Free LCole 07 - Deadly Cove by Brendan DuBois Page B

instead.
    *   *   *
    Outside in the cold, breezy parking lot, my brand new cell phone chimed, making me start for a moment. I ignored the persistent ringing until I got into the shelter of my Ford Explorer and worked the unfamiliar buttons and said, “Hello?”
    The woman’s voice was brisk. “Lewis? Denise Pichette-Volk here.”
    â€œHello, Denise.”
    â€œWhere have you been?”
    â€œI’ve been in a parking lot, in Exonia. Next town over from Tyler. Where have you been?”
    â€œAt work. Doing my job. Something you should think about doing. For example, I left a message for you last night. Did you get it?”
    â€œI did.”
    â€œSo why didn’t you call me?”
    I said, “I hadn’t gotten around to it yet.”
    â€œI specifically said for you to call me.”
    â€œYou certainly did,” I said, “but you didn’t say when. Now, Denise, you have my undivided attention. We can spend the next ten minutes or so going over my various and sundry faults, or we can get to the point. So. What’s the point, Denise?”
    She chuckled. “My, what a piece of work you’re turning out to be, Lewis.”
    â€œSo I’ve been told.”
    â€œAnd here’s what I’m telling you today,” she said. “I want a thousand words by noon today on what happened yesterday in Falconer.”
    â€œA thousand words? By noon?”
    â€œThat’s right,” she said.
    â€œWait, when I started working on this … piece for Shoreline , it was for an issue in the spring. The deadline was at the end of the month.”
    Another chuckle. “That was when you started working on this nuclear protest story, before Bronson Toles got murdered. Now things have changed. I’ve made an arrangement where in addition to writing for Shoreline , you’re going to be a special correspondent for an Internet-based news service that the magazine’s investors have a stake in. More bang for a little buck. Your deadline is noon today. A thousand words.”
    I wanted to ask her more, but there was a click, and my boss had gone on to pick fights with other people.
    *   *   *
    I suppose I should have driven back home, but instead I made a quick phone call and then headed out of Exonia and to the south part of Tyler Beach, where I had been the previous day with Paula. I drove down Route 101, which bisected a wide stretch of marshland, and off to the right, I made out the center of all this controversy: the buildings of the Falconer nuclear power plant. Along the way I passed a few small straggling groups of protesters heading up to Route 1 like lost units of a distant army, struggling to meet up with their comrades.
    At Tyler Beach I made a right, going south down Route 1-A past the closed motels, the closed restaurants, and the fire station and police station, and about ten or so minutes after that, I drove up to Tyler Harbor Meadows, a collection of condo units set in a horseshoe pattern that overlooked Tyler Harbor. I parked in a visitor’s spot, rubbed at my hands, and about sixty seconds later, I was knocking at the door of my best friend.
    Diane Woods opened the door, looking tired. She had on a pair of blue jeans, old sneakers, and a dull blue pullover sweater. “Hey,” she said.
    â€œThanks for the time,” I said. “I appreciate it.”
    She turned and I followed her upstairs, where we ended up in a wide living room and nice built-in kitchen. Windows overlooked the condo’s parking lot and the choppy waters of Tyler Harbor and, farther out, as if it couldn’t be avoided, the containment dome and buildings of Falconer Unit 1. The room was decorated with Shaker furniture, oval boxes, framed prints of Canterbury Shaker Village, and other bits of New England art. There were a couple of small bookcases, the usual television set and CD stereo, and some framed photos of a