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But now this. The Channel 8 news truck had parked, and a cameraman and reporter were climbing out of it. It wasn’t the national news, far from it, just a rinky-dink station from out of Grand Rapids. Still, they’d made some effort to come across on the ferry. It was too early in the season for any locals-flock-to-the-island feel-good stories; obviously they were looking for something really juicy.
Hoping his instincts were wrong, Mike left his office and walked outside. He spotted several people peeking out from storefronts, and a couple had come outside to see what was going on.
He crossed the street, keeping a friendly expression on his face by sheer force of will as he approached the news crew. “Afternoon, folks, is there something I can do for you?”
The reporter nodded. “Yes, we’re trying to find a local resident, a Dr. Lindsey Smith?”
He clenched his teeth. “Why is that?”
“We have information that she’s here and we’d like to get her comment on a news story. Can you tell us how to find her?”
“Nope. That I cannot do.”
Would not do. Same difference.
He suspected the youthful-looking reporter was a little savvier than her age would indicate. She realized he was hiding something and snapped her fingers at her cameraman.
“Are you Chief Santori?”
“I am. But do not turn that camera on me, ma’am. I’m not interested in any interviews.”
The camera came on anyway. The reporter stuck the microphone in his face. “Chief Santori, is it true that Dr. Lindsey Smith, inventor of the Thinkgasm method, is hiding out here in your little town?”
He stared at her, not looking at the camera, or its operator, just at her. Hoping she could see exactly what he wanted to say—but wouldn’t—he forced a tight smile, muttered, “No comment,” then spun around and walked away.
He went into his office, picked up the phone and called the school. The secretary at the front desk greeted him cheerfully. When he apologized for calling, she reminded him that because today had been the last day of school, the students had gotten out early. They’d just left. Apparently, so had Lindsey.
Thank heaven for small favors. Her job was over, she was no longer a substitute teacher. If her real identity was discovered, at least she wouldn’t have to face that ordeal. He hated to suspect the parents or administrators would turn on her, but you just never knew.
Glancing out the window, he noticed the newspeople were talking to Angie from the coffee shop, and he sent up a prayer that she was the good-natured, discreet person he’d always suspected her to be. He stepped outside. Angie caught his attention from across the street, not being obvious about it, and offered him a sly wink. The reporter, busy fiddling with her microphone, didn’t notice. Nor did she look up when Angie jerked her thumb toward Mike’s SUV, telling him to go.
He went.
Driving down to Lindsey’s place, hoping she’d gone straight home after school, he was relieved to find her car in the driveway. He roared up the drive, pulling in behind her car.
Hopping out, he darted up the outside steps and pushed the door open without knocking. “Lindsey?”
She came out of the bedroom, wide-eyed. “Mike? What are you doing here?”
“I came to warn you. It appears Ollie did some digging and put the media on your tail. There’s a news crew from Grand Rapids in town.”
“Oh, God,” she groaned, throwing herself down on the couch.
He went over and sat beside her, taking her into his arms. “It’s going to be okay.”
“It’s never going to be okay,” she said, sounding exhausted, mentally and physically. “This nightmare just doesn’t end. When are my fifteen minutes of fame going to be over?”
“Look, you can duck the reporters. Even if they find out where you were working, school’s out...there’s nothing for them to attack you with.”
She seemed so hopeful. “Really?”
“Definitely,” he said, sure he was right.
Not thirty seconds later he heard the cars pulling up outside. And realized he’d been very, very wrong.
“Stay here,” he told her, going to the front window and separating the curtains to gaze out. His heart sank when he recognized the Channel 8 news van. But what truly infuriated him was the vehicle leading the way—a squad car driven by Ollie Dickinson.
“That son of a bitch!”
It only got worse. Because when Ollie parked the car and got out, the passenger-side door opened, as well. Mrs. Franklin, looking both disapproving and utterly thrilled, stepped onto the driveway. “I don’t believe this.”
Lindsey joined him at the window. She didn’t cry, didn’t rant, she merely sighed heavily, as if this was exactly the moment she’d been waiting to happen all along.
