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withdrawal of her name from consideration.
    “About this whole running for mayor thing,” she told Ava when she got her on the phone, “I’m issuing a definite Sherman. If nominated, I won’t run—”
    “I think that’s ‘shall not,’ ” her editor corrected.
    “Fine, you can look up the classic line and use that,” Liza replied. “I won’t run and I won’t serve.” She paused for a second. “For the people who were out with the petitions—and Mrs. H. assures me that a lot of them were genuine volunteers—I need to say thanks very much. I found it very flattering that they thought I could do some good for the town.”
    “Good for the town,” Ava muttered, obviously scribbling down Liza’s comments. “You don’t want to make any endorsements?”
    “I’ll leave that to you on the editorial page,” Liza told her. “Just say that I’m sure they can find someone more qualified.”
    “And that’s it?” Ava’s voice sounded a little clipped.
    “From the way Murph was talking, I thought you’d be relieved.”
    “Maybe Murph thought he’d lose his shot at an exclusive if he mentioned how aggravated I was,” Ava told her. “You disappear without a word, this whole ‘Liza for Mayor’ thing starts up—if it weren’t for the fact that you’d added so many columns to your cushion, I might have thought you’d been kidnapped.”
    “Thanks—I think,” Liza replied. “I just knew that extra work would pay off.”
    “By the way, we only have a few pieces left in the can,” Ava said in impeccable managing editor mode. “I hope you spent part of your vacation writing.”
    “Ah.” Liza sighed. Back to the old rat race.
    “And you might have told me you were going.” Now Liza’s childhood friend was peeking out from under the editor’s mantle.
    “Maybe I should have,” Liza admitted, “but my last few announced trips didn’t turn out that well. People ended up dead. I just wanted to get away . . . on my own. I didn’t even go as Liza Kelly, I went as Mrs. Michael Langley.”
    “Wow—really undercover,” Ava said facetiously. “And then you got one hell of a welcome home.”
    “Let’s just say I may not be responsible if I meet a guy named Clark Hagen. Mrs. H. told me he’s the one who did the dirty work, recruiting her and the other volunteers.”
    “Well, he’s not one of the big gears in the Pauncecombe machine,” Ava said.
    “What about Chad Redbourne?”
    “He’s come onto our radar, and not just for alumni reunions.”
    “I saw him today,” Liza said, “for the first time since the summer after senior year.”
    “He cleaned up pretty well, all things considered. Still unmarried after all these years. I thought of going out with him for a while after my divorce.” Ava sounded a little embarrassed to admit that.
    Liza laughed. “I think you were right to take a pass on that. He still had that whole fumbly nervous thing going when I talked with him.” She paused for a second. “In fact, everybody at the county center seemed a bit on edge—as if they were afraid the ax was going to come out. Is the fiscal crisis that bad?”
    “I’ve noticed that myself, talking to people in the government,” Ava said. “I guess people are taking their cue from the top. Old Man Pauncecombe—well, he is an old man these days, and his temper has gotten kind of . . . erratic. If he hears something he doesn’t want to hear, he flies off the handle.”
    “How far?” Liza asked.
    “The last big blowup I heard about happened after the paper shone a little light on John Junior trying to finagle the school’s milk contract. I mean, that was really low.”
    “And you’ve got a kid going there,” Liza added.
    “Anyway, there was such a stink, J.J. had to let his little deal die. And when he had to report that there wouldn’t be any kickbacks, John Jacob chased him out of the house with a twelve-iron.”
    Huh, Liza thought. With a husband like that, I don’t think Brandy