Outside, Lucy paused to sniff the crisp fall air. The temperature was finally dropping and a few trees had already changed color. Fall was definitely on its way and she was looking forward to the drive to New Hampshire. Opportunities like this, when she could spend time alone on the open road with her thoughts, rarely came her way. She started the car, turned the radio to her favorite oldies rock station, cranked up the volume, and checked the gas gauge. Before she went anywhere, she was going to have to fill up the rental car.

Lucy was standing at the Quik-Mart self-serve pump watching the numbers scroll upward and congratulating herself that she wasn’t driving a Hummer, not that she’d ever seriously considered the idea, when Preston roared in on his Harley. Now that would get even better mileage, she thought, giving him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he wasn’t a reckless hooligan with no regard for other people’s desire for peace and quiet; maybe he was a responsible steward of the planet.

“I thought it was you,” he said, pulling to a stop behind her car. “Who do you think you are?”

“What do you mean?” she asked calmly, trying not to react to Preston’s angry tone.

“That story. Saying the homeless guy was related to my mother.”

Lucy felt her throat tighten. “I said it was likely, since your mother’s maiden name was O’Toole and she came from the same Boston neighborhood. Plus the fact that he was in town at the time of her funeral. But I made it quite clear that only the medical examiner can make a positive ID.”

“That could all be coincidence. I don’t know this guy, I never heard of him and neither did my dad.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not related,” said Lucy, replacing the hose on the pump. “Maybe there’s some reason they drifted apart.”

“Yeah, and I bet you’d like to find out all about it, wouldn’t you?” Preston was jabbing his finger angrily at her.

Under the circumstances, Lucy thought it wisest not to mention her plans for the day.

“Well, listen, you,” he said, snarling at her. “You leave my family alone—or else!”

Then he gunned the motorcycle and sped off, raising a cloud of dust.

Chapter 17

“Don’t you threaten me!” yelled Lucy, but she knew the gesture was futile. He certainly couldn’t hear her over the noise of his engine. Her words only served to vent her anger and frustration, and her fear. She didn’t like being threatened, especially after two murders. He certainly didn’t mean that she might be next, did he? The thought gave Lucy pause. Was Preston the murderer? Did his father go to jail to protect him?

What exactly did that “or else” mean?