She was about halfway there, and had just crested a little hill and was heading down the other side, when she noticed a car stopped at an intersecting road. She tapped the brakes; her little wagon was accelerating as it rolled down the hill and she didn’t want to go too fast. The hill was steeper than she’d thought, however, and the car picked up speed anyway.
She checked the car at the intersection; it was a little white economy model. As she approached, it suddenly pulled out right in front of her.
Her mouth opened in an O and she stamped down on the brake. Realizing she was going to hit the white car, and seeing that the road was clear, she pulled out into the opposite lane. Just then a car appeared from around the curve ahead, coming straight toward her. She flicked on her lights and honked her horn. The white car that had been blocking her lane suddenly jerked forward and sped ahead.
Gripping the steering wheel with shaking hands, Lucy pulled back into her own lane, and proceeded slowly. The oncoming car came abreast of her and slowed to a stop; the driver glared at her angrily.
He thought I was trying to pass the white car, Lucy realized. She signaled for him to roll down the window, anxious to explain the situation, but the driver shook a finger at her and then drove off.
I can’t believe it, she thought angrily. How could he think it was her fault? If she hadn’t been driving carefully, and paying attention, she wouldn’t have been able to avoid that white car. She would never even think of passing on a hill, with a curve ahead. What kind of driver did he think she was? And whatever possessed the driver of the white car to pull onto the road in front of her?
Lucy drove the rest of the way extra carefully, and was still fuming about the near-accident when she turned into the parking lot at the county jail. It sat solidly at the top of a hill in the county complex, just as it had years before when she’d visited Franny Small.* She didn’t like it then, and she liked it even less today. Franny had been confined in the women’s wing, which wasn’t quite as forbidding as the men’s section. As Lucy walked along the wire mesh fence that surrounded the brick building, she looked up and winced, seeing the coils of razor wire gleaming in the sunlight.
Pushing open a heavy door, she found herself in a tiny lobby. It needed to be aired out and smelled unpleasantly of cigarettes. A uniformed guard stood behind a counter topped with a thick sheet of Plexiglas. She leaned forward and spoke into the little round opening.
“I’d like to see Josh Cunningham,” she said.
“Name?” asked the guard. He had white hair and a ruddy complexion, and looked as if he enjoyed spending time with the grandkids.
“Lucy Stone.”
He studied a sheaf of papers attached to a clipboard. “Sorry.” He shook his head sadly. “You’re not on the list.”
“Oh. How do I get on the list?”
“Here—you fill out this application.” He slid an official-looking form through the slot, and nodded encouragingly. “If you’re approved, you’ll be notified in three weeks.”
“Three weeks?” Lucy’s face fell. “Oh, well, I guess it can’t be helped. Can I leave these? Will you see that he gets them?” She raised the shopping bag of letters so the guard could see them.
“What’s in there?”
“Letters from his students.”
“Yeah?” The guard leaned forward and peered in the bag. He stuck his tongue in his cheek and considered. “Listen, lady, are you related to the prisoner?”
“Oh, no—I’m just the mother of one of his students.”
“Are you sure you’re not his sister? Or maybe his cousin?”
“Oh,” said Lucy, catching the guard’s drift. “It just so happens that I am a cousin. Unfortunately, our families were never close and I sometimes forget.”
The guard nodded sympathetically and produced a sign-in sheet. He then instructed her to push open the door next to his window when the buzzer sounded. She did, and found herself in a bare room with a table in the center. The guard met her there and went through her purse, and the bag of letters. He then returned the purse but kept the letters and told her to proceed through another door, into the waiting room. There, she was shocked to see a makeshift nursery, with cribs and toys, set up by a window. It was an oddly human touch in such a stark setting, but it made sense. The prisoner’s wives would naturally bring their children on visiting day. She swallowed hard, and sat down to wait.
