it. A big contribution to Green Tomorrow to accomplish that would be well worth the price.

Frank didn't know if the state police auditors could actually find a paper trail between Extrom and Green Tomorrow, but it hardly mattered. Once he made Extrom's motivations clear to Katie and Beth and anyone else in town who supported closing Raging Rapids, he was quite sure the whole protest would melt away. With no local support, Green Tomorrow would be forced to pack its bags.

Still, one thing troubled him. Understanding why Green Tomorrow had come to Trout Run didn't make it any clearer who had killed Nathan Golding. But that wasn't his problem. Let Meyerson figure it out.

32.

"WHAT ARE YOU HOWLING ABOUT? Calm down-I can't understand a thing you're saying."

"She tricked me! The little b.i.t.c.h tricked me! I should have suspected when she kept stalling about meeting me. Once I talked to her, I could tell what she's trying to do-"

"I don't understand."

"Don't you see? She wanted to find out who placed the ads. She wanted to find out who Mary Pat gave her baby to."

"Why?"

"She's playing detective or something. Oh, my G.o.d! We're screwed! It's all over...."

"Maybe she thinks there's money in it for her. She's still there with you?"

"Yes, but-"

"Get a grip on yourself and do as I say."

"Okay, but you have my message? You'll tell her to call me as soon as she gets in, right?" Earl hung up and looked out the window. He picked up a few files from his desk and approached the file cabinet.

The phone rang, and he lunged for it. "It's for you." He handed the phone over to Frank and resumed pacing around the office.

Frank finished his call and hung up. "What's wrong with you? You're as jumpy as a cat."

"Nothing."

"Look, Earl, I can see you're waiting for a call from Melanie. If you've had some squabble with her, you can't let it affect your work."

"I'm sorry." Earl made a great show of typing a report, but when the phone rang again, he leaped for it.

"All right. Yes, we'll look into it."

Frank looked at him inquiringly.

"A car's been sitting at the Cascade trailhead for four days. Looks like it might be abandoned," Earl explained after hanging up.

"So, what are you waiting for? Go check on it."

Earl looking longingly at the phone. "Do I have to?"

"Earl, if you think you're going to sit around here all day waiting for a girl to call you-"

"It's not what you think, Frank! We didn't have a fight. I'm worried about her. She hasn't shown up for work yet and-"

"Christ, Earl, don't be up her b.u.t.t like that. You can't be checking on her constantly. Let her live her life, and you live yours. Now go see about that abandoned vehicle."

Frank turned back to his paperwork, but he didn't hear Earl moving. He looked up. Earl stood rooted at the door, the expression on his face not heartbreak or despair, but pure fear.

"What's wrong?" Frank asked, more gently now.

"I think we did a really stupid thing. I think Melanie and Diane could both be in terrible trouble, and it's my fault."

Earl had Frank's full attention now. He came and sat across from his boss. "I did what you always tell me not to do," Earl confessed. "I talked to Mel about the case. About how we were trying to get Sheltering Arms to contact us, but it wasn't working. About how we didn't have any young policewomen we could use to pose as a pregnant girl."

Frank rubbed his temples. "And of course she offered to help."

"I told her you'd never let her do it. But then, get this, someone from Sheltering Arms e-mailed her. See, when she told us her friend had answered one of their ads last spring, it really was her. There was no friend."

"I know."

"You do?" Earl's voice rose as he got more agitated. "See, Mel got this e-mail last week asking her if she was still interested in giving up her baby for adoption. It came from a different address from the one she had contacted, but Mel was sure it was the same person."

Frank slammed his fist on the desk. "And you didn't tell me this?"

"I wanted to, but she didn't want you to know that she was the one who'd been pregnant. She said the two of us could follow up on it, and then..." Earl looked about a hair's breadth away from crying.

"And then you'd look like a big shot, and she'd have her five minutes of fame. Jesus Christ, Earl, how could you be so reckless? How could you not share vital information like that with me?"

"Well, why didn't you tell me you knew it was Melanie who answered that ad? If I'd'a known that, I could've convinced her to tell you everything."

"I could see she was lying, but I went along with it because I didn't want to embarra.s.s her."

Earl ran his fingers through his hair. "What are we going to do now? Mel went to meet the person at the park in Verona today."

"Went to a meeting? Don't tell me she stuffed a pillow under her shirt!"

"She had this thing they use on manikins at Sears. Her cousin borrowed it for Halloween-it's pretty realistic. Anyway, she was supposed to call me and let me know who it was, and what they said. But I haven't heard from her since noon."

"What did she say then?"

"She just left a message on my answering machine. She said she met the person, but not to worry because it was-" He paused to regain his composure. "I've played the message over and over and I can't understand the name she said, because she was calling me on that stupid cell phone, and it was breaking up. But after the name, I think she said something about 'over to Harkness Road.' She must have decided to go there."

Frank and Earl tore toward Harkness Road in the patrol car. "Shouldn't we radio the state police for backup?' Earl asked.

"Not yet. We don't know for sure if she's there. And even if she is, she's probably not in actual danger." Frank tried to be rea.s.suring, but he was worried. He'd listened to Melanie's recorded message, and her voice sounded bright and chipper. That led him to believe that Melanie knew the person who'd shown up to meet her at the park, and wasn't afraid. That meant Judy Penniman or Constance Stiler, because Melanie was as mistrustful of the Veeches as everyone else in town. But what about Galloway? Melanie probably knew him in pa.s.sing, and she was conditioned to believe doctors were trustworthy.

Would Judy or Constance or Galloway harm Melanie? How desperate would any of them be to conceal their connection with Sheltering Arms? But why would Mel go out to Harkness Road, now that she knew the ident.i.ty of the person soliciting for Sheltering Arms?

"Where are we going first?" Earl asked.