Cover Story

by Brenda Buchanan

  The impact of the crash must have jarred something loose under the hood because when I turned the key all I heard was a click. I wondered how severe the damage was, but Roger wasn’t much for standing around contemplating.

  I retrieved my duffel and computer bag, then climbed into his passenger seat while he set about getting my car secured to tow. He hopped back in the rig, slapped a Toby Keith CD into the dash, lit himself another cigarette and we were off.

  I debated whether to tell Roger about the guy in the Ford. On the plus side, it would explain why my car was in the ditch. But on the minus side, I had no idea who Roger talked to, and I suspected it was my loose lips that led me into trouble. I decided to keep still, letting Roger think I was a cowboy who didn’t have the good sense to go slow on a treacherous road in a blizzard. He wasn’t a big talker himself, so we rode in silence, except for Toby, singing about the perfidy of women and the consolation of booze.

  Roger stopped for gas as we approached Ellsworth. It was five o’clock and my cell phone showed a strong signal and a dying battery. I grabbed the chance to make two quick phone calls. First to Emma, who answered on the second ring. I told her I’d been in an accident and was unhurt, but at the moment my car wasn’t drivable. I asked if she knew where I might rent a car.

  “I have a better idea, which is for you to come to my house and wait out the storm. It’ll take me about forty-five minutes to get to downtown Ellsworth, so sit tight.”

  “I don’t want you to risk your neck.”

  “I got home less than an hour ago and the roads between downtown Ellsworth and my house were in pretty decent shape,” she said. “I’m coming to get you. No argument, okay? Call me if you’re going to be anyplace other than the Subaru dealer.”

  My second call was to Christie, who wasn’t home. While listening to the message on her answering machine I wondered where the heck she and Theo could be in the middle of a snowstorm.

  “It’s Joe, calling in from Ellsworth, where I’ve hit a little snag.” I used as lighthearted a voice as I could muster. “My cell phone is about out of juice, so I might not be reachable at this number. I’m fine, though a bit delayed. Don’t worry.”

  Roger climbed back into the wrecker and lit yet another cigarette. He told me a guy inside the store said the storm was going to dump two feet of snow before it steamed off to Nova Scotia.

  “Gonna be a long night.” He seemed cheered by the prospect of padding his bank account with money from crazy drivers like me. “Maybe two.” He promised to check on the station wagon I’d told him I’d seen outside of Cherryfield, its nose jammed into a snowbank. “Heading back there anyway,” he said. “Always plenty of winch work on the Black Woods Road.”

  Without being reminded, Roger detoured past a free-standing ATM in the parking lot of an Ellsworth shopping center before we went to the Subaru dealership, which was locked up for the night.

  “Somebody going to pick you up?” Roger was readying himself to climb out into the snow to unhook my car from the back of his wrecker.

  “Yeah, a friend will be here in a few minutes. I can climb inside my car and wait.”

  Having done his duty to make sure I wasn’t planning to sleep in my car—which no doubt would result in me freezing to death—Roger climbed down out of the warm cab and did his thing with the cables. Moments later he was back at the door, reaching in to hit the button that eased my car onto the ground.

  I dug a sheet of paper out of my backpack and wrote a note to stick on the dashboard so the Subaru dealer would know why there was a silver wagon with a snow-stuffed grille sitting on the lot. I added my cell phone number under my name and, to be on the safe side, added Emma’s home phone, too.

  I handed Roger his fee and a twenty-five-dollar tip and we shook hands before he took off.

  “Hope it turns out for ya.” He saluted me with his left hand as he pulled himself up into the driver’s seat and wheeled away.

  Hunching my shoulders in the howling wind, I brushed the snow off the windshield and dug an old army surplus blanket out of the hatch. Wrapping it around my shoulders, I sat inside the frigid metal and glass box and watched the snow blow sideways for the ten minutes it took for the windshield to be covered again. When I shifted in my seat, I realized my snow-soaked pants, which had thawed in the warmth of Roger’s truck, were in the process of stiffening up again.

