Hanging Hannah by Evan Marshall Page A

8:15 the next morning Jane pulled into the parking lot of the Shady Hills Police Station, a one-story glass-and-brick building about a mile from the village center on Packer Road. Doris was already there; Jane recognized her tan Buick. Doris and Arthur got out of the car as soon as they saw Jane arrive. Jane got out and approached them.
    Arthur was of medium height and of average build. He was a pleasant-looking man, with dark brown hair neatly trimmed and parted on the side, and large hazel eyes. He wore chinos and an olive-colored nylon windbreaker. Doris introduced him to Jane and she took his hand.
    â€œThank you for coming,” he said.
    â€œMy pleasure, Arthur. I’m sure it will be fine.”
    Doris looked at her watch. “It’s almost time. Should we go in?”
    â€œYes, all right.” Jane forced a reassuring smile and led the way to the station entrance. Inside she told the desk sergeant that Arthur was there to see Detective Greenberg.
    While they waited, Doris turned to Jane. “Thanks, Jane. You don’t have to wait with us. We’ll be fine.”
    â€œThat’s all right,” Jane said, but at that moment Greenberg appeared, smiling a small official-looking smile.
    Jane introduced Doris and Arthur.
    â€œThank you, Mrs. Stuart,” Greenberg said. “Arthur, will you come with me, please?”
    Arthur shot Doris an apprehensive glance. She smiled and nodded quickly to reassure him, but her smile disappeared as soon as Arthur had turned to follow Greenberg.
    Jane took Doris’s arm and walked with her out of the building to the parking lot.
    â€œThank you, Jane.”
    â€œMy pleasure, Doris. Would you like to get a cup of coffee or something?”
    â€œNo.” Doris glanced at the police station. “I’ll wait out here until they’re finished. Then I have to drive Arthur to the Senior Center.”
    â€œThere’s a place to wait inside,” Jane suggested.
    â€œNo, I’ll wait in my car.”
    Jane watched Doris walk slowly to the Buick and get in. Doris raised a hand in a halfhearted wave. Jane waved back, got into her own car, and pulled back onto Packer Road, turning left toward the village center and her office.
    When she arrived, Daniel was cursing at the new database again. She dropped some manuscripts she had read last night onto the reject pile on the credenza by the window, then turned to poor Daniel and couldn’t help laughing.
    â€œI’m glad you think this is funny,” he said. “I’m beginning to think you were right. Maybe we should go back to the way things were.”
    She gaped at him. “I wasn’t serious ! We spent thousands of dollars on that program. It will more than—”
    â€œMore than pay for itself, I remember.”
    â€œWhy don’t you let me input some data, or whatever you call what you’re doing?”
    â€œI call what I’m doing getting frustrated.”
    â€œWell, please don’t. It’s not worth it. I can always get the money back.”
    He considered this for a moment, then shook his head. “No, we just need to get comfortable with it.”
    â€œSuit yourself,” she said with a shrug. “Any calls?”
    He smiled slyly. “Holly Griffin about lunch today.”
    Jane groaned. Daniel knew how much Jane disliked Holly, the embodiment of everything Jane hated in an editor. Holly was arrogant yet dumb, far more interested in office politics than in books, completely untrustworthy, and a master brown-noser. But editors weren’t what they once were, Jane often had to remind herself, and if she submitted books only to the editors she respected, she’d be out of business fast. So Jane did submit manuscripts to Holly, manuscripts like Carol Freund’s Relevant Gods . Jane had squeezed a hundred thousand dollars out of Holly—quite a coup for Jane, and for Carol, a former schoolteacher from Northampton,