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СКАЧАТЬ Lincoln followed the punch line with one of his big, hearty laughs.

      As always, his mirth was contagious, and Will chuckled. “And good evening to you, too, Lincoln.”

      DeWitt was a handsome man in his early sixties, with a straight nose, high forehead and a full head of silver hair. But his gut protruded over his belt and there were lines of dissipation around the eyes, a reddened nose, sunken cheeks. Hard living had taken its toll.

      After Lincoln ordered his usual double scotch on the rocks, his gaze drifted to the newspaper Will had spread out in front of him. A deep frown creased his patrician forehead as he stared at the Courier’s back page.

      Will noticed his reaction. “What is it, Linc?”

      The older man grabbed the paper and brought the page that had captured his attention closer. From his vest pocket, he removed reading glasses, put them on and studied the picture. “Where did you get this?”

      “It’s my hometown newspaper. Susanville, New York.”

      “Janice McAndrews,” he muttered.

      “Excuse me?”

      “This woman, this Janice McAndrews,” he said, pointing to the page, still frowning. “This is her obituary. Did you know her?”

      “Janice McAndrews,” Will said, thinking. “Let me see.”

      He peered over Linc’s shoulder and read. There were two pictures, one of a much younger woman—say, twenty years earlier or so—and another more recent one, taken at the age, reported to be fifty-three, when the woman had died of cancer. One survivor, Louise McAndrews, DVM.

      “Oh, yes,” he said, remembering now why the name was familiar. “I knew her daughter. Well, kind of knew her. She was one of my sister’s friends.”

      “Hmm.” And with that, Linc handed the paper back to him, grinning once again. “So, what’s up? Did you interview Gretchen? And does she still disapprove of me?”

      Will wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. “How do you know Janice McAndrews? What is she to you?”

      Linc gave an offhand shrug, that good-time twinkle was back in his eye. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

      “Then why the reaction?”

      “She reminded me of someone, that’s all,” he answered easily. “But I was wrong.”

      “Linc. You’re BSing me.”

      After a momentary pause, during which the older man probably realized he wasn’t going to win this one, he said, “Yeah, I am.” He offered another smirk. “Okay, I think, well—” he winked “—I may have been, shall we say, intimate with the lady? Only that wasn’t her name…I think. I really don’t remember for sure. There were a few years back there in the seventies when I was experimenting with all kinds of potions and mixtures. The whole thing’s kind of fuzzy.”

      “And that’s it? You sure?”

      He splayed his hands. “Hey, I’ve come clean about all the ladies I’ve been with, at least all the ones I remember, haven’t I, Will?” That he had, and the list was long and possibly libelous—the Times’s lawyers would be sharpening their pencils, Will had no doubt.

      “Okay, yeah.”

      So, he’d let it lie. For the moment.

      But Linc’s reaction had been too big for his explanation. Will had a sixth sense for what his interview subjects wanted to hide, and Lincoln DeWitt was hiding something. So later that night, back at his home office, Will had turned on his computer and used Google to search the Internet for Janice McAndrews. He got some references to a classics scholar living in Madrid, several more to a financial adviser based in Chicago. A few single hits referred to school reunions, recipe queries and even more mundane things, but nothing about a Janice McAndrews of Susanville, New York. He might have picked up the phone right then and called Lou, but he knew he would be going home for his sister’s wedding.

      Now, here he was, three days later, sitting at Lady Jamaica’s, across the table from the woman he’d hoped might shed some light on what Lincoln DeWitt was hiding.

      Light had been shed, but Lou herself was completely in the dark.

      “All of us here in Susanville are pretty impressed at how well you’ve done, career-wise,” she said.

      He shrugged, tossed it off. “I’ve been lucky.”

      “Lucky and talented.” She smiled. “Fifteen years climbing the reporter’s career ladder, and now the New York Times. Everyone always thought you’d be the one to take over the Courier. But I guess the wider world outside of Susanville called to you.”

      “That it did.”

      “And how was it?”

      “The world?”

      “Yes.”

      There was a flippant answer Will could have given, but instead he found himself taking the time to actually think about it. A series of images flashed in his mind like slides on a screen: bodies being blown up in Iraq; more blood-soaked corpses strewn over the wreckage of a train crash in Spain; large-eyed, hollow-cheeked, diseased children in Sudan. “It’s pretty rough out there,” he said somberly. “I got burned-out. There’s a lot of pain in the world, and way too much violence.”

      “So I hear.” Compassion shone from her eyes, followed by a soft smile. “And burnout happens to us all.”

      He shifted his attention to her full plate. “Hey,” he said. “Come on, you have to eat something.”

      Lou was surprised by the change of subject, then she too looked down. Will was nearly done with his dinner and she’d hardly touched hers. She took a bite of her garlic bread, but could barely chew it. For weeks, her appetite simply hadn’t been there. It was as though her taste buds had calluses on them. Yes, sir, that new weight-loss gimmick—grief.

      “I’m not very hungry.”

      When their waiter asked if they wanted coffee or dessert, Will looked at Lou and she shook her head. He pointed to her plate. “Wrap that to go and I’ll take the check.”

      When they left the restaurant, night had descended fully, lit faintly by a quarter moon that hung to one side of the church steeple like a dangling earring. Lou took in a deep breath of cool evening air and felt her nausea abating.

      As though echoing her thoughts, Will murmured, “I always forget how much I love the nights here in Susanville. Clean air. No glaring lights to interfere with the stars. Not much traffic or noise. Quiet.”

      “Yes.”

      “Let’s stroll a bit before I take you home.” He carried her packed-up dinner in one hand, so he bent his other arm and, as before, offered it to Lou. “Okay?”

      “Sure.”

      Lou inserted her hand in the crook of his elbow and they walked along, not speaking, their footsteps echoing on the nearly СКАЧАТЬ