Free An Accidental Woman by Barbara Delinsky

when Ann Marie put on a perfunctory smile, said, “Thank you, Agent Hughes,” and faced the camera again. “That’s the latest word we have on this story. To repeat, we are waiting word from West Eames, New Hampshire, where a hearing is now under way to determine the immediate fate of Heather Malone . . .”
    Griffin turned off the television and pushed a hand through his hair. Hughes was a common enough last name. If Poppy had been watching just now, she might not make the connection.
    Wishful thinking, he thought sourly. Randy’s hair was a deep auburn that could translate to brown in many lights, but there was the jaw they had in common. No getting around that square jaw. Put the name with the jaw and add the whole thing to the timing of Griffin’s visits, and Poppy would know. She was quick. He had learned that from their phone calls during the mess involving her sister. She hadn’t let him get away with a thing. For all he knew, she had already guessed he was the one who’d tipped off the law.
    A fast phone call would tell him one way or the other—and a fast phone call was about all he had time for. He was behind in the Hayden biography. A deadline loomed. He had writing to do.
    But he didn’t want to find out what Poppy did or did not know in a phone call. Far better, he decided as he began pushing together the papers strewn on the coffee table, to drive on up and press his case in person.

    * * *
Poppy missed the interview with Randall Hughes. She didn’t hear the name, didn’t see the face, because she was on the phone with her sister Lily at the time. Though Lily was two years older than she, Poppy was the protective one, because Lily had a painful stutter. It had been better lately, and in general, things were looking up for Lily. Not only was she in love, but, as she talked with Poppy now, she was driving back from Portsmouth, where she taught a class in music appreciation at a private high school. It was one of three such positions she’d won since losing two jobs in Boston the fall before. Adding her relationship with John to the picture, Lily had definitely come out ahead.
    That didn’t mean Poppy could stop feeling protective. Lily had been through a rough stretch. Now Heather’s being in the news for no cause, much as Lily had been, was bound to affect her.
    â€œIt’s like a rerun,” Lily said through the static of a poor cell phone connection. “Heather is the only thing the local stations are talking about. I understand that I’m in New Hampshire and that this is New Hampshire news, but what facts do they have? I don’t hear any, Poppy. Certainly none that make sense to those of us who know Heather. Has the press been calling?”
    â€œHere? No. John was right. They know how we feel, so they’re steering clear. Vivian Abbott called a little while ago.” Vivian was the town clerk and had a view out the window of the Town Hall. “She said she could see two crews filming in town, but she said they were state, not national. Maybe national doesn’t dare.”
    â€œMaybe they just haven’t arrived yet,” Lily said, sounding worried. “Have you talked with Micah?”
    â€œHe called during the lunch break. He said Cassie’s trying to find out what evidence the government has, but they’re making her file motions for everything, and motions take days. Heather’s a wreck. He’s a wreck.”
    â€œDo the girls know what’s going on?”
    â€œThe school principal says no”—Poppy had talked with the man twice—“but that may change once the bell rings and the kids hit the streets. Hold on a sec, Lily. Someone’s calling John.” She punched in another button. “Lake News.”
    â€œIt’s Charlie,” said a voice that was robust in its anger. “Kip’s not there?”
    â€œHe’s in Concord.”
    â€œChrist, I hope