hurt.”
“Me, too.”
In the car, he called Lacy. “I picked out two boxes of files from Andy’s storage and got them sealed, but now I have to go on a call. It will be a while before I can get back to them.”
“I can pick them up,” she said. “If they’re already sealed, it shouldn’t make any difference, should it?”
He debated as he guided his SUV down the rutted dirt road leading away from the storage facility. “Ride out here with Brenda and have her deliver you and the boxes back to your house.” Before she could protest, he added, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t want to give any lawyers the opportunity to object.”
“All right. I’d like to visit with Brenda, anyway.”
“I’ll get back with you to set a time for the two of us to get together,” he said, and ended the call. As much as he wanted to find the person who had killed Andy Stenson, his job wouldn’t allow him to focus all his attention on one case. Right now he had a mess to clean up at the café.
* * *
LACY ENDED THE call from Travis and looked out the front window. The glass company had been out this morning to replace the broken pane and she had a clear view of the street. The car she had noticed earlier was still there—a faded blue sedan that had been parked in front of a vacation cottage three doors down and across the street from her parents’ house. The cottage had a For Sale sign in front, but Lacy was pretty sure no potential buyer had been inside the cottage all this time.
She retrieved her mother’s bird-watching binoculars from the bookcase by the door and returned to the window, training the glasses on the car. A man sat behind the wheel, head bent, attention on the phone in his hand. He was middle-aged, with light brown hair and narrow shoulders. He didn’t look particularly threatening, but then again, looks could be deceiving. And it wasn’t as if it would have taken that much brawn to throw that rock through the window yesterday afternoon.
She shifted the binoculars to the license plate on the car. BRH575. She’d remember the number and think about asking Travis to check it out. He owed her more than a few favors, didn’t he? She had almost mentioned the car to him while they were talking just now, but she didn’t want to give him the idea that she needed him for anything. She didn’t like to think of herself as hardened, but three years in prison had taught her to look out for herself.
She brought the glasses up to the man in the car and gasped as it registered that he had raised his own pair of binoculars and was focused on her. She took two steps back, fairly certain that he couldn’t see her inside the house, but unwilling to take chances. What was he doing out there, watching the house? Watching her? She replaced the binoculars on the shelf and headed toward the back of the house. As she passed her mother’s home office, Jeanette looked up from her computer. A former teacher, she now worked as an online tutor. “Who was that on the phone?” she asked.
Lacy started to lie, but couldn’t think of one that sounded convincing enough. “Travis canceled our meeting to go over Andy’s files,” she said. “He had to go on a call.”
“I hope everything’s all right.” Jeanette swiveled her chair around to face her daughter. “You’re okay, working with Travis?” she asked. “I know you don’t have the warmest feelings toward him, and I’ll admit, I had my doubts, too. But when I saw how hard he worked to clear your name...” She compressed her lips, struggling for control. “I really don’t think you’d be standing here right now if it wasn’t for him.”
“I wouldn’t have been in prison in the first place if it wasn’t for him, either,” Lacy said.
Jeanette said nothing, merely gave Lacy a pleading look.
“I’m okay working with him,” Lacy said. “I don’t know how much good going through those old files will do, but I’m willing to help.” She turned away again.
“Where are you going?” her mother asked.
“I thought I’d take a walk.”
“That’s nice.”
Lacy didn’t wait for more, but hurried toward the back door. All the houses on this street backed up to the river, and a public trail ran along the bank. She let herself out the back gate and followed this trail up past four houses, then slipped alongside the fourth house, crossed the street behind the blue sedan, and walked up to the passenger side of the vehicle. The driver had lowered the front windows a few inches, so Lacy leaned in and said, loudly, “What do you think you’re doing, spying on me?”
The man juggled his phone, then dropped it. “You—you startled me!” he gasped.
“I saw you watching me,” Lacy said. “I want to know why.”
“I didn’t want to intrude. I was merely trying to get a feel for the neighborhood, and see how you were doing.”
“Who are you, and why do you care how I’m doing?” She was getting more annoyed with this guy by the second.
“I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself. Alvin Exeter. I’m a writer. I specialize in true-crime stories.” He leaned across the seat and extended his hand toward her.
She ignored the outstretched hand. “I didn’t commit a crime,” she said. “Or don’t you read the papers?”
“No, of course. And that’s what I want to write about,” he said. “I’m planning a book on your wrongful conviction and its aftermath.”
“And you were planning to write about me without telling me?”
“No, no, of course not. I would love to interview you for the book, get your side of the story. I was merely looking for the right opportunity to approach you.”
“Get lost, Mr. Exeter,” she said. “And if you try to write about me, I’ll sue.”
“You could try,” he said. “But you’re a public figure now. I have every right to tell your story, based on court documents, news articles and interviews with anyone associated with you. Though, of course, the story will be more complete if you agree to cooperate with me.”
“No one I know will talk to you,” she said. Though how could she be sure of that, really?
“That’s not true. Sheriff Travis Walker has already agreed to speak with me.”
“Travis is going to talk to you about my case?”
“We have an appointment in a couple days.” Alvin leaned back in his seat, relaxed. “What do you think the public will make of the man who sent you to prison speaking, while you remain silent?”
“I think you can both go to hell,” she said, and turned and walked away. She could feel his eyes on her all the way back to the house, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her turn around. She marched onto the porch and yanked at the door—but of course it was locked, and she didn’t have her key. She had to ring the doorbell and wait for her mother to answer.
“Lacy, where is your key?” Jeanette asked as she followed Lacy into the house.
“I forgot and left it in my room.” Lacy
