Helen left Jack to wait for her in the limo, where he was happily playing video games on his phone. She'd also left her cane behind, so her weakness wouldn't be the first thing her new attorney noticed about her.
The small reception area was unoccupied. To Helen's right were a couple leather-upholstered arm chairs that had all seen better days and a faded plaid sofa on the adjoining wall. Directly in front of her, its back to the third wall, was a heavy wood desk that was just large enough to hold the bare minimum needed for a receptionist: multi-line telephone, clunky computer monitor, keyboard, mouse, and phone-message pad.
The chair behind the desk was unoccupied, the computer wasn't humming, and the phone console didn't have a single line lit up. The surface of the desk was so tidy it looked abandoned, rather than temporarily unoccupied while the receptionist went to lunch. Helen looked closer and noticed a light coating of dust on everything.
A loud thump off to her left startled her. She turned to explain that she wasn't snooping or stealing, but had just been looking for some indication that the office was occupied, so she could arrange a consultation. There was no one to explain to, though. No one in the room except herself.
Next came the softer, more protracted sound of a box being slid along carpeting. Helen followed the noise down the hallway that led out of the reception area, hoping that no stairs would be required. Finally, she came to an open doorway. Inside the room, a tall, lean man in a dark blue t-shirt and faded jeans stood with his back to her, emptying desk drawers into moving boxes.
She knocked on his door, and he looked over his shoulder at her. "What can I do for you?"
"I'd like to talk to a lawyer."
"I was one," he said. "The name's Tate. But I'm retired now, so you want to talk to my nephew Adam Bancroft."
He didn't look old enough to be retired. There was a bit of gray in his hair, but he couldn't be any older than she was. Of course, that didn't mean anything; her career was over too. "If you're retired, why is your name still on the sign?"
"Tradition." He pulled another thick pile of papers out of a drawer and tossed them into the remaining space in the box on top of the desk.
"False advertising," Helen said.
"Whatever." He sealed the top of the box. "I'm no longer in the business of arguing, and I never did it unless I was paid. You should talk to my nephew. He's at a closing right now, but he should be back soon."
This whole thing had been a mistake. She should have taken the time to do some real research on the local legal community, instead of coming here on a whim. "It's not that important."
"Interesting." Tate stopped packing and turned to face Helen, leaning back against the desk and peering at her suspiciously. "In my experience, by the time a client gets around to talking to a lawyer, it's already a crisis, not something that can wait. Why don't you tell me what you think isn't so important? If it's that simple, I can probably answer your question right now. If not, I'll pass it on to my nephew for you. He's looking for new clients."
"I'm not ready to hire an attorney yet," Helen said. "I'm just at the point of interviewing candidates."
"One surprise after another." Tate folded his arms over his chest. "Twenty years in practice, and I've never had a client interview me before."
"Who would make an important decision like hiring a lawyer without first getting some background information?"
"Pretty much everyone," Tate said. "They just pick a name at random from the phone book."
"Not terribly businesslike." But, she had to admit, probably no worse than choosing a lawyer based on a stranger's recommendation.
"You're a businesswoman, then?" he said. "And you need a business lawyer?"
"More a general practitioner, I think."
"My nephew's the right person for that. He does corporate, real estate, and probate work." Tate reached behind him to grab a sticky note and pen, clearly no longer intrigued by her situation. "Want me to leave him a message to call you?"
"It really isn't that important."
"At least tell me your name."
Helen opened her mouth to snap at him, to let him know she didn't think that was funny. And then she realized he wasn't joking. For the last twenty years, it had seemed as if everyone had known, if not her first name, at least her last name and her status as first lady of the state. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had to introduce herself to someone who didn't already know who she was, at least in relation to her husband and his political status.
She'd wanted to stand on her own, and now she could. If a prominent local attorney didn't recognize her face, her newly official name wasn't likely to enlighten him, since only the most avid state-politics junkie would connect her maiden name with that of the governor's ex-wife.
"I'm Helen Binney."