Before long, a door opened and she was told she could enter the visiting room. There, she found a row of cubicles containing plastic chairs. The sides were solid metal, painted gray, but the front wall was scratched Plexiglas with a few parallel slits cut into it. A Xeroxed sign was taped to it, warning that there could be absolutely no physical contact with the prisoners.
She chose a cubicle and sat down. A few minutes later Josh Cunningham appeared on the other side of the divider. He didn’t recognize her.
“Who are you?” he asked. He looked thinner than Lucy remembered, and the easy-going attitude was gone. He was tense and anxious, and narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“I’m Lucy Stone—Toby’s mother. He’s in your science class, and you coached my daughter, Elizabeth.”
“Oh.” He sat down. “Lizzy’s Mom. I remember you now. Why are you here?”
“The kids organized a letter-writing campaign. I volunteered to be the postman. The guard took the letters. I think they’re checking them for knives.”
A grin flitted across his face, and vanished. Deep lines had set in around his mouth.
“The kids really miss you,” she said, casting about for something encouraging to say. “They can’t wait for you to come back.”
He snorted. “That’s not very likely, I’m afraid.”
“What do you mean?”
“Even if I get off, which will take some kind of miracle, after all the stuff DeWalt’s been saying about me, I don’t think I’ll have a job. Not for long, anyway.” He looked down at the little counter in front of him.
“You really love teaching, don’t you?”
“It’s been my life.” He looked up at her and she saw that his eyes were brightening. “I know that’s corny, but I love it. When you can give a kid some bit of knowledge, or some skill, you’re empowering them. It’s a great feeling.”
“I know.” She remembered teaching Toby to ride a bicycle, how exhilarated he had been when he could finally pedal all by himself. “It’s scary, too. You’ve got to trust them, that they’ll be responsible.”
“You said it—the DeWalts of this world don’t really trust kids to make their own decisions. That’s why they want the controversial books out of the library, and they don’t want me to teach anything that contradicts the Bible.” He smiled. “And they actually believe that if we don’t have sex education, somehow the kids won’t figure it out themselves.”
Lucy laughed, and Josh joined in.
“You don’t have any alibi or anything?” Lucy asked.
“No. Normally I would have been in school, but thanks to Carol and DeWalt, I was suspended. I had breakfast at Jake’s around seven-thirty, and then I went home. I was alone, but I can’t prove it. And then they found all this phony evidence that I made the bomb. It’s all kind of unbelievable to me. I really don’t get it.” He scratched his head. “The worst part is knowing that I’m innocent, but everybody thinks I’m guilty.”
Lucy remembered the angry driver earlier that morning, and how much she had wanted to tell him that the near-accident wasn’t her fault.
“I know how you feel, a little bit,” she said, wishing she could squeeze his hand or pat his shoulder. “A lot of people know you’re innocent—they believe in you. Really.” She nodded encouragingly. “Don’t give up.”
“I’m not giving up—I’m just trying to be realistic. Based on my experience so far, I don’t have a lot of faith in the criminal justice system.”
“I don’t blame you. But it’s all made-up evidence Carol slapped together.” Lucy paused for a moment. “Why d
id she choose you?”
“I guess because I’m a science teacher. I have the knowledge to make a bomb, if I wanted to.” He paused and added, “Plus the fact that DeWalt was just waiting for an excuse to get rid of me.”
Lucy nodded. “I’d like to help you. If there’s anything I can do…”
“You’ve done a lot, just by visiting and bringing those letters. I’m going to enjoy reading them.” He got up, and the guard who had been observing them opened the door for him. He stepped through, and it clanged shut behind him.
Lucy got up and went to the door. She reached for the knob, only to discover that there wasn’t any. She pushed against the door, assuming it was the swinging kind, but it did not yield. She was locked in, she realized.
She knocked on the door, but nothing happened. She glanced at her watch. It was nearly two, Zoë would be waking up. She tapped her foot impatiently, and banged on the door. Nothing happened. They must have forgotten her. She banged louder, and called out. This wasn’t funny. She wanted to get out of here.
