CHAPTER NINETEEN — THE COUNTEROFFER

Nolan invited Peter Walsh to a restaurant on the opposite side of the district.
Peter nearly refused before deciding he wanted to hear what Nolan intended to say.
He told a friend where he was going and chose a table near the front window.
Nolan arrived carrying no binder.
“I hear you are looking for work,” he said.
“I have work.”
“Temporary work.”
“That is my concern.”
Nolan ordered coffee for himself and offered Peter a consulting position helping CivicBridge redesign appointment codes.
The salary was more than Peter had earned in two years.
Peter did not touch his menu.
“Why now?”
“Because you understand the system.”
“You knew that when I worked for you.”
Nolan leaned forward.
“People say things under the pressure of a public hearing.”


“Do they?”
“We could explain that your testimony was based on an outdated training document.”
“It was based on meetings I attended.”
“A revised statement would help everyone.”
Peter stood.
“Especially you.”
Nolan’s voice dropped.
“You think the district will hire you after you helped turn this into a scandal?”
Peter looked at the offer letter on the table.
He wanted the money badly enough to feel briefly sick.
His mother needed help paying for assisted living, and his current contract ended in six weeks.
He sat down again.
Nolan smiled.
“I thought you might reconsider.”
Peter took the letter, photographed it, and placed it in his pocket.
“I am keeping this,” he said.
Nolan’s smile vanished.
“On what authority?”
“You handed it to me.”
Peter left without agreeing to anything.


Outside, he stood in the cold until his hands stopped shaking.
Then he called the independent investigator who had taken his statement.

CHAPTER TWENTY — A HOUSE WITH A BROKEN VIEW

Daniel returned to Cedar Row after dark and found his driveway almost empty.
The Rolls-Royce had been taken to an authorized repair facility, and the insurance adjuster had confirmed that the damage was extensive.
He stood where the car had been and studied the oil stain left by the transporter.
A little boy from across the street watched him from behind a bicycle.
“Are you going to put a fence around your house?” the boy asked.
Daniel turned.
“Why?”
“My dad says famous people need fences.”
“Your dad might be right about some famous people.”
“Are you famous?”
“Not in any useful way.”
The boy considered this.
“Are you going to move because of Mrs. Haines?”
Daniel looked at the adjoining porch.
Carol sat beneath its yellow light, reading a piece of paper.
“No,” he said.
The boy smiled and rode away.
Daniel carried his groceries inside.
Minutes later, his doorbell rang.
Carol stood on the step holding a new hammer in its original packaging.
Daniel stared at it.
“I bought this to replace the one the police took,” she said.
“I am not sure that is the reassuring gesture you intended.”
A reluctant smile crossed her face and disappeared.
“It is for repairing my porch rail.”
“Then I hope it stays on your side of the property line.”
Carol lowered her eyes.
“I came to tell you I spoke with the investigator.”
“I know you wanted to.”
“I told her everything I could remember.”
Daniel nodded.
“Thank you for following the process.”
Carol looked past him at the small kitchen.
“You really live here.”
“Yes.”
“You could live anywhere.”
“Perhaps.”
“Why here?”
Daniel considered how much of his life he owed to a woman who had attacked his property.
Then he answered the question plainly.
“Because I wanted a street where people knew one another’s names.”
Carol flinched.
“I knew yours only after I hurt you.”
Daniel held her gaze.
“That is something you will have to live with.”