She watched him carefully, but Tate wrote down her name with no indication he considered her anything other than the average woman on the street. It was just what she'd wanted, but not as satisfying as she'd expected it would be.
Helen checked her watch. She'd been gone less than thirty minutes so far, probably not long enough for her babysitter to run out of soda. Besides, Helen had already paid for the next ninety minutes of limousine rental. Might as well get her money's worth. "You said business law is your nephew's specialty. What's yours?"
"These days, it's woodworking," Tate said, reaching for another box and throwing things into it at random. "Before I retired, I did criminal defense work and general litigation."
"I don't need a criminal defense lawyer, and I can't imagine I ever will."
"You never know," Tate didn't pause in his packing. "I'm the best around here."
"You might have been once," Helen said. "But you're retired now."
He spared her a glance. "I'd be willing to come out of retirement for an interesting case."
"Like what?"
"The right homicide might do it." Tate closed the box and gave it a push toward the doorway. "There hasn't been an interesting murder around here in decades."
"I'll keep that in mind. If I decide to kill someone, I'll make sure it's an interesting kind of murder." Curious despite herself, Helen asked, "What is a boring murder, anyway?"
"The usual," Tate said, starting to fill another box. "Someone loses his temper over something trivial, bashes a spouse or significant other over the head, and regrets it right away, but then panics and runs away while the victim bleeds to death."
"If I killed someone, it would definitely be an interesting case," Helen said. "I don't have much of a temper, and even if I lost it, I can think of lots of other people I'd rather bash over the head than my ex-husband. At the top of the list right now is my visiting nurse."
"Let me give you some free legal advice, then." Tate turned to face her, abandoning his packing for the moment. "If you've got a hit list, don't write it down. And don't tell me your plans ahead of time. I'm still an officer of the court, and I'd be obliged to turn you in."
"You're just like everyone else I know." She shook her head in fake disappointment. "Always warning me against every little plan I make, never letting me do anything fun."
"Yeah," Tate said with as much sincerity as she'd shown. "Life's unfair like that. I'd never have gone to law school if it weren't for family pressure. I could have been a homeless drifter for the past twenty years, and instead I wasted them practicing law."
"I won't waste any more of your time, then." Helen turned to leave. "I've got a visiting nurse to dispose of. In an interesting manner."
"I appreciate the thought," he said, "but I'm still obliged to advise you not to kill anyone."
Helen retraced her steps to the front door, vaguely disappointed that she couldn't hire Tate. He wasn't like any of the lawyers at her husband's beck and call, but he seemed every bit as competent as they were. If she had him on her side, Melissa would be gone before she could drink another can of soda, and her nieces would be too amused by him to be upset. If Melissa continued to be a problem, Helen would just have to convince Tate to come out of retirement. Preferably without having to kill anyone.
* * *
Over the course of the next two weeks, Helen tried scrapbooking, like she'd told her nieces she'd planned to do. Melissa, a political junkie, helped sort the hundreds of pictures, fascinated by the candid shots of famous politicians.
Helen found them depressing, a reminder that she had nothing to show for twenty years of hard work except a box full of pictures of people she no longer cared about. Thinking she might find scrapbooking more interesting if she actually took the pictures instead of just organizing and embellishing them, she purchased a camera and figured out the basics for using it before her nieces made their regular Saturday lunchtime visit.
Helen had opened the front door to let them in, noticing that her cane wasn't hanging on the doorknob. She must have left it in Jack's Town Car when he'd taken her to the camera shop. She'd have to ask him about it later.
For now, she needed to convince her nieces that Melissa really wasn't working out. Helen snapped pictures of them while explaining how annoying the visiting nurse was. It turned out to be more difficult to put into words than she'd expected. She told them about how Melissa was showing up on days when she wasn't scheduled, letting herself into the cottage with the key that had been given to her only for emergencies. And then there was the blaring of the local talk radio station throughout her entire visit. Helen could have been lying on the floor, slowly dying from internal injuries, having fallen the night before, and she'd have been a goner before Melissa finished adjusting the radio and deigned to notice her patient. Helen had taken to hiding the radio after each visit, but the nurse managed to home in on it with the speed and precision of a GPS tracker.
