was no if, she realized. Only when. She would check his computer and she would leave an electronic trail by doing so. There was no avoiding it. Her gut told her that Jeremy was not involved. With time speeding by, she made her move.
“I have to check something.” She walked as casually as she could to Sullivan’s computer on legs that seemed to have turned to chalk.
Once she had decided to do as Edward had asked, there was no turning back. She sat at his computer and opened File Explorer, scanning the list of recent files. She was aware of Jeremy’s gaze.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked.
“I don’t know. But I’m doing it anyway,” she said.
His eyes rounded, but he said nothing more as he busied himself with the tasks before them, preparing the samples for quality testing.
Meanwhile, she wondered what Dr. Sullivan had been involved in and worried that, whatever it was, she was now also involved. That, alone, was reason enough to explain her trembling, bloodless fingers.
Dr. Sullivan had been a caring boss and a friend. He was…had been a good scientist. If he was the victim of a tragic accident, then none of this mattered. But if something nefarious was afoot, she had tied herself to the railroad tracks. She knew nothing about cloak-and-dagger affairs. She knew science.
And her hypothesis was that Dr. Sullivan had been murdered. Proving that theory might just get her killed.
She continued to scan the alphabetical list of files, fixing on one. A chill danced like a dropped ice cube down her spine, but she opened the file titled Testing Anomalies and scanned the contents.
The state police had given Logan the terrible job of notifying Ursula Sullivan of her husband’s death. The man in charge, Detective Albritton, could not have been clearer that he did not want or need Logan’s help.
Logan had stayed with Mrs. Sullivan until her younger sister arrived and then headed to the office, leaving the two women to collect Ursula’s kids and tell them the terrible news. Logan covered the phones while the state police took care of securing the scene and began their investigation of the hit-and-run. They told him not to give out any information except that there had been a traffic fatality. But most folks calling already knew who and where and how.
No one knew who had hit Dr. Sullivan and left him in the muddy jeep track to bleed out.
And no one asked why. Except him. Why did such a good man have to leave his family?
There was a chiming sound like a child repeatedly hitting the metal panels of one of those rainbow-hued xylophones. His brain played tricks on him. Sound was the worst. The doctors explained that his hearing was perfect but the place where the sound was supposed to be sorted into useful categories was damaged. So he often couldn’t distinguish between a siren and a ringing phone.
He could tell the direction, and that helped. After that he just had to make his best guess. The office phone was easy as it had a flashing red light. His cell phone was more challenging. All the rings and dings and chirps sounded the same, so he didn’t know if he was answering a call, text or message.
He kept waiting to be what he was or what he thought he had been. His doctors said that wasn’t going to happen. There was no going back. Forward was the only option and finding what his doctors called “a new normal.”
But being the village mascot was demoralizing. He lifted his phone, saw nothing on the lock screen and then tried the office phone, which was flashing again.
“Hello. Constable’s office. This is Constable Lynch speaking.”
“Logan, what happened out there on Turax Hollow Road?”
Voices were another challenge. He could no longer distinguish male from female or familiar from stranger. It annoyed people, especially his father.
“There was an accident—” The caller cut him off.
“I know that part. Is Dr. Sullivan dead?”
“The names of those involved won’t be released until after the families are notified.”
“I’m your family, Logan. This is your brother, Connor, who is also village councilman. So tell me what happened.”
“Oh, sorry, Connor.” His problem caused some people to think he was no longer very bright, his brother included. He just wished he could get back to old normal.
“Okay. You’re sorry. Now, what happened?”
Connor was a village official, so he gave him the info. “Dr. Edward Sullivan was struck by a vehicle and died at the scene. Hit-and-run. That’s all I know.”
“Idiots,” muttered Connor, then to Logan, “Who is handling the investigation?”
Not me, thought Logan. “The state police, and I just saw the county sheriff’s vehicle drive past the window. So they’re all out there.” The light of the emergency vehicles drew his gaze from the desktop and the doodles on his blotter that looked like one of Paige’s pale blue eyes, framed with long, dark lashes. He stared through the storefront window of the former video rental place that had been turned hastily into the constable’s office here on Main Street after his position was approved. “EMS vehicle is coming up Raquette Road now.” He could see them reaching the junction of Main. “Seems like all the law enforcement vehicles, too, state police, and I think that’s the mayor’s Subaru. Guess they’re done at the scene.”
“Fabulous. Where are they going?”
“Owen’s,” he said, mentioning both the largest residence and only funeral home in the village.
There was a sound like a ringing or perhaps a song.
“Connor?” His brother did not answer.
Dial tone, he decided and returned the handset to the cradle. Then he stepped out of the office to watch the procession making the turn. The last vehicle was a white SUV driven by the sheriff of Onutake County, Axel Trace, who had not even bothered to check in with the village constable.
Logan stepped out to the street and removed his hat as they passed and came upon Paige’s daughter, Lori Morris, walking from school with her grandmother. With all the excitement, he’d lost track of time. He glanced at his watch and saw it was already a little after three in the afternoon.
He turned to Lori, dressed in a purple polar fleece jacket that added bulk to her thin frame. “How was school?”
Lori looked away from the retreating procession of official vehicles.
“Mr. Garrett got called away so we had Mrs. Unger,” she said and made a face.
Logan joined her, twisting his face as if he were poisoned. Mr. Garrett was Lori’s teacher, and a volunteer with the fire department. He was also a paramedic. And Mrs. Unger had been his primary school principal, as well. She had been universally disliked back then based mainly on her position of authority but also on her tendency to be
