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Okay, grab some stuff, load up the pooch, and let’s get out of here. Traffic’s heavy enough we should be easy for the cruiser to follow.”

Chapter Three
    With the rush-hour traffic, it took most of an hour to get from Kirkland to Mike and Mary Kate’s house in Green Lake. Gemma sat huddled on the seat, staring out at the passing cars without seeing them. Mike was silent and grim. Only Nikki seemed to enjoy the ride, lifting her nose into the space of open window and panting against the glass.
    Gemma felt tears start again when Mary Kate opened the kitchen door and met her with a hard hug. Mary Kate took a step back and gave Gemma a sympathetic look. “What can we do for you, Gemma? Whatever you need.”
    “Thanks, M-K. I think I’d really just like to hide for a while.”
    “Well, we can do that, too. Come on out back and watch Timothy run through the sprinklers,” she said after another quick one-armed hug for Gemma and a kiss for Mike as he came through the door with Gemma’s bag.
    Mary Kate stood back to let the excited dog dance through the kitchen ahead of them. “I got subs for dinner. You’ll feel better with something in your stomach.” She turned to her husband. “Mike, Brady is out back having some big discussion with Tim.” Mary Kate smiled and rolled her eyes. “But he said he needs to talk to you before he leaves.”
    “Tell him I’ll be there in a few minutes, will you?” Mike turned to Gemma. “Sorry for the holdup, Gemma. Are you okay?”
    “Sure. I should call Ned’s mother, anyway, and Doug needs to know what’s happened.” Not tasks she was looking forward to.
    “These things are never easy. Just take it one nightmare at a time,” he added as he stepped out the back door.
    Gemma took a chair at the kitchen table. “I’ll be out in a few. With any luck, this won’t take long—there’s not much to tell them.”
    She reached out to stroke the tabletop. “Irish Farmhouse” was űber-trendy these days, but this was the real thing. No one in the family knew how old it was—it had just always been there. Thick, hand-shaped oak, smoothed by generations of hands and beeswax, solid and heavy with clean, comforting lines. Her mother had inherited the parents’ house in Donegal when Gemma was eight. She still remembered how happy Ma had been the day the furniture was delivered. It had been such a contrast to the sorrow that had clung to her since she’d come back from Grandda’s funeral.
    The table and ladder-back chairs, a breakfront and china cabinet, a bookcase. Tangible reminders of heritage and continuity.
    Gemma took out her phone and looked up Doug Wheeler’s private line. Now that Doug was running for office, he was next to impossible to reach. But she’d take every bit of delay she could before calling Ned’s mother.
    Of course, this time Doug picked up on the first ring. “Gemma. What a pleasant surprise.”
    She could hear the smile in his voice. This was going to be even harder than she’d thought. “Doug, I don’t know how to tell you this—”
    “What’s wrong, Gemma? Is it about Ned?”
    Why would he ask that? she wondered, then remembered Ned hadn’t shown up for work. “Yes. Yes, it is.” Her throat tightened and she drew in a deep breath.
    Before she could speak again, Doug said, “Where is he? You know he hasn’t been here all day. Didn’t even call, and he’s not answering his phone—”
    “Ned’s dead.” She hadn’t meant for it to slip out so bluntly. She was going to have to get a grip, or she’d never make it through this.
    Silence.
    “The police came to the house. Ned’s been killed.”
    “How? What happened?”
    “I don’t know. They said he was murdered. They won’t tell me anything else.”
    “Murdered? Ned was murdered ? By whom? My God, Gemma. This is a disaster.”
    She could picture him running a hand through his blond hair.
    “My God,” he said again. “Murdered? They’re sure?”
    “That’s all I know. I just