Laura wavered, but Lily held fast, insisting that those were trivial nuisances, and any replacement would have similar foibles.
There was also the matter of Melissa's clumsiness, but Helen was reluctant to mention those incidents. She couldn't entirely blame the nurse for inadvertently drowning an entire bottle's worth of expensive pills. It had been an accident, after all, something that could have happened to anyone. Never mind that it had been the one drug Helen couldn't ever skip, not even a single dose, without the risk of a serious flare-up. Fortunately, she kept an extra two-week supply in an emergency bag, a habit she'd picked up from the time she'd had to evacuate the governor's mansion once, due to a bomb threat, and they hadn't been allowed back in for a week. And then there was also the time that Melissa had bumped into Helen, knocking her onto the floor. It wasn't exactly Melissa's fault, even if it had caused Helen some bruising and a strained muscle as she struggled to get back to her feet.
Melissa's clumsiness had had more serious consequences than the noisy radio, but Helen was reluctant to mention it. Her nieces might consider the fall, in particular, as proof that she needed round-the clock care. The only thing worse than Melissa's current visits was Melissa visiting even more often.
Laura and Lily had left after lunch, unconvinced of Melissa's evils, and Helen had braced herself for the next unscheduled visit from the nurse. Melissa apparently believed in a day of rest, and didn't show up at the cottage on Sunday, but by Monday morning, the return of the nurse and her soda supplies was inevitable.
Helen put her breakfast dishes into the dishwasher and then puttered around the cottage, tidying it up. Not that there was any real cleaning to do. The place was small enough that it didn't require much maintenance, and a cleaning crew came in once a month to do the things that required mobility or strength.
Finally, Helen tossed aside the dusting cloth, and headed over to her computer to view the pictures she'd taken yesterday. She opened the pictures folder to the first shot: Lily glaring into the camera.
It made her smile, but it wasn't a great picture. It wasn't even a good one. She scrolled through the other shots, and they ranged from out-of-focus to mediocre. What was she doing wrong?
She was still mulling it over when she heard a car in the driveway. A moment later, Melissa was pounding on the front door and shouting, "It's me, Melissa. Come let me in. My hands are full."
Helen pushed herself onto her feet, only then realizing how long she'd been sitting there, poring over the photographs. Her joints had stiffened, and it took a few moments before she was ready to walk across the room. When she finally opened the door, Melissa brushed past her on the way to the refrigerator with the three six-packs she was carrying. The push sent Helen off-balance, and she grabbed the door, desperate to keep herself from falling over while Melissa was there to witness her weakness and make it more difficult to stand back up. Once she had her feet under her again, she considered heading on out the open door and down the front steps, but she still hadn't found her walking cane. Besides, it was a little too chilly to sit outside for the duration of Melissa's visit.
Helen closed the door and returned to her desk. She ignored Melissa's activities in the kitchen area, and tried to concentrate on the computer screen again. Maybe if Helen ignored her, she'd give up and go away.
"Nice pictures," Melissa said, pointing at the thumbnails on the monitor. "Your nieces are very pretty."
They were pretty, but that hadn't been what Helen wanted from the pictures. She'd wanted to capture the girls' personalities, not just their superficial appearance.
"We need to talk," Melissa said. "It took you a long time to answer the door just now. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Helen said, keeping her focus on the screen. "I took my time, because I was hoping you'd leave if I didn't answer you."
"You know I'd never leave you," Melissa said. "That's not the problem. No, I think you had trouble opening the door. I think you need someone here for you all the time, not just during my brief visits."
Helen shook her head. Twenty years of dealing with her husband's cronies had given her the ability to keep her voice calm, even when all she wanted to do was scream. The woman was only doing her job, after all, not trying to make Helen angry. "That's not necessary."
