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noticed an occasional leaf already tinged with rust. Autumn would be beautiful here as well, she reflected.
    Her father had died when her brother Jack was eleven and she was only three. Education was more important than a house, her mother had decided, and had used whatever she could save from her salary as a nurse supervisor at Bellevue Hospital to send them both to Georgetown. She still lived in that same fourroomapartment where Menley and Jack had grown up.
    Menley had always wanted to live in a house. As a little girl she drew pictures of the one she would have someday. And it was pretty much like this place, she thought. She’d had so many plans for the house she and Adam had bought in Rye. But after Bobby was gone it held too many memories. “Living in Manhattan is right for us,” she said aloud to Hannah. “Daddy can be home from work in ten minutes. Grandma enjoys baby-sitting and I’m a city slicker. But Daddy’s family has always been on the Cape. They were among the first settlers. It might be kind of wonderful to have this house for the summer and holidays and long weekends. What do you think?”
    The baby turned her head and together they looked at the house behind them. “There’s still a load of work to do,” Menley said. “But it would be fun to really restore it to the way it used to be. I guess it was just the two of us being here alone that made the dream seem so real when I was waking up. Don’t you agree?”
    Hannah wriggled impatiently, and her lip drooped. “Okay, you’re getting tired,” Menley said. “God, you’re a crabby kid.” She started back toward the house, then paused and studied it again. “It has a wonderful sheltering look, doesn’t it?” she murmured.
    She felt suddenly lighthearted, hopeful. Adam would be home this afternoon and their vacation could get back on track. Except . . .
    Except if Adam decides to represent Scott Covey, she thought. Adam never does anything halfheartedly. It would take a lot of his time. Even so I hope he does represent him. She remembered the horror when, two weeks after Bobby’s funeral, Adam had received a phone call. The assistant district attorney was considering prosecuting Menley for reckless manslaughter.
    â€œHe said that you’ve had a couple of speeding tickets. He thinks he can prove that you ignored the warning signal at the crossing because you were racing to beat the train.” Then Adam’s face had become grim. “Don’t worry, honey. He won’t get to first base.” The D.A. had backed off when Adam produced a formidable list of other fatal accidents at that crossing.
    Elaine had told them that one of the reasons Scott Covey was being judged harshly was because some people said he should have known about the squall.
    Menley thought, I don’t care if it does cut into our vacation. Covey needs help just as I did.

19
    T he Carpenter summer home in Osterville was not visible from the road. As Detective Nat Coogan drove through the gates and along the wide driveway, he observed the manicured lawn and flower beds. I’m suitably impressed, he thought. Big, big bucks, but old money. Nothing flamboyant.
    He stopped in front of the house. It was an old Victorian mansion with a wide porch and gingerbread latticework. The unpainted shakes had weathered to a mellow gray, but the shutters and window frames gleamed snowy white in the afternoon sun.
    When he had phoned this morning asking for aninterview, he had been somewhat surprised at how readily Vivian Carpenter’s father had agreed to see him.
    â€œDo you want to come today, Detective Coogan? We were planning to play golf this afternoon but there’s plenty of time for that.”
    It was not the reaction Nat had expected. The Carpenters did not have the reputation of being accessible people. He had anticipated a frosty response, a demand to know why he wanted to see