it tonight.”
“I’m not going anywhere special, but I’ll still wear it.”
“You have somewhere to go now. Lucy is dying to meet you, so I thought I’d make us a nice home-cooked dinner. Do you like Italian food?”
Grace laughed. “Are you kidding? That’s my favorite kind.”
“Then you’re in luck, because I make the best lasagna this side of Napoli.” She fitted the narrow box with a lid and handed it to Grace with a flourish. “Seven o’clock. Our house is on Bridge Street, a couple of blocks from the gallery. You can’t miss it. It’s the blue Colonial with the American flag out on the front yard. Come hungry.”
Nine
Duke Ridgeway had to be close to eighty by now, but the years didn’t seem to have slowed him one bit. After Pat’s Pub, New Hope Hardware was the busiest place in town, and Duke, who had owned the store for the last forty years, ran it like a finely tuned machine. Born and raised in Bucks County, he was a respected businessman and a fair and incorruptible member of the planning board.
“Well, if it isn’t little Matty,” he said, adopting the nickname only Matt’s father and his sister used from time to time. He made change for a customer, thanked him and closed the cash register. “How are you, my boy?”
“Not too bad. What about you, Duke?”
“Ah.” He made a disgusted gesture. “The old leg is starting to let me down.” He scratched his head, pretending to be puzzled. “You don’t suppose I’m getting old, do you?”
“You? Never. Besides, age is only a piece of paper.”
Duke laughed. “I’ll remember that. How’s your pop holding up?”
“Pretty good, considering.”
“You’ve got to get him out of that cage, Matty. It ain’t fair him being there.”
“I’m trying, Duke. In fact, that’s why I’m here. I was hoping you could help me with something.”
“I’ll do what I can, you know that, but if there was a way for me to clear your daddy, I’d have done so by now.”
“I know that, but something came up during a conversation with my father that still puzzles me. I’d have asked Buzz, but I understand that he won’t be back until the end of the week.”
Duke nodded. “He’s thinking of moving to the midwest.” He slid a cardboard ad for latex paint to the end of the counter. “So what brings you by, son?”
“You remember that application for the development of Buzz’s farm?”
“You bet I do. Kept us in session for months.”
“Do you have any idea why Steven opposed it so much?”
“Mostly because of the increase in taxes New Hope would have to shoulder. Now mind you, the developer presented a good case. He explained how self-sufficient that community was going to be, the economic growth for local businesses, a regulated traffic pattern and a homeowner association that would pay for many of the services the residents would need.”
“That didn’t satisfy Steven?”
“It wasn’t just Steven. A couple of other members agreed with him. When the developer failed to explain how he could keep the children from playing in the detention basins, Steven started getting a lot of support. Soon the entire town was determined to keep the developers away. From the way everyone was talking, you’d have thought there was gold buried in those woods.”
“Was the vote unanimous?”
“Not quite. I voted yes and so did Mel Frisk.”
“Was there any bad blood between Steven and Buzz? Or Steven and the developer?”
“Nobody knew the developer until he came to town, and as far as I know there was no bad blood between Steven and Buzz before then, but you can bet your last dollar that there was after that. Buzz hated his guts.”
He removed his glasses and started to wipe them with a corner of his flannel shirt. “You don’t think Buzz shot him, do you? Because I’ll tell you right now, Buzz could no more kill another human being than your pop could.”
“I know. I’m just trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.” He watched Duke put his glasses back on. “How did Steven get along with the other planning board members?”
“Good. I was the only one he socialized with, but they liked him okay. He was smart. Came to the meetings on time, didn’t talk down to people and expressed himself well. I know what some of the townspeople are saying about him, and maybe some of it is true, but as far as I’m concerned, he was just a good guy trying to fit in.”
“He didn’t flirt with some of the wives?”
Duke let out a hearty laugh. “Now, I don’t mean to be disrespectful of my fellow board members, but I can tell you that they had nothing to worry about. Steven wouldn’t have given any of those ladies a second look if they had been the last females on earth—and if you repeat that to anybody, I’ll call you a liar.”
Matt laughed. “It will be our secret.” A customer walked in and Matt stuck out his hand. “Thanks a lot, Duke. I’ll give your regards to my father.”
“You do that. And be sure to have a little chat with Buzz. He might not feel like talking, because the pain of losing Alma is still so damn raw, but it’s worth a shot.”
Founded in 1893 by Everett J. Anderson, a wealthy mill owner, Anderson College was a private institution that offered a diverse range of degree programs, including a strong art department, which was the reason Lucy had chosen the local college. Located on Route 202, the sprawling campus now boasted more than a thousand students from all walks of life.
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