Free Presumed Guilty by Tess Gerritsen Page A

the publisher’s brother. At last she turned and left.
    Chase waited for the door to shut, then he unlocked the file cabinet. He flipped immediately to the W ’s.
    He found a file on Miranda Wood.
    Chase carried it to the desk and spread it open. It appeared to be a routine personnel record. The employment application was dated one year ago, when Miranda was twenty-eight. Her address was listed as 18 Willow Street. In the attached photograph she was smiling; it was the face of a confident young woman with her whole life ahead of her. It almost hurt to see how happy she looked. Her university record was outstanding. If anything, she was overqualified for her job as copy editor. Under the question “Why do you want this job?” she had written, “I grew up near Penobscot Bay. I want, more than anything, to live and work in the place I’ve always called home.” He flipped through the pages and scanned the semiannual employee evaluation, filled out by Jill Vickery. It was excellent. He turned to the last page.
    There was a letter of resignation, dated two weeks ago.

    To: Richard Tremain, Publisher, Island Herald.
    Dear Mr. Tremain,
    I hereby notify you of my resignation from my position as copy editor. My reasons are personal. I would greatly appreciate a letter of reference, as I plan to seek employment elsewhere.

    That was all. No explanations, no regrets. Not even a hint of recrimination.
    So she told me the truth, he thought. She really did walk off the job.
    “Mr. Tremain?” It was Jill Vickery, back again. “Are you looking for anything in particular? Maybe I can help you.”
    “Maybe you can.”
    She came in and gracefully settled into the chair across from him. Her gaze at once took in the file on the desk. “I see you have Miranda’s employee record.”
    “Yes. I’m trying to understand what happened. Why she did it.”
    “I think you should know she was here just a short while ago.”
    “In the building?”
    “She came to collect her things. I’m glad you two avoided a, uh...unexpected encounter.”
    He nodded. “So am I.”
    “Let me say this, Mr. Tremain. I’m very sorry about your brother. He was a wonderful man, an exceptional writer. He truly believed in the power of the printed word. We’re going to miss him.”
    It was a canned speech, but she delivered it with such sincerity he was almost convinced she meant it. Jill Vickery certainly had the PR down flat.
    “I understand Richard had a story in the pipeline,” he said. “Something about a company called Stone Coast Trust. You familiar with it?”
    Jill sighed. “Why does this particular article keep coming up?”
    “Someone else interested?”
    “Miranda Wood. She just asked about it. I told her that as far as I know, the story was never written. At least, I never saw it.”
    “But it was scheduled to run?”
    “Until Richard canceled it.”
    “Why?”
    She sat back and smoothly flicked her hair off her face. “I wouldn’t know. I suspect he didn’t have enough evidence to go to print.”
    “What, exactly, is the story on Stone Coast Trust?”
    “Small-town stuff, really. Not very interesting to outsiders.”
    “Try me.”
    “It had to do with developers’ rights. Stone Coast has been buying up property on the north shore. Near Rose Hill Cottage, as a matter of fact, so you know how lovely it is up there. Pristine coastline, trees. Tony Graffam—he’s president of Stone Coast—claimed he was out to preserve the area. Then we heard rumors of a high-class development in the works. And then, a month ago, the zoning on those lots was abruptly changed from conservation to resort. It’s now wide open to development.”
    “That’s all there is to the article?”
    “In a nutshell. May I ask the reason for your interest?”
    “It was something Miranda Wood told me. About other people having motives to kill my brother.”
    “In this case, she’s stretching the point.” Jill rose to her feet. “But one can hardly blame