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“I know.” A thought struck him. “Was Hilary at the office all day?”
“No, by the time I got back from court she’d left to look into some funeral arrangements for Mr. Bergin. But no one came by while I was there.”
Sean turned back around. “I’m not sure when they’ll be done with the remains.”
“I still can’t believe he’s dead.”
He turned back around and saw the tears trickling down her face. He reached over the seat and took her hand. “Megan, it’s going to be okay.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No, I can’t, but we can do everything possible to make sure it turns out that way.”
She quickly wiped her face dry. “I’m cool. It’s okay. No more tears.”
Michelle said, “No law against grieving.”
“From the looks of things up here I’m not sure we have time for that.”
Sean and Michelle exchanged another glance, each visibly impressed at her insightful remark.
“So what’s the first order of business?” asked Megan.
Sean answered. “We go back to Martha’s Inn, make a big pot of coffee, and start going over these files.”
They were an hour out when Michelle’s phone rang. It was Eric Dobkin from the Maine State Police. Michelle listened and then clicked off.
“He wants to talk. Got some info for us. I know it’s late, but why don’t I drop you and Megan at the inn and then swing over and meet him? Save us some time to split up.”
“After what happened this afternoon I’m not sure splitting up is a good idea.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know that. I was worried about me and Megan.”
“I know Tae Kwon Do,” said Megan. “I have my green belt.”
“That’s nice,” said Sean, holding back a smile. “But if they go with their prior method, they won’t be near enough for you to kung fu them.”
“Oh.”
Sean studied Michelle. “Okay, you meet with Dobkin. The legal stuff will go faster with Megan and me anyway. We can fill each other in when we’re done. Where are you meeting him?”
“At his house. He gave me the address.”
“Okay, but you better put on your A game all the way. Okay?”
“Only way I know how to play, Sean. Thought you would have known that by now.”
CHAPTER
13
ERIC DOBKIN’S HOUSE was in a location that the GPS finally gave up on about a half mile away. Michelle had to call him, and he led her the rest of the way by voice instructions. When she turned a corner and saw the lights of the house up ahead, she also saw a late-model Dodge pickup truck parked in the driveway. Next to it was an old Chrysler minivan. As she peered inside the van she saw three car seats buckled in. “Wow,” she said to herself. “I’m betting no one in that house is sleeping much.”
The house was constructed of pine logs, the roof of cedar shakes, and the door of unadorned oak. The little flower garden around the house had long since lost its summer luster and just looked exactly what it was: dead.
She knocked.