"I'll make the arrangements with your nieces." Melissa retrieved the radio from under the kitchen sink, and carried it over to the desk. She plugged it in and tuned it to her usual talk station.
Helen turned it off. "I need silence."
"You need life." Melissa turned the radio back on.
Helen reached down to unplug it, her hip aching with the movement. She wrapped the cord around the radio and tossed it into a desk drawer. She braced her knee against it, daring Melissa to risk causing her patient physical harm to get at it.
"I just thought you'd enjoy a little entertainment," Melissa said defensively, sitting next to her at the desk again.
"I know what I want," Helen said, maintaining eye contact again in the somewhat futile hope that Melissa could see what she refused to hear. "Right now, I don't want the radio on. I want to work on my photographs. In silence. I'm not a child, and I'm not senile, and I do not need a guardian or a friend or anything else. You can either go somewhere else in the house and leave me alone, or you can just leave completely."
"I'm only doing my job." Melissa's voice was whiney, but there was anger in her eyes.
"Not any longer," Helen said. "You're fired."
"You can't fire me," Melissa said, no longer pretending to care about her patient. "Only the person who hired me can, and that was your niece."
"They hired your agency, not you personally," Helen said. "I'll call your boss and ask for someone else."
"You didn't hire the agency, either," Melissa said smugly. "My boss won't do anything unless your nieces call him. And by then I'm sure you'll have realized that I'm only doing what's best for you."
"I can call the police and have you arrested for trespassing."
"You can try, sweetie," Melissa said, and the anger was gone from her face, replaced by the confidence that she was in control. "But the local cops all know me. Every single one of them has had a relative or two in my care. They know that sometimes patients resist their treatment. They won't get involved in a patient-caretaker dispute. Not without a court order."
Helen reached for the cell phone on the desktop, but Melissa was faster. The phone disappeared into the pocket of her unicorn-and-rainbow-printed smock. "Today isn't a good day for a car ride. Not the right weather at all."
Helen glanced at the sunshine streaming in the window. "What are you talking about? It's a lovely day."
"It's a bit chilly for someone in your condition," Melissa said. "Although, I would like to see you get more exercise. You know, the local hospital offers Tai Chi classes."
"Sounds good," Helen said. "It's got roots in the martial arts, doesn't it?"
"Don't worry, sweetie. They wouldn't expect you to fight anyone."
"That's too bad."
"I tell you what," Melissa said. "You can go outside, just a brief walk around the yard, right after your nap, sugar."
Helen was too stunned to move. Sure, her lupus caused a great deal of fatigue, but it was her choice, not someone else's, when she was tired enough to go to bed. The woman was insane, thinking she could keep Helen a captive in her own cottage. Although, she thought ruefully, it wouldn't be all that difficult to do. If Helen could have leaped out of her chair and run out of the house, she would have done it by now. With the inflammation in her joints particularly bothersome today, she couldn't outrun Melissa, and wrestling her for the phone was equally out of the question.
That didn't mean Helen had to give up. She just needed to make Melissa think she'd won, long enough to escape.
Helen got to her feet, hiding her rage and pretending to be cowed. "You may be right. I'll just go lie down for a while."
Helen was halfway across the living room, when Melissa said. "I almost forgot about your other cell phone. The one in your bedroom."
"It won't bother me while I'm resting," Helen said. "I'll turn off the ringer."
"I think it would be better if I held it for you," Melissa said.
"I don't." The phone was much more of a lifeline than the nurse was; it wouldn't drown her pills or knock her over. Helen glanced at the bedroom, considered making a run for it, or at least a fast hobble, but she was too far away. She'd never get all the way there, with the door slammed shut behind her before Melissa tackled her. Realistically speaking, she wouldn't even get halfway. At least the weakness of her body hadn't spread to her brain. She would bide her time, letting Melissa think she'd won again, until Helen had a real chance to escape.
With Melissa right behind her, Helen retrieved the back-up cell phone from her nightstand and handed it over.