  I slouched in the front seat, and tried to put it together. Was the guy in the Ford connected to whoever was following me around Machias? It seemed likely. The deputy’s words weren’t as harsh, but the essential message was the same. Stop bein’ an asshole, Gale.

  Afraid I wouldn’t see Emma when she arrived, and she wouldn’t see me, I climbed out into the storm and cleared the windows again. When I got back inside my watch said 6:00 p.m. Emma was fifteen minutes beyond her ETA. I hoped to hell she hadn’t slid off the road or gotten stuck in a drift. The next ten minutes seemed like two hours. By the time headlights penetrated the darkness and driving snow, I was so chilled I was shaking. I climbed out of my car and she saw me before I could wave. I was hobbling more than walking, as cold as I could remember having been in my entire life.

  She skidded her CR-V next to me and jumped out. “Are you okay?” She put her arm around my back.

  My voice was a low stutter. “Need to get warm.”

  She guided me to the passenger side of her car. “Get in and tell me what you want out of your car and I’ll get it.”

  With her help I maneuvered my stiff limbs into the passenger seat. My shakes intensified when she was retrieving my bags. The heat was on full blast, but the warmth didn’t penetrate. I must have looked like a blue-lipped kid who’d stayed in the ocean too long, which scared the shit out of Emma.

  “I’m taking you to the Emergency Room. I’m guessing you’re hypothermic.”

  “No hospital.” My tone was more forceful than I intended. “All I need is to get out of these frozen clothes. My boots are insulated. I kept my head warm and my fingers, too. My pants got soaked when I was climbing around in the snow, and froze to my body. I can change into dry clothes at your house.”

  Emma studied me, her eyes wary. “Okay. You’re a big boy.”

  She took it slow, merging from the unplowed parking lot to the barely cleared road.

  “Sorry it took me so long to get here. The town plow came by and blocked the end of my driveway, so I had to shovel myself out. I’ll get us home as fast as I can.”

  Traffic was light, which was a good thing because the snow was still heavy, and the wind was whipping it across the road. Emma kept the wipers on high and refrained from asking me what happened, either because she needed to concentrate on her driving or she sensed I didn’t want to talk about it yet. Despite the fact the heater ran on high all the way to her house, I never got warm, not even a little bit.

  Ten miles out of Ellsworth Emma made a few turns then drove right up to the covered front porch of a cedar-shingled Cape. I stumbled out and made for the lit-up house, shuffling like an old man doing laps on a nursing home corridor. She helped me up the stairs and led me inside where an open room was organized around a big woodstove, a robust fire visible through its glass door.

  Emma pointed me to a doorway that opened to the left. “Take your pants off—now.”

  “Happy to oblige.” I was so grateful to be indoors I was giddy. “Not an order I’ll refuse.”

  The room held a quilt-covered bed and an antique dresser. Unbuckling my belt, I peeled off my frozen corduroys. I left on my hat and parka. By the time Emma came in with my bags I’d hobbled into the living room and stood shivering in front of the woodstove in my boxers, being watched by a big orange cat.

  “Nice legs,” she said.

  “I’m sure they’ll regain sensation any time now. Right now they could be made of wood, for all I can tell.”


  “Sally’s intrigued.” She reached over and hoisted the tabby into her arms. “Joe, meet Mustang Sally.” She stroked the big cat’s head. “Sal likes to be introduced by her formal name.”

  “Mustang Sally?” I hummed the opening bars.

  “That’s her song.”

  Sally blinked her big green eyes in my direction.

  “Do you want to take a warm shower? The water will sting a little bit at first, but it’ll help warm up your core.”

  “Good idea.” I picked my bag off the floor. “When I get out, I’ve got a story to tell you.”

  “Deal,” she said. “You hungry?”

  “I could eat the cushions off your couch.”

  “Luckily, you won’t have to.” She handed me a set of thick green towels and pointed me toward the bathroom.

