spotted my UNH coffee mug on my desk. We got to talking and he wanted to know if I had any contacts up there, and I mentioned a friend of mine that worked in the alumni affairs office. Seemed like Jon wanted to talk to someone about old New Hampshire, a professor of anthropology, and a few phone calls later on my part, Olivia Hendricks is the name that came up. She's an associate or assistant professor of anthropology up at UNH, specializing in pre-colonial New England."
"Did Jon say anything about talking to an Indian activist from the area?"
"Nope, not at all," she said, glancing at her wristwatch.
Two out of three, I thought. God bless you, Paula, you've given me two out of the three people that Jon had said he was going to talk to. "Late for something?"
"Late for an early lunch," she said. "How does that sound?"
"Sounds reasonable," I said. "Thanks, thanks for everything. You've helped a lot."
She dug car keys out of her coat pocket. "I sense another Lewis Cole column coming up for Shoreline magazine, a column that will never appear in print. Am I correct?"
"You do know my methods," I said. "True, but be careful. All right?"
"Sure," I said, and just for the hell of it, I leaned over and kissed her. I think I surprised us both, and her eyes got shiny and she said, "Get going, before your tax bills get audited."
"All right, but one more thing."
"I can hardly wait."
I took out my wallet and removed a single dollar bill, which I placed in her hand. "I've just paid for your house, Paula. And if the Tyler Cooperative isn't helpful, give me a call. Maybe I can help you out."
Her small hand squeezed the dollar bill tight. "Thanks for the dollar, and your vote of confidence."
"You're welcome," I said, and I headed back to my vehicle, leaving behind the young woman with the big dreams and the old house.
About twenty minutes later I was in the parking lot of the Tyler police station, which is about a hundred yards away from the sands of Tyler Beach. If the police chief and the voters of Tyler reached agreement next spring, during town meeting, this was probably the last winter for the police station, which is built of cement blocks and looks like a storage facility for nerve gas or some damn thing. It was too warm in the summer, too cold in the winter, and instead of being just right in the fall, heavy rains and wind from the ocean often meant flooding in the dispatch area.
Diane was back in her office, the cement blocks now painted a pale yellow. Her desk was clean and neat, unlike the desk next to hers, which is used in the summer by a patrol officer temporarily assigned to her to assist in the heavy upswing of felony cases. That desk was piled high with file folders, newspaper clippings, and packets of photos. During those months that don't fall between Memorial Day and Labor Day, she is the entire detective force for the town of Tyler.
I sat down across from her and said, "That desk looks like it could use a clean-up."
She smiled at me, the scar on her chin faded, a good sign. "Tell you a secret?"
"Secrets from cops are the best ones. Sure, go ahead."
She was leaning back in her office chair, hands folded against her slim waist. "That mess over there, that all belongs to me. This desk is just fake. All those files are cases I'm working on."
"Then why are you sitting here, and not there?"
"You know how depressing it is, to walk into an office first thing in the morning and look at a mess? Thing is, you come and sit at a clean desk, you start the day in a good mood. Sets the whole tone."
"Sounds too weird to work," I said.
"Well, it does," she said. "Guess you're here looking for an update on your friend Jon."
"l am."
"The investigation continues," she said.
I waited. There was one window in the office, heavily barred and screened, that overlooked the rear parking lot of the police station, the marshland beyond that, and a couple of miles away, the impressive bulk of the Falconer nuclear power
"Did Jon say anything about talking to an Indian activist from the area?"
"Nope, not at all," she said, glancing at her wristwatch.
Two out of three, I thought. God bless you, Paula, you've given me two out of the three people that Jon had said he was going to talk to. "Late for something?"
"Late for an early lunch," she said. "How does that sound?"
"Sounds reasonable," I said. "Thanks, thanks for everything. You've helped a lot."
She dug car keys out of her coat pocket. "I sense another Lewis Cole column coming up for Shoreline magazine, a column that will never appear in print. Am I correct?"
"You do know my methods," I said. "True, but be careful. All right?"
"Sure," I said, and just for the hell of it, I leaned over and kissed her. I think I surprised us both, and her eyes got shiny and she said, "Get going, before your tax bills get audited."
"All right, but one more thing."
"I can hardly wait."
I took out my wallet and removed a single dollar bill, which I placed in her hand. "I've just paid for your house, Paula. And if the Tyler Cooperative isn't helpful, give me a call. Maybe I can help you out."
Her small hand squeezed the dollar bill tight. "Thanks for the dollar, and your vote of confidence."
"You're welcome," I said, and I headed back to my vehicle, leaving behind the young woman with the big dreams and the old house.
About twenty minutes later I was in the parking lot of the Tyler police station, which is about a hundred yards away from the sands of Tyler Beach. If the police chief and the voters of Tyler reached agreement next spring, during town meeting, this was probably the last winter for the police station, which is built of cement blocks and looks like a storage facility for nerve gas or some damn thing. It was too warm in the summer, too cold in the winter, and instead of being just right in the fall, heavy rains and wind from the ocean often meant flooding in the dispatch area.
Diane was back in her office, the cement blocks now painted a pale yellow. Her desk was clean and neat, unlike the desk next to hers, which is used in the summer by a patrol officer temporarily assigned to her to assist in the heavy upswing of felony cases. That desk was piled high with file folders, newspaper clippings, and packets of photos. During those months that don't fall between Memorial Day and Labor Day, she is the entire detective force for the town of Tyler.
I sat down across from her and said, "That desk looks like it could use a clean-up."
She smiled at me, the scar on her chin faded, a good sign. "Tell you a secret?"
"Secrets from cops are the best ones. Sure, go ahead."
She was leaning back in her office chair, hands folded against her slim waist. "That mess over there, that all belongs to me. This desk is just fake. All those files are cases I'm working on."
"Then why are you sitting here, and not there?"
"You know how depressing it is, to walk into an office first thing in the morning and look at a mess? Thing is, you come and sit at a clean desk, you start the day in a good mood. Sets the whole tone."
"Sounds too weird to work," I said.
"Well, it does," she said. "Guess you're here looking for an update on your friend Jon."
"l am."
"The investigation continues," she said.
I waited. There was one window in the office, heavily barred and screened, that overlooked the rear parking lot of the police station, the marshland beyond that, and a couple of miles away, the impressive bulk of the Falconer nuclear power
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