woman who had been fluttering around the postmaster's wound sobbing into her hands. She was supported by an extremely uncomfortable mayor, who patted at her shoulder ineffectually while repeating, "There, there now, Rebecca. Come on, girl, buck up." He looked at the postmaster. "I'm sorry as hell about this, Richard. Rebecca and I got to talking about the hooraw at the airport yesterday. I thought everybody already knew."
He guided the sobbing woman into a chair and, having discharged his duty, stood back with an air of palpable relief. "I didn't know you folks were that close to poor old Bob. I wouldn't have said, if I'd known." He cast an uneasy look at Rebecca, who was bent over, her face buried in her arms. "I'm just sorry as hell," he repeated.
"That will be all, Greg," the postmaster said, rising to his feet, and Greg shot out of the room as if he'd been fired out of a cannon. To Jim Earl and Liam the postmaster said, "Would you excuse us, please?"
Jim Earl fell all over himself making for the nearest available exit. Liam hesitated.
"Kindly permit me to deal with my family in my own way, officer," the postmaster said.
"Family?" Liam said.
His lips a thin line, Richard Gilbert said, "Rebecca is my wife."
Liam looked at the woman in the chair, who was now rocking back and forth slightly, shrill wail dropped to little moans that came out of her every time she touched the back of the chair. "Of course, Mr. Gilbert," he said. He paused, one hand on the doorknob. "I'm sorry for your loss."
The door closed on the sight on its pneumatic hinge, but before it did, Liam heard Gilbert's voice. "Oh for heaven's sake, Rebecca. Stop making a spectacle of yourself."
Not as grief-stricken as his wife, and not the most loving and comforting spouse, either, Liam thought.
The door closed softly behind him, cutting Rebecca's soft keening off as if someone had thrown a switch.
----
SIX
Seen in sunlight, the town of Newenham rambled across twenty-five square miles of rolling hills, all of which looked alike, with one important difference: they were either on the river, or off it. The roads ranged from the two-lane gravel monstrosity that connected the town with the airport to the narrow streets of downtown that were more patch than pavement to half-lane game trails that ended abruptly at plywood and tar-paper cabins built on the bluff of the river, said bluff usually crumbling beneath them.
That morning Liam made three wrong turns, one that ended on a shaky dock built of oiled piling and worm-eaten planks jutting over the river, one that ended in a minisubdivision of six two-story houses on a perfect circle, all with identical blue vinyl siding, green asphalt shingles, and rooster weather vanes, and a third that would have taken him twenty-five miles south to the small air force base at the end of the road. Fortunately, there was a sign halfway there announcing that he was fifteen miles away from joining up. His father would have loved that.
He turned around and headed grimly back to town, throwing himself on the mercy of the first person he saw, a plump woman driving a Ford Aerostar with five children and a load of groceries in back. She was willing to help but a little distracted. Liam thanked her, drove around a corner, and was flagged down by a man waving vigorously from a parking lot. He remembered it vaguely from Jim Earl's quick and dirty drive-by the day before as the parking lot of one of the local grocery stores. The punks on the porch had vanished, with the exception of the one at present being held firmly in the grip of the man waving Liam down.
Liam muttered something beneath his breath and brought the Blazer to a stop. Through the open window he said, "Was there something I could help you with, sir?"
"There sure as hell is," the man said hotly. "I'm the manager over to NC, and this little brat's buddies know I won't let them into the store, so they been sending him in to steal for them instead." He shook the kid
He guided the sobbing woman into a chair and, having discharged his duty, stood back with an air of palpable relief. "I didn't know you folks were that close to poor old Bob. I wouldn't have said, if I'd known." He cast an uneasy look at Rebecca, who was bent over, her face buried in her arms. "I'm just sorry as hell," he repeated.
"That will be all, Greg," the postmaster said, rising to his feet, and Greg shot out of the room as if he'd been fired out of a cannon. To Jim Earl and Liam the postmaster said, "Would you excuse us, please?"
Jim Earl fell all over himself making for the nearest available exit. Liam hesitated.
"Kindly permit me to deal with my family in my own way, officer," the postmaster said.
"Family?" Liam said.
His lips a thin line, Richard Gilbert said, "Rebecca is my wife."
Liam looked at the woman in the chair, who was now rocking back and forth slightly, shrill wail dropped to little moans that came out of her every time she touched the back of the chair. "Of course, Mr. Gilbert," he said. He paused, one hand on the doorknob. "I'm sorry for your loss."
The door closed on the sight on its pneumatic hinge, but before it did, Liam heard Gilbert's voice. "Oh for heaven's sake, Rebecca. Stop making a spectacle of yourself."
Not as grief-stricken as his wife, and not the most loving and comforting spouse, either, Liam thought.
The door closed softly behind him, cutting Rebecca's soft keening off as if someone had thrown a switch.
----
SIX
Seen in sunlight, the town of Newenham rambled across twenty-five square miles of rolling hills, all of which looked alike, with one important difference: they were either on the river, or off it. The roads ranged from the two-lane gravel monstrosity that connected the town with the airport to the narrow streets of downtown that were more patch than pavement to half-lane game trails that ended abruptly at plywood and tar-paper cabins built on the bluff of the river, said bluff usually crumbling beneath them.
That morning Liam made three wrong turns, one that ended on a shaky dock built of oiled piling and worm-eaten planks jutting over the river, one that ended in a minisubdivision of six two-story houses on a perfect circle, all with identical blue vinyl siding, green asphalt shingles, and rooster weather vanes, and a third that would have taken him twenty-five miles south to the small air force base at the end of the road. Fortunately, there was a sign halfway there announcing that he was fifteen miles away from joining up. His father would have loved that.
He turned around and headed grimly back to town, throwing himself on the mercy of the first person he saw, a plump woman driving a Ford Aerostar with five children and a load of groceries in back. She was willing to help but a little distracted. Liam thanked her, drove around a corner, and was flagged down by a man waving vigorously from a parking lot. He remembered it vaguely from Jim Earl's quick and dirty drive-by the day before as the parking lot of one of the local grocery stores. The punks on the porch had vanished, with the exception of the one at present being held firmly in the grip of the man waving Liam down.
Liam muttered something beneath his breath and brought the Blazer to a stop. Through the open window he said, "Was there something I could help you with, sir?"
"There sure as hell is," the man said hotly. "I'm the manager over to NC, and this little brat's buddies know I won't let them into the store, so they been sending him in to steal for them instead." He shook the kid
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