  The sensation of warm water on my frozen skin felt like a thousand needle sticks. The pain subsided after a couple of minutes and soon I was luxuriating in the warm spray behind her brightly striped shower curtain, soaping up my body and breathing in the steam. No ringing of the telephone penetrated my little bubble, but when I turned off the shower Emma’s voice was audible through the door. The murmur of her voice and laugh continued while I toweled my hair dry and rooted through my duffel for cleanish clothes. Her preoccupation gave me cover to scope out the bathroom for evidence of a boyfriend. I found nothing. No razor or shaving cream in the medicine cabinet. No guy deodorant. No man-sized sweatpants or undershirts hanging from the pegs on the back of the door.

  When I emerged from the bathroom wearing jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, Emma was in the kitchen. She handed me a plate loaded with bread, cheese, salami and olives and pointed me toward a pair of Morris chairs in front of the woodstove. Mustang Sally jumped into my lap and sniffed at the plate, then maneuvered herself with surprising agility to a spot atop the back cushion, above my head.

  “Your cat likes me,” I said.

  “She’s a shameless flirt.” Emma laughed and settled herself in the chair next to mine. “Women. Men. She’s not particular.”

  I reached up and stroked the cat’s fur.

  “You ready to tell me about the accident?” Emma pulled her chair close enough so she could reach over and snag some bread and cheese from the plate.

  “It wasn’t an accident. It was deliberate.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “A guy who skids into you and knocks you into a snow bank by mistake? He makes sure you aren’t hurt and offers to help get the car back on the road,” I said. “And he usually doesn’t know your name. The guy who drove me into the ditch? The bastard didn’t skid into me, he forced me off the road, and he knew exactly who I was.”

  I described the scene from the big dark Ford’s first smack into my bumper until my assailant drove off into the night, the echo of his words still ringing in the air.

  “Have you called the police yet?”

  “No, and I’m not going to.” I chewed a piece of cheddar. “The deputy who pulled me over last night told me I was being watched, that someone was monitoring my conversations. Today I get run off the road. I believe the O’Rourkes—or someone they enlisted—are behind it, which means the cops aren’t going to touch it.”

  “Do you really believe the O’Rourkes hired someone to force you into the ditch?”

  I ate another bite of bread and cheese. “Putting together everything I know about the Speaker, it fits. He’s a control freak, and this trial is personal for his family. He’s got the power. He’s got the connections. And it seems he’s got some kind of motive.” I watched Emma’s face as she considered this possibility.

  “Well let me give you some more to think about. I’m not sure how what happened to me today fits the picture, but it could be related.” She stood and stretched. “I need to preface this with a little speech, okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Confidentiality is a huge deal for psychologists, and I take my obligations seriously. But personal morality has to inform professional ethics. Given the circumstances in this case, I’m not willing to stand by and watch Corrine’s father be convicted for killing O’Rourke if he didn’t do it. So here’s the deal—I’m going to share my thoughts and my knowledge with you, and trust you to keep your mouth shut about your source.”

  I nodded and made sort of a “humph” noise, not wanting to interrupt her momentum.

  “I’ll never tell you anything Corrine tells me in any sort of conversation that in any way can be construed as a therapeutic session. However, I’ve decided I can tell you other information I come to know in the course of my work on this case, because sharing such information may help Corrine in the long run.”

  I realized this was a negotiation, so I offered what I could. “Your name won’t be connected to anything you tell me. Not to anyone, even my editor.”

  She studied my face before taking the leap. “Today I got fired,” she said. “And then I got rehired.”

  “Come again?”

  “I got to the DHHS office in Ellsworth a few minutes before two. It closed at one because of the snow, but Dorcas was waiting for me. She was jumpy but determined to talk with me, though not at her office.” Emma walked across the room to the wood bin and pulled out a couple of two-foot lengths of birch, one of which she fed into the stove.

  “We decided to go to her house. I followed her in my car. When we got there, she made us some tea, sat me down at her kitchen table and told me she’d had a call this morning telling her to terminate my contract.” She set the other log on the edge of the hearth and went to the bin to get two more.