“Hey!” she screamed. “Let me out!”
The door opened.
“It’s about time!” she exclaimed angrily.
“Sorry. Had a little problem in cell block ten,” said the grandfatherly guard. “Did you have a nice visit?”
“Yes, I did. Thank you for letting me in.”
“Now, that’s something I don’t hear too often,” said the guard, giving her a friendly grin.
“I guess it isn’t,” agreed Lucy, waiting for him to buzz open the final door. When it sounded, she yanked it open. She couldn’t wait to get out into the open and breathe the fresh air.
When Lucy got home, she found Toby stretched out on the family room sofa. Bill was sitting in the recliner, with Zoë on his lap. They were all watching cartoons.
Lucy sat down with them, propping her feet on the coffee table.
“How’s Mr. C?” asked Toby.
“He’s okay,” said Lucy. “He was really happy to get the letters.”
“I wish you’d told me,” said Bill, giving Zoë a little bounce. “I could’ve gone. The jail is no place for a woman like you.”
Lucy thought of the cribs and toys. “I didn’t mind,” she said. “How come you’re home so early?”
“Finished up the job.”
“That’s nice.” Lucy felt a little stab of guilt. She wondered if he had something else lined up. If not, they would have to tighten their belts for a while. The money she had paid for the course would have come in handy.
“Any word about that Widemeyer bankruptcy?” she asked.
“I don’t think I’ll ever see that money,” he said.
“Do you want something? I’m going to make some coffee.” Lucy got up.
In the kitchen, she put the kettle on and filled a glass with ginger ale for Toby. Remembering Zoë, she put a little apple juice in a plastic cup for her. Turning to carry them into the family room, she bumped into Bill. He took the drinks out to the kids and returned.
“I thought I’d keep you company,” he said.
Here it comes, she thought, sitting down at the table. He’s out of work, we don’t have any money, and why the hell have I been carrying on with that professor. She looked up at him, expecting the worst.
He was grinning.
“What are you so happy about?”
“I got a call this morning—you know that old farm on Bumps River Road?”
Lucy knew the farm he was talking about. It included an old house plus a barn and assorted outbuildings, all ready to tumble down in the first strong wind.
“Well, some Hollywood movie producer has bought it and wants me to restore it.” Bill’s eyes were bright with excitement.
“Really?” Lucy could hardly believe it.
“Really. He’s going to turn the barn into a screening room.”
“That’s great. When do you start?”
“Yesterday, according to this guy. He wants it to be ready for next summer.” The whistle on the kettle screamed and Bill turned off the stove.
“Wow,” said Lucy, watching as he spooned instant coffee into two cups. “I hope you’re overcharging him shamefully.”
“I’m not working cheap, that’s for sure.” He set the cup down in front of her and sat down beside her at the table.
“I’m so relieved,” confessed Lucy. “I’ve been having second thoughts about spending all that money on my course.”
“Aw, don’t worry about money,” he said, covering her hand with his. “You should leave that to me.”
“I was worried because I thought you were worried.” Lucy looked at her coffee.
“I was worried,” he admitted, “but then I figured there wasn’t much I could do about it. Either there’s work, or there isn’t. Worrying doesn’t change a thing, and it was keeping me from enjoying all the stuff I’ve got. Like you, and the kids.”
“I know I’ve been kind of self-centered lately,” began Lucy.
“I wasn’t very understanding,” admitted Bill, lifting his cup and taking a swallow. “I can see that you’re ready for a change. You need more than the house and the kids. My mom went squirrelly for a few years there, when I went to college. She should have got a job or something but Dad wouldn’t let her. I don’t want to do that to you.”
Lucy leaned her head on his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown,” she said.
“How many times do I have to tell you?” asked Bill, gently stroking her cheek. “The name’s Bill. Bill, not Charlie.”
“Okay, you’re a good man, Bill Stone.”
