Free Three Can Keep a Secret by Archer Mayor Page B

made fun of it. But there were rumors that some kind of deal was responsible."
    Gail frowned at the phone. "A deal? What was the point? Did money change hands?"
    But here, Susan proved less helpful. "Not that I know of. Barber was a nobody, and as far as I know, nothing happened as a result except for the bad press. Of course, I wasn't there, and it wasn't like it was news even a month later. I only know about it because I love this stuff, and I went to school with a girl named Carole Barber — no relation, I think — and it stuck in my head."
    Gail considered what she might be missing. Susan interrupted her thoughts. "Why do you want to know about her?"
    She opened her mouth to pass on Joe's news from the state hospital, but then shut it again, reconsidering. She had lived for years in Joe's company, often serving as his sounding board on complicated cases. Discretion had become ingrained over time, and she felt its tug upon her now, if for no discernible reason. "Her name came up in conversation," she answered truthfully enough. "It didn't mean anything to me, but it sounded odd. I just wondered if you knew anything."
    "I can dig into it, if you want," Susan volunteered. "You are the governor, after all."
    Gail laughed. "Right — like you have nothing better to do. I wouldn't even put my own staff on this."
    They chatted about other matters for a few minutes, mostly the flooding and its impact and implications. There was little else being discussed anywhere in the state, and probably wouldn't be for some time.
    Nevertheless, once the call ended, Gail remained thoughtful about what had stimulated it. She still wanted to know how a governor — even a bogus one — could have ended up in a mental facility, and then gone missing.
    As for Susan Raffner, she wasn't the least misled by her friend's dismissal of Carolyn Barber's importance. As she pocketed her phone and set out for her next meeting, she made a mental note to dig into Barber's moment of fame — and why the chief executive had thought it worthy of special inquiry.
     
    Willy negotiated the washed-out road gingerly, pausing occasionally to figure out where to point the SUV next, sometimes opting for the field alongside.
    "Might be faster if we walk," Sammie suggested, clinging to the handhold by the doorframe.
    "Might be," Willy agreed, to her surprise, "but I like having the radio nearby."
    She raised her eyebrows at him. "You expecting trouble?"
    "I'm expecting a half-wit Li'l Abner," he countered. "We don't show up in some official-looking vehicle, he'll shoot our asses off for sure. Probably will anyhow."
    Willy had been born and bred in New York City — a place that he'd clearly left only in body. "It's a rural state," she instructed him defensively. "Not a backward one."
    He laughed and jutted his chin straight ahead to indicate the road. "Right — clearly."
    "That's the flood, you moron," she remonstrated.
    "It is now, " he suggested. "You ask me, it was no better before."
    The large vehicle gave a lurch and there was a grinding, scraping sound from underneath that made them both wince. They'd borrowed it from the Brattleboro police, and while Willy clearly didn't care about its condition later, Sammie was less sure about how they'd gotten hold of it in the first place.
    "You sure you got the chief to sign this over?" she asked, settling herself more securely after the jostling.
    "It's gotta be over the next hill," Willy avoided answering, adding unexpectedly, "You call Louise?"
    Sam cut him a look. "You know I did."
    "Emma okay?"
    A sarcastic comeback offered itself, but not about this. Emma was sacred ground for them, if for divergent reasons. While each was a wounded survivor of childhood, their own child represented a different type of hope. To Sammie, Emma was a reward to be cherished and protected; to Willy, she was more like the cross between a miracle and a mirage — the latter image being one that could wake him up in a cold sweat and make him