help restore my balance, Kevin was it. But the pizza shop was on the police station side of town, which meant it would be loaded with media snoops, which Kevin must have realized as soon as he said it, because he followed up with, “Too exposed? How about One-on-Tap?”
One-on-Tap was a small, dark, locals-only place that served good beer and amazing burgers. Best, though, it was located in Pelham, on the far side of Lyme Creek, a safe two towns away. “Better,” I breathed.
“Seven-thirty?”
“I’ll be there.”
4
True to its name, One-on-Tap offered a single beer each night. The choice was always local and served by the keg. One might be subtle, another bold, citrusy, malty, or dark. I liked a few and only tasted others, but I always finished the burgers, which were made of Angus beef from The Farm at Lyme Creek.
Tonight, though, eating was the last thing on my mind when I entered the restaurant’s foyer and saw Kevin’s familiar chill-red cheeks, dark gold eyes, and pulled-back hair. Had I been able to cry, I would have burst into tears, which was what I had done several years before when the gentleness of those eyes said he would understand and I desperately needed someone who would. But I never cried now; I had run out of tears. I simply held him tightly for several heartbeats, before he took my hand and drew me to a booth. Leaving me there, he crossed to the bar—a freestanding oval in the middle of the pub, with tall stools on either side—and ordered beer and burgers for two.
Returning, he slid in across from me and unwound a puffy scarf that I knew, for fact, he had knit himself. He had barely pulled away the last of the mohair billows when he stuffed the fuzzy mass into his lap and looked me in the eye. “How are you, girlfriend?”
It wasn’t so much a question as a command, and my first thought was to tell him I’d seen Edward. But that would be giving my ex-husband’s appearance more weight than Grace’s crisis. So I reined in my thoughts and said, “I’d be better if Grace called. What have you heard?”
“Not much. Jimmy couldn’t talk. He said the station’s a scene.”
“Has Chris been formally charged?” At his blank shrug, I tried, “Do we know the victim?”
“I don’t. Was it on the news?”
“I couldn’t watch,” I said. “I checked the PD’s Twitter feed, but there was nothing.”
Kevin snorted. “If Griswold’s busy, forget Twitter. He can only do one thing at a time.”
“I thought Jimmy posted for him.” Kevin’s Jimmy was the techie of the pair. Gary Griswold might have hired a more conventional assistant—still called “secretary” in his department—if he hadn’t been fascinated with social media. Jimmy was an expert at that. It helped that his dark-rimmed glasses, Oxford shirts, and short-cropped hair gave him a conservative look. He was known in town as Jim.
Since I had met him through Kevin, who always called him Jimmy, and since I loved him for the way he adored Kevin, he would always be the softer, kinder Jimmy to me.
“He did,” Kevin answered, “until last week when he posted about the DUI that turned out to be Griswold’s cousin. I mean, it was part of the police report, which was what Jimmy was supposed to post, and he didn’t name the cousin, but people connected the dots, so Gary was pissed. He’ll have Jimmy posting again this week, you watch.”
“He can’t post Chris’s name. He’s a minor.”
Kevin shot me a dry look.
Fine. Everyone here knew exactly who was sitting at the station right now. Still, “Chris is fifteen. They aren’t seriously thinking of locking him up.” I tacked on a meek, “Are they?”
“Not if his mom and lawyer are there. But Jimmy’ll know for sure.” He glanced at the huge face of his watch, then again at the door. “He’ll be here as soon as he can get away, but he’s trying to show Gary he’s diligent.” Leaning forward, he said a gentle, “It was good of you to drive her into town.”
I didn’t bother to ask how he knew. This, too, was the kind of word that spread through Devon like oil. I had never been bothered before. Local talk here wasn’t malicious. It was news. An argument could be made that Devonites, being Devonites, simply kept each other informed. Still, I cringed on Grace’s behalf. She wouldn’t mind people raving about an amazing deep-tissue massage she had given.