“That’s better,” he said, bending down to kiss her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Monday morning found Lucy bouncing along in the school bus, wondering what dark masochistic tendency had prompted her to agree to chaperone the eighth-grade field trip to the state university library. Now that she wasn’t working, she had plenty of time to serve as a parent volunteer, just as she used to when Elizabeth was in grade school. But this time she didn’t think Elizabeth was thrilled about having her mother along. Not that it mattered. Lucy had a motive of her own for coming along—she planned to do some research of her own on Carol Crane’s college career.
“Thanks so much for helping out today,” said Mrs. Crowley, the middle school librarian, falling into the seat beside her as the bus turned a corner. “I can’t tell you how much I dread this trip.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s too long—it’s nearly a two-hour drive. The kids are cuckoo by the time we get there.”
“Why do they keep doing it—they go on this trip every year, don’t they?”
“That’s exactly right—it’s a tradition.” Mrs. Crowley rolled her bright blue eyes, which peered at the world over her half-glasses. She wasn’t the sort of woman who bothered much about her appearance. Today she was wearing her usual denim skirt and print blouse, with a cotton sweater thrown over her shoulders. She had put lipstick on her top lip but, distracted, had forgotten the bottom. “It was started back in the forties or fifties by Miss Tilley. Do you know who she is?”
“Of course. Miss Tilley was one of the first people I met when we first moved to Tinker’s Cove. I went to the library, looking for books on remodeling, and she got me hooked on mysteries. But Miss Tilley was never part of the school system,” said Lucy.
“True. But she has a lot of influence and it was her belief that all Tinker’s Cove students should be exposed to a real reference library. So, every year, the entire eighth grade makes this trip to do research for their term papers. At least, that’s what they’re supposed to do—mostly they sneak off and visit friends or older siblings at the college, or hang out at the student union.”
“Why don’t they just go to the Winchester College library? It’s a lot closer.”
“Winchester has a good library, for a small liberal arts college, but it’s simply not in the same league as the state university,” said Mrs. Crowley. “But if there ever was
a year to postpone the trip, this was it.”
“You got off to a rough start,” said Lucy.
“You can say that again,” agreed Mrs. Crowley. “It’s taking longer than usual for the kids to settle down and get focused.”
Lucy nodded thoughtfully. “What did you think of Carol Crane?”
“I didn’t have too much contact with her.”
“How did Josh get involved with her? Was she over at the high school a lot?”
“Not that I know of. The only time I saw her there was the day the superintendent brought her around and introduced her.” Mrs. Crowley leaned closer to Lucy. “That was odd, if you ask me. Josh’s class was in the library, doing research. He didn’t pay much attention to her, he was busy helping a student and just gave her a little nod, but I definitely got the impression that she knew him. She didn’t say anything, though, so maybe I was wrong.”
“That’s funny, isn’t it? I mean, usually if you recognize someone, you reintroduce yourself, don’t you?”
“Well, I do,” said Mrs. Crowley with a little snort. “But Carol seemed to play the game by her own rules.” She paused, and gave Lucy a little smile. “It made me curious, so I did a little research. I discovered they grew up in the same town—Quivet Neck.”
“How did you find that out?”
“Oh, simple. It was in the town report.”
Lucy felt a bit chagrined. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “Did you find anything else out?” she asked.
“Not much. She was making forty-two thousand a year, you know.”
“That’s what I heard,” said Lucy, trying to cross her legs, but finding the space between the seats too narrow. “Can’t they make these buses more comfortable?” she asked as the driver made another turn and she was thrown against Mrs. Crowley. “Sorry,” she apologized as she regained her balance.
“Only ninety more minutes,” said Mrs. Crowley, ducking as a notebook whizzed past her ear. “Okay, guys!” she yelled, jumping to her feet and facing the students. “Settle down. We’ll all be a lot more comfortable if everyone is considerate. I don’t want to issue any detentions, so don’t make me. Okay?”
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