Melissa pocketed it. "That's a good girl."
Now she was treating Helen like a dog, and that was exactly how Helen felt. Like a whipped dog, in fact. In her own home.
Melissa was going to regret ever taking on this assignment. Maybe even regret ever having become a visiting nurse. Helen would make sure of it. Just as soon as her "nap" was over.
Melissa left, pulling the door behind her, but leaving it slightly ajar. "I'll be right outside here if you need me."
Not in this lifetime.
Helen sat on her bed. She wasn't tired, and she didn't need a nap, and no one was going to make her take one.
Helen shook her head ruefully. She was thinking like the child Melissa thought she was.
But Helen wasn't a child. She had resources that a child didn't have.
She pushed up off the bed and crossed the room to slam the door shut and lock it. The cottage was older than it looked, with sturdy doors and locks. Melissa couldn't break in without a battering ram.
Of course, now Helen was effectively locked into her own bedroom, as unable to leave as Melissa was to enter. Once Helen got out of here, she was getting a spare phone, maybe two, to hide for emergencies like this. The basic one in her pocket at all times, another under her pillow, and perhaps one in the bathroom, hidden within the stack of towels in the linen closet. First, though, she needed to get out of here.
Melissa was between Helen and the two exterior doors of the cottage. That left the windows. Helen peered out the nearest one. Even though the bedroom was on the first floor, there was a substantial drop to the ground. Probably six feet. Not a lot, for someone who was physically fit. A few years ago, Helen wouldn't have hesitated before jumping that short distance, although, to be honest, she'd never been tempted to sneak out of her bedroom before. No one had ever dared to treat her like a child before.
Helen unlocked the window and gave the sash a tug.
"Are you all right?" Melissa said from just outside the door. "I thought I heard a noise."
"I'm fine," Helen said. "I just dropped a book."
"Put down the book and go to sleep," Melissa said.
Now wasn't the time to argue. She needed Melissa to think she'd won. "Whatever you say."
Helen sat on the bed and bounced a little to make it squeak, as if she really were lying down to nap.
Melissa's footsteps headed back to the kitchen, followed by the sound of the refrigerator opening and a soda can opening. A moment later, one of Melissa's stupid talk shows blared from the radio. For once, Helen was grateful for the noise. It was more than enough to cover the small sounds of her escape.
Helen stood up carefully and retrieved a spare walking cane from her closet. She opened the window as quietly as possible and removed the screen before tossing her cane outside. She waited a moment to make sure Melissa hadn't heard the sounds and then placed several books against the wall beneath the window to serve as steps. She climbed up them and managed to get herself seated on the window sill with her feet dangling outside. After several minutes of trying to make herself push off the safety of her perch, she finally turned over onto her stomach and, after taking a deep breath, slid down the side of the house and then to the ground.
Despite the shortness of the drop, the impact jarred her hip, and the sudden pain left her unable to move. The bit of her brain that wasn't focused on breathing through the worst of the muscle spasms was praying that Melissa hadn't heard her fall. Not only would it be embarrassing and frustrating, but if Helen was found like this, unable to breathe easily, let alone stand up, it would be persuasive evidence to convince her nieces that she couldn't be trusted to live on her own.
Eventually, though, the pain subsided and Helen was able to use her cane to maneuver herself back onto her feet. She made her way to the nearest neighbor's house, one slow, painful step at a time. Her anger at Melissa kept her going whenever she felt like giving up.
Helen knocked on the door of the nearest house, but no one was home. Helen worried that she might have to walk miles before she found someone at home, but at the second house, there was a stay-at-home mother. She was reluctant to open the door to a stranger, and insisted that Helen remain outside, but she did agree to let Helen use her phone to call Jack.
She sat on the neighbor's front porch until she saw the black luxury car approaching the driveway. She pushed herself to her feet, just in time for Jack to emerge from the Town Car and open the passenger door for her.
"What are you doing here?" he said. "You don't look so good."
