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cannot imagine she has a single enemy in town—and while you’re asking questions, I want to know who thought he recognized her. In the process of clearing Lily’s name last October, you humiliated several rather powerful media guys. Think there’s a chance that one of them is seeking revenge?”
    â€œThey wouldn’t dare.”
    Poppy gave a shallow laugh. “All three of them are still working.”
    â€œYeah, but in lesser jobs and under closer watch, and there’s still me. They know I’d have no qualms about pointing the finger at them if they tried to point it at someone here without cause.”
    â€œWell, someone did point a finger. While you’re in Concord, see if you can find out who. You’re an investigative reporter. Being nosy is what you do best.”
    â€œYeah, well, in this situation, it could backfire. You want to keep this contained? Restraint is the way to go. Ask too many questions, and people start thinking you have something to hide. So let’s concentrate on whatever’s happening in Concord today. Let me make some calls. I’ll get back to you when I hear something.”
    Poppy ended the call. Seconds later, she passed the stone wall that marked the entrance to Blake Orchards, her mother’s pride and joy. The stones of the wall were waist-high lumps of snow, and the sign was draped with more of the fluffy white stuff. If she turned in and drove a half mile along the gravel road, between stubby apple trees that looked smaller than ever without leaves, she would reach her mother’s house and a bit farther on, the cider house. Both were closed up for the winter.
    Instead, she stayed on the main road as it climbed a hill and wound away from the lake for a bit, then back. Turning onto her own road, she followed it down to the lake. At the house, she quickly maneuvered her chair out of the Blazer and rolled inside to the console that held dozens of buttons. She was anxious for news. John wouldn’t have called back so soon, but what she really wanted was a message from Micah.

    * * *
Even slouched against the wall, Micah was taller than almost everyone else in the courthouse lobby, and a motley crew it was. Lawyers stood out from the rest in their suits, some of which had seen neater days. The people with them ranged in age from a pregnant young girl to a grizzled old man, and varied in dress from high school sloppy to rural casual, from Manchester stylish to Sanbornton woodsy to Claremont salt-of-the-earth. What all these people had in common was an air of unhappiness.
    It was an emotion Micah shared with them. This was not where he wanted to be. He was supposed to be in the sugarbush with Heather, checking the mainline for last-minute damage. Yeah, he could do it alone, but he liked having Heather with him.
    He had no choice, though. Cassie had told him to wait here, so he waited, his fists deep in the pockets of his flannel jacket, one booted foot flat to the wall, his eyes hooded, and his jaw clenched. He wanted to get Heather and get home. That was all. Get Heather, and get home.
    After what seemed like an eternity standing there in that lobby, surrounded by the rumble of low conversation, Cassie strode down the hall from a room at the end. Long-legged, she was a standout in wool slacks and a blazer, a silk blouse and scarf, and a head full of curly blond hair, but the pickup of Micah’s pulse had nothing to do with her good looks. He respected Cassie, but he wasn’t drawn to her for anything but her legal expertise.
    With Heather on his mind, he straightened.
    Cassie didn’t say anything when she reached him, simply indicated that he should follow her. Down another hall, they turned a corner. She knocked quietly on a door, the upper half of which was a milky glass, then turned the knob.
    Micah expected to find Heather inside, but instead there were only an old, empty desk and a pair of battered metal chairs.
    â€œWhere