She rose awkwardly to her feet and went out to the kitchen, remembering the many hours she’d spent babysitting as a teenager. Then, as now, the refrigerator had an undeniable appeal. Marge wouldn’t mind if she had a snack. Pulling open the door, she peered in; the remains of the Christmas turkey were wrapped carefully in aluminum foil. Lucy took out the packet and placed it on the table. In the breadbox she found a loaf of homemade bread, and the covered butter dish was placed nearby. Lucy smiled approvingly. She hated refrigerated butter herself and always kept her butter out, except in the hottest days of summer.

With nothing else to do except worry about Barney, she made a project of constructing a sandwich, slicing two perfectly even pieces of bread. She put them in the toaster and watched carefully so she could take them out when they were just lightly toasted. Then she spread them with the soft butter, covering even the corners and watching the butter melt into the little airholes. Taking out a large carving knife, she cut two thin slices of breast meat and laid them on the bread. She dusted the meat with salt and pepper, then fished a head of lettuce out of the crisper and peeled off a nicely wrinkled leaf. Adding this to the sandwich, she placed the second piece of bread on top. With geometric precision she cut the sandwich from corner to corner in four triangles. Opening the refrigerator again, she pulled out a bottle of Moosehead Ale, then sat down at the table to eat her snack.

What if the cruiser had some sort of mechanical failure? It was possible, but unlikely. Barney and the other cops maintained the cruisers themselves, in a garage underneath the police station. They didn’t trust the black-and-whites to just any mechanic; they knew their lives could depend on the cars and followed a strict maintenance schedule religiously.

Could the car have been sabotaged? Could someone have cut the brake line? Lucy didn’t think so. The saboteur would have been taking an enormous risk, unless he was someone the cops knew well—someone who was above suspicion or perhaps someone who was interested in cars. Lucy couldn’t get away from the fact that Sam Miller had been killed in a car, and Barney had almost been killed in his.

Lucy chewed her sandwich and sipped her beer thoughtfully. The last time she’d seen Barney he’d been brimming with life, complaining that his job was boring. Had he finally gotten the high-speed chase he’d wanted? She suspected that whether he knew it or not, he’d discovered something that made him dangerous to Sam Miller’s murderer. And whatever it was, it had driven the murderer to attempt a second killing.