"I need to go see that lawyer Tate again."
"You've got a scratch on your face," he said. "Did your nurse do that?"
"Not directly," Helen said as she settled into the car's plush seat. "Do you keep drinks in the car for passengers?"
"What did you have in mind?"
Helen couldn't actually drink anything alcoholic, because of the drugs she was taking, but she needed something bracing. "Anything except Diet Pepsi."
"There's orange juice in a cooler in the trunk."
"That'll have to do."
Jack went around to the back of the car. Helen heard the trunk open, and a moment later Jack handed her a large plastic bottle of orange juice, which he'd opened for her.
"Thanks."
"Anything for you, Ms. Binney."
"As long as I've paid up the two-hour minimum, anyway."
"You wouldn't stiff me," Jack said. "Not like some people. Just last week, I drove these sales reps to an event with their clients in a limo, and I made sure the mini-bar was stocked and the limo was immaculate, and I got them to their sports event on time, despite all sorts of construction detours and traffic back-ups, and you know what they did? They contested the bill through their credit card company. I knew they were jerks when they only left me about a one percent tip. How rude is that? One percent. Of course, I'm never going to see even that much, since it was part of the credit card charge that they contested. I mean, they musta' spent thousands on the tickets for the game, but they couldn't spare chump change for a poor working stiff."
Helen had known too many people like the passengers Jack had encountered. In fact, her ex-husband was like that, except when she'd intervened. He'd spent fortunes on sporting events and restaurants and transportation, but when it came to recognizing the people who'd made those things enjoyable, he couldn't be bothered. He wasn't a bad person, not really. In theory, he cared about people, and that was why he'd become a politician, but on a day-to-day level, he'd been oblivious to the people he was hurting. "There are a lot of jerks in this world."
"The worst thing is, there's nothing I can do when passengers are jerks," Jack said. "Not without getting fired or arrested."
"I know what you mean," Helen said. "My nurse is being a jerk, and getting rid of her is going to be complicated. It would be so much simpler if murder were legal."
"Ain't that the truth." Jack's sigh held the weight of the unfairness of the world. He closed the door and climbed into the driver's seat. "Are you sure you're all right? I could take you to the emergency room, if you want."
"It's nothing."
"I knew you were going to say that." Jack took the turn that led into the center of town, where Tate's office was located. "Some people don't complain about anything, and other people complain about every little thing. Just last week, one of my passengers bumped his head while getting out. It was his own fault—he'd gotten drunk while he was at the event I took him to—and it wasn't much of a bump, but he spent fifteen minutes yelling at me and threatening to sue the limo company."
"I hope they've got a good attorney."
"They did," Jack said. "Until Tate retired."
She'd forgotten about that little complication. "Let's hope he taught his nephew everything he knew."
* * *
With the help of Tate's nephew and a retainer that was considerably higher than what a small-town firm could reasonably command for a simple domestic matter, Helen convinced Tate to stop packing and postpone his retirement for a couple hours. He dug a battered briefcase out of one of his moving boxes and conferred with Jack before climbing into the back of the car to sit beside Helen. "Your driver knows where the courthouse is. It'll only take a couple minutes."
"The sooner you can get rid of Melissa, the better."
"Don't expect any miracles," he said. "I'm just doing my job. The job that I'm supposed to be retired from."
Jack stopped the car in front of the courthouse to let Helen and Tate out. Helen hesitated at the foot of the steep stairs into the building. She couldn't climb them, not the way her hip felt right now, at least not with any grace or confidence.
A sign with the standard wheelchair icon caught her attention. Perhaps there was another entrance she could use. The sign beneath the wheelchair icon read, "This courthouse is not wheelchair accessible," and gave a phone number to contact for more information.
Helen didn't need information; she needed an elevator.
She couldn't wait for it to be built, so she swallowed her irritation and slowly, painfully followed Tate up the stairs and into the clerk's office.
There were three people already in line at the counter, where only one clerk was working. Three other clerks sat at desks in the background, intent on their work, which apparently didn't include dealing with people at the counter.
