Chapter 4: Eighteen Thirty-Four

"Come in," I said to the officers. "Please. Take your shoes off, the floor's clean."

The older one blinked.

Then he wiped his boots on the mat anyway and came into Maeve's kitchen with the younger one behind him.

Neighbors had come out onto their porches along the harbor road.

I could see a curtain moving in the house next door.

"Ma'am, you don't have to let us in," the older officer said.

"I know," I said. "I'd rather you see."

I opened the refrigerator for them.

I opened the pantry, where Maeve had stocked prenatal vitamins, crackers and four kinds of soup.

I showed them the guest room with its fresh sheets and the crib catalogue on the pillow.

I handed the older officer my doctor's note from that morning, with my pressure on it and the line that said the baby's heartbeat was strong.

"Mrs. Prescott told us you were confused," he said. "That you hadn't been taking care of yourself."

"I'm seven and a half months along, and I flew home from my grandmother's funeral this week," I said. "I'm tired. I'm not confused."

"Do you feel safe here?"

"Yes."

"Is anyone keeping you here against your will?"

"My sister drove me to the hospital this morning," I said. "I could have asked her to drive me anywhere."

Maeve, standing by the stove with her arms folded, said, "I could drive her to the moon, officer."

The younger officer coughed into his fist.

The older one closed the folder.

"The man across the road," he said. "Mrs. Prescott mentioned a man."

"Orin brought firewood," Maeve said. "That's the whole crime."

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