  “What do you mean she fired you? You finally got Corrine to talk with you.”

  “Right. I’d already told her that. So right after she fired me, she rehired me.”

  “I’m losing you, and haven’t even had a toddy.”

  “You ready for one?” She headed for the kitchen. “Hell, I’ll join you.”

  I got up and followed her, leaning against the counter while she turned the flame on under the kettle. “So she canned you and then she rehired you. I don’t get it.”

  “My contract to work with Corrine—which Dorcas negotiated on behalf of DHHS back in the fall—was terminated on the order of an assistant commissioner named Alec Marengo.”

  “Never heard of him, but I don’t cover state politics.”

  “From what I understand, he’s the classic political appointee, installed at DHHS to do the bidding of the Speaker of the House. He’s an anonymous suit, unless you’re an insider or your head winds up on his chopping block.”

  “And yours did.”

  “Exactly. Dorcas was told today by her supervisor to cancel my contract immediately, because my services were never authorized.” She pulled two oversized mugs out of the cupboard. “As I mentioned a couple of nights ago, I’d never done any work for the state prior to this case. I thought it was kind of odd that I was brought in. But I’ve submitted several invoices over the past few months and they’ve been paid, so I had no reason to think my hiring hadn’t been approved.”

  As the tea kettle began to emit a low moan, she poured a healthy slug of Canadian whisky to each mug.

  “Dorcas said everything was fine until this week when she was contacted by Marengo’s secretary and told to send my treatment summaries to her immediately. She scanned and emailed them to Augusta that afternoon without a second thought.”

  Emma twirled a teaspoon of honey into each mug of whisky.

  “Yesterday afternoon she got an email notifying her about a must-do conference call at eight o’clock this morning. She didn’t lose any sleep over it—figured it was routine. So she was stunned when she dialed in this morning and was raked over the coals about why she hired me to work with Corrine, and was told to give me the boot.”

  “What reason did they give? Fr
om what little you’ve told me, it sounds like Corrine’s an emotional mess. Why would Marengo eliminate a child’s therapeutic support right in the middle of her father’s murder trial?”

  “No points for asking the obvious question. Dorcas said the conference call was bizarre.” When the kettle whistled, she flicked off the gas. “The middle manager who authorized her to hire me seemed to have amnesia. Marengo said I needed to be fired by the end of today. What bugged her most was how uncaring he was about the fact that Corrine’s extremely fragile right now.”

  Emma poured hot water into both mugs and fished a lemon out of a basket on the far side of the counter. Quartering it with two swift strokes, she squeezed the juice into the mugs, gave both toddies a quick stir and handed one to me.

  “So how’d you come to be rehired?” We moved back to the woodstove.

  “That’s the most fascinating part. It wasn’t DHHS that rehired me, but Dorcas herself.” She took a sip of her toddy and set it on the flat wooden arm of her chair. “Because she has the heart and values of a true child advocate, she hired me herself and gave me a check for five hundred bucks written on her personal account as a retainer to bill against.”

  I gave her a look that invited her to keep talking as I sipped my drink and savored the feeling of warm whisky racing through my body.

  She leaned forward in her chair and took a deep breath. “Here’s what I think happened. The treatment summaries I sent to Dorcas, which Dorcas passed on to Marengo, were unexpurgated reports of my work with Corrine. Not the kind of sketchy notes I typically send to an insurance company. I sent her everything.”

  “And that freaked somebody out.” I pictured Eddie O’Rourke, the man to whom Marengo was beholden.

  “Something I wrote must have touched a nerve. So when the word came down from on high to get me away from the case—away from Corrine—that bothered Dorcas.”

  She took another sip of her toddy and laid her head back against the Morris chair.

  “I didn’t know this until today, but Dorcas was hired as the district supervisor about six months ago. Before that she worked in Pennsylvania. So she never met Frank O’Rourke. After this morning’s call she asked some questions around the office and got an earful.”