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has been in my family for over a hundred years,” Mrs. V. tried.
    Leanne let go of the doorway and took several tentative steps into the room. Hawes slipped behind her, closed the door, gently placed a hand on her shoulder, and began to aim her to one of the chairs to the right of Mrs. V.’s desk. Leanne, however, was having none of it. She shook off his hand and made a beeline for Corso, who, in the manner of a matador, eased the young woman past the edge of the desk and into the guest chair. She sat, halfway into the seat, leaning forward, her hands clasped in her lap.
    “Can I get you something?” Mrs. V. inquired. “Coffee? A soft drink? A bottled water?” Leanne shook her head.
    “A hundred years is a long time,” she said after a moment.
    “And quite a responsibility,” Mrs. V. added. “The portraits make me feel as if they’re all watching over me. Making sure I do the right thing.”
    “That’s why I came here today,” Leanne said.
    Mrs. V. settled back into her seat. “To do the right thing?”
    Leanne nodded. “I had to. I couldn’t let somebody—Mr. Himes—be dead on account of me.”
    “I owe it to all of my readers to make sure that what I print in this paper is accurate.” Mrs. V. locked Leanne with her gaze. The young woman seemed to steel herself, sitting up straight. Stilling her hands.
    “What I told Mr. Corso is true.” She looked back over her shoulder at Corso. He gave her a nod. “I lied about Mr. Himes, and now I have to fix it.”
    “That won’t be easy,” Mrs. V. said.
    “I know,” Leanne said softly.
    “This is a very serious matter,” Hawes added.
    “I know,” she said again, softer this time.
    “Then I’m certain you will want to—” Mrs. V. began.
    Leanne exploded like a cherry bomb. “No,” she shouted. “Don’t you dare start telling me what I want. I know what I want.” She looked over at Hawes. “My whole life people have been telling me what I really want or what I really mean—like I’m such a retard I don’t even know what’s going on inside of me.”
    She turned finally to Corso. “Mr. Corso…he just listens to me like he listens to everybody else.”
    Natalie Van Der Hoven looked to Corso for an explanation.
    “She means I treat everybody like they’re retarded,” he said.
    Leanne covered her mouth and laughed. Mrs. V. returned to her seat behind the desk, leaned forward, pushed the red button on her phone. “Violet, could you come in here, please?”
    “Yes, Mrs. Van Der Hoven,” crackled the voice.
    Mrs. V. looked over at Leanne. “Do you still live with your parents?”
    Leanne shook her head. Said she was living in a group home on Harvard Avenue. Transitioning into the workplace, as it were. Place was called Pathways.
    The office door opened. Violet stepped in. “Are either of the boys home from college, Violet?” Mrs. V. asked.
    “No, Mrs. Van Der Hoven. Not for a couple more weeks.”
    “How would you feel about spending the next few days in a fancy hotel ordering room service?”
    Her face lit up. “I don’t believe I understand—” she began.
    “Miss Samples is going to be a guest of the paper for a few days. I was wondering if it would be too much of an imposition to ask you to act as her chaperone.”
    It took a bit of talking, but they worked it out. Leanne suddenly found herself beyond where she’d thought things through and took a little convincing. Violet wouldn’t hear of Mrs. V. fielding her own calls and insisted on arranging a suitable temp for herself. They settled on the Carlisle Hotel where the Sun had an account they used for out-of-town visitors. They were to get a couple of rooms. Not use their own names. Violet was going to stop at home and gather whatever personal things she might need for an overnight stay. Anything Leanne needed would come out of petty cash. Mrs. V. gave Violet her personal cell phone number and told her to call Pathways as soon as they were settled. Wouldn’t want them sending