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may show up at your house later. What you will say
to them is, ‘Under advisement from my attorney, I have no
comment.’”
    “Can I at least say I’m innocent?” Felton
sounded like a petulant child.
    Caleb shook his head. “Repeat after me:
‘Under the advisement of my attorney, I have no comment.’”
    Felton rolled his eyes but obediently
muttered the words Caleb had fed him.
    Caleb nodded. “I mean it,
Jerry. We’ve got a very long road ahead of us. You slip up now, you
make one misstatement, no matter how innocuous, and it could cause
you huge problems down the road. So what are you going to say?
To anyone —not just
journalists but your next-door neighbor, your doctor, and the
chatty clerk at the supermarket check-out counter?”
    Jerry sighed, then said, “Under advisement
from my attorney, I have no comment.”
    “Very good.”
    One of the massive oak double-doors inched
open and Jerry shrank back a step, apparently expecting to be
confronted by a microphone-waving reporter. When Meredith slipped
inside, Caleb felt a tiny knot of tension inside him unravel. He
shouldn’t be so relieved that she’d understood his signal, but he
was.
    Felton looked perplexed. “It’s okay,” Caleb
told him. “She’s got nothing to do with your case. Now, I want you
to leave through the back door, where you’re a lot less likely to
run into any of those folks.” He waved toward the doors, once again
shut. “Go straight to your car, get in, and drive home. If by some
chance, some reporter is lying wait for you by your car, what are
you going to say?”
    Felton sighed again, once again the sulky
child, annoyed at being nagged. But he dutifully recited his line:
“Under advisement from my attorney, I have no comment.”
    “That’s the spirit. Go on home. I’ll talk to
you tomorrow.” He fixed Felton with a firm stare. Shoulders
slumping slightly, Felton vanished through an inner door, heading
to the exit at the rear of the building.
    Caleb turned back to Meredith—and felt his
temperature spike. No reason for it; the Town Hall building was a
century old, like so many civic buildings in the charming towns
surrounding Boston, but it had been renovated and retrofitted. It
boasted indoor plumbing, electricity, and blessed air
conditioning.
    The air conditioning didn’t prevent a film
of sweat from gathering at the nape of his neck. At work, Heather
often teased him to wear his hair shorter, but he liked it the
length it was, except when he was overheated. Like right now.
    He tugged the knot of his tie to loosen it
and smiled at Meredith. “So, Ms. Benoit, things turned out okay for
you.”
    “Did they?” She didn’t seem at all hot. Then
again, she was wearing a skirt, a short-sleeved blouse, and
sandals. Her toenails, he noted, were polished the same pearly
shade as her fingernails. “I wasn’t sure. I got your text this
morning, but it seemed…kind of cryptic.”
    “I’m sorry. I was rushed. What did I
text?”
    “Done,” she said.
    He hesitated, thinking she
would continue, but she remained silent. “That’s it? Done ?”
    “That’s what you texted me. Just that one
word.”
    “Shit.” He smiled
contritely. “Sorry about the language. I just…um…” He wasn’t used
to being tongue-tied, but Meredith scrambled his brain.
Gentlewoman? Sorceress was more like it. “I got your citation
tossed. I was racing to a meeting with the DA, and I meant to tell
you the matter was resolved, but I guess I was thinking, done. Like checking an
item off my to-do list.”
    She offered a shy smile. “Well. Thank
you.”
    “No problem.”
    “Will you be mailing me a bill?”
    “Forget it.” At her dubious expression, he
added, “If I was going to charge you, I would have sent you a
longer text message.”
    Her smile widened. She had a sense of humor.
Definitely a good thing. “I know lawyers charge by the hour. I
didn’t know you also charge by the word.”
    “We’re tricky that way.”
    “I do