"It may take a few minutes to arrange for the hearing. Monday mornings are usually busy with the arraignment of everyone who was arrested over the weekend, and the other scheduled matters run over to the afternoon session." Tate gestured at the battered and rusty straight-back chairs lining the wall across from the counter. "You might as well have a seat while you wait. Make yourself comfortable."
Helen looked at the battered straight-back chairs lining the wall across from the counter. No one could get comfortable in them, let alone a person with a damaged hip.
Helen feigned interest in the bulletin board beside the clerk's office doorway while she watched Tate do his job. There were three people in line before him, and while he waited, he greeted passing court officers and a few fellow lawyers, all by name and with every indication that he considered each and every one of them among his closest and dearest friends. Her ex-husband had done the same sort of thing when he was working a room. Her ex had obviously been successful with the schmoozing, since he'd been governor for a record-setting number of years, but he still wasn't half as good at it as Tate was.
Melissa didn't stand a chance against him.
Helen ignored the curious glances from the young man reading the notices on the bulletin board until he said, "Excuse me, but you're Helen Faria, aren't you? The governor's wife."
"It's Binney now. We're divorced."
"Oh, yeah," he said. "I read about it in the Boston Globe. I'm Geoff Loring, by the way, and I work for the Wharton Times. If I'd been covering your divorce, I'd have been more even-handed, given you a fair shake, showed your ex for the bastard he was."
Helen was tempted to simply ignore him, the way she'd always done with the more annoying members of the press corps surrounding her husband. The rest she'd been polite to, while still not making any on-the-record statements. She'd actually liked quite a few of the regulars, the ones who truly cared about the people they interviewed or were extraordinarily insightful. But she'd known better than to trust them with anything she didn't want plastered across the front page of a newspaper or website.
He was blond and had a nice smile in an otherwise bland face. It couldn't have been too many years—ten at the most—since he'd been writing stories for the local high school's paper instead of the grown-up edition. He didn't seem like one of the vengeful, vigilante reporters who enjoyed wallowing in human misery. It was more likely that he just had an over-sized ego, which was almost a pre-requisite for the job these days. He just wanted a story that would get him a front-page by-line, maybe picked up for syndication, to validate his opinion of himself. In a small town like Wharton, he probably didn't have that many opportunities for a story that would appeal to readers across the state. The governor's ex-wife was automatically front-page material, at least for the local paper, so she was going to have to deal with Loring as long as she lived here. There was no point in intentionally antagonizing him. At the same time, she couldn't let him think there was any chance she'd give him some sort of inside story about the governor. He'd never leave her alone if she held out the least little bit of encouragement.
"My ex-husband wasn't a bastard," she said flatly. "We just wanted different things for the remainder of our lives."
"Right." Loring's hand strayed to his smartphone, obviously tempted to take notes. "I heard you had a vacation house here. I suppose you're just staying here while you decide what to do next?"
"It's a lovely little cottage," Helen said with intentional vagueness. Where was Tate, anyway? How long did it take to fill out a few papers and ask for a hearing? She glanced at the counter, where he was still chatting with the clerk.
Loring either didn't pick up on her disinterest or pretended not to. "Perhaps I could stop by the cottage sometime and have a chat."
"I don't have anything to say to the press."
"Sure you do," he said. "Just because you're not the state's first lady anymore, that doesn't mean you've got nothing interesting to say. I'm sure the local citizens would love to hear your opinions."
"I believe the weather has been unusually mild recently," she said. "Is that what you had in mind?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of discussing why you're here in the courthouse today."
She might not want to antagonize him in ways that would reflect badly on her husband, but she didn't care whether he liked her or not. "I'm trying to get people to leave me alone."
He laughed, believing, like everyone else, that she was joking. "Are you planning to get restraining orders against everyone in town?"
"If necessary," she said. "Excuse me while I go ask my lawyer to amend the paperwork."
A DOSE OF DEATH
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