Roxanne laughed. “This was a very lively town before the mills closed down. We had touring grand opera in the nineteenth century. We had a luxury hotel near the train station for people traveling up to the park for the summer, quite elegant. In the twenties and thirties, after the Sacandaga was dammed and the lakes were created, we had our own airport with floatplanes. And, of course, during Prohibition this whole strip along Route 9 was known as ‘Bootleggers Alley,’ with rumrunners dashing between Canada and New York City and supplying speakeasies. We have a small collection of fabulous jazz recordings made in Millers Kill clubs where you had to knock three times and whisper ‘Joe sent me’ to get in.” Roxanne’s cheeks glowed with enthusiasm. “Of course, that was then, as they say. I’m afraid our big draw nowadays is peace, quiet, and affordable housing prices.”
Clare thought of the confrontation between the doctor and Debba Clow. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think it’s still a very lively town. You just have to know where to look.”
Chapter 5
NOWFriday, March 10
Clare’s 10:30 counseling session with the Garrettsons was running over. Liz Garrettson’s mother, a source of frequent conflict in the Garrettson home, had deteriorated to the point where she was going to have to be institutionalized or move in with her daughter and son-in-law. Liz and Tim circled around Liz’s anger and his impatience, two people punching at a sandbag filled with guilt. It was exhausting just being in the same room with them, and Clare couldn’t help glancing at her Apache helicopter clock as the minutes ticked past noon. The only thing worse than being late to a vestry meeting was being late to an emergency meeting she had scheduled herself.
Finally ushering them out of her office with a promise to put them in touch with Paul Foubert, the Infirmary’s director, Clare cocked an ear for any sounds of conversation or argument drifting down the hall. Nothing. She opened the meeting-room door and stepped into the underheated splendor of a wood-paneled, Persian-carpeted gallery that appeared to have been assumed bodily from Oxford. No one was there.