Prudence Path seemed to return to normal when the weekend rolled around. Coach Burkhart was mowing his lawn and keeping on eye on the twins, who were riding their bicycles up and down the street. Chris Cashman’s husband, Brad, could be seen in his driveway, changing the oil in the family SUV. Snatches of pop music could be heard coming from the LaChances’ deck where Renee was sunbathing. Willie was on her knees, weeding the flower bed and casting disapproving glances in Renee’s direction. Only the Stanton house remained closed and silent, except for one brief excursion Sunday morning when Fred left and returned a half hour later with Tommy. After that, its inhabitants remained closeted inside.

As Lucy came and went, going about her weekend errands, she wondered what was going on behind that impressive front door. The whole town had pretty much decided that Fred was guilty, it was all anyone was talking about. The boys must have heard the rumors. What was it like for them, cooped up with him? Did they suspect him as well, or had they closed ranks against outsiders, convinced of his innocence? And when, everyone wondered, would the police get around to arresting him?

The answer came on Monday morning, when the moms and children had gathered to wait for the bus. Lucy had accompanied the girls, hoping to pick up some neighborhood gossip, and had no sooner joined the group when the entire Tinker’s Cove police force of three cruisers, lights flashing but without sirens, swooped onto Prudence Path and halted in front of the Stanton house. The women fell silent, watching as four officers took up positions behind their cruisers, weapons at the ready, and two others marched up to the Stantons’ front door and knocked. The door opened, there was a brief conversation and then Fred Stanton stepped out, was handcuffed and escorted without incident to one of the waiting cruisers. Then, as quickly as they had arrived, the police were gone.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” said Frankie.

“I suspected him all along,” said Willie. “He has such a temper.”

“More than a temper,” said Bonnie. “I’d call him abusive. I bet poor Mimi tried to leave and that’s when he killed her.”

Lucy had heard the scenario before. The cycle of abuse, the increasing tension, the explosion into violence. The abusive partner’s obsessive need to control and dominate the other even to the point of murder if the victim tried to escape. Somehow it didn’t quite fit.

“Mimi had friends on the police force,” said Lucy. “She knew about the resources for battered women and she had plenty of support from her coworkers, she doesn’t sound like an abused wife to me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Bonnie, sounding un-characteristically sure of herself. “Abuse crosses all socioeconomic lines; anyone can be a victim.”

“You seem to know a lot about it,” said Frankie, challenging her.