The front door opened with the slam of the drawer. She turned to see Carol Anne standing in the threshold, stepping over a pile of clothes and waving the Darby Chronicle in her face. “Look, look at this.” Amy was not in the mood to read the local gossip of who had won the track meet, or how the fund-raising for the new flower bed in front of the courthouse was going. She turned away from Carol Anne. “I’ve got so much to do here.”

“Take a break, come here. You’ll work yourself to death and nothing will be solved.” She walked into Amy’s office, she sat on the edge of the flowered chaise and patted the seat next to her. “Sit.”

Amy did. Carol Anne handed her the paper, and Amy looked down at the front page: DARBY WOMAN SACRIFICES TO SAVE DOOMED ISLAND. Amy looked up. “What is this?”

“Read it.”

The story told of how she’d been working to save the small island and house from development, and then how she’d gone to the island with a group called the Oystertip Wilderness Protectors and become lost in the maze of marsh while collecting samples to prove the property should be saved. A chart listed the attributes and species of the island.

She looked up at Carol Anne. “I can’t read any more of these lies.”

“They’re not all lies. You did try hard to save it. Keep reading.”

The article revealed that the sale had closed that week and the island was now lost to the development of a personal home and playground for a local descendant of a Darby founder—Mr. Farley, a hometown man.

She gasped and looked up at Carol Anne. “Farley?”

“Yes. Do you believe it?”

“God, yes, I do. No wonder he hates me. I thought it was because you were my friend.”

The article ended by discussing how she’d been working against him without knowing who he was, how she almost lost her life, only to then lose the doomed island. She was painted as a folk hero, while Mr. Farley came across as the evil villain.

“Good Lord,” Amy said.

“You should see it. There are demonstrations outside his building—hate mail pouring into the newspaper. He’s a pariah.”

“Carol Anne—it’s not right. They believe something . . . that isn’t true.”

“Amy.” Carol Anne touched her face, grabbed her hand. “You did everything you could to save it. It is right. They don’t need to know everything that happened the last time you were out there. You think this town doesn’t have secrets? You think everyone you see on the street or in the market doesn’t have something they don’t want you to know—that would kill them if you found out?”