He jumped out of the truck, slamming the door hard behind him, and walked with a determined gait into the house, his limp barely slowing him down. He managed to find his way into the kitchen without tripping over any of the baskets and boxes that littered the floor. With a dramatic flourish he laid the paper out on the countertop, front page up. “Have you heard?”
She gave him a confused look and shook her head. “Heard what?”
Doc jabbed with a crooked finger at the paper’s front page. “They announced it this morning. It’s all over the TV and newspapers.” He paused, then said in a low breath, “It’s Jock Larson. He’s dead.”
TWO
“Dead?” At first Candy wasn’t sure she had heard what she thought she had heard. Maybe her ears weren’t working right. She almost smiled, thinking Doc was just playing with her, as he sometimes did. “You’re kidding.”
He shook his head. “’Fraid not, pumpkin.” His face was stern; there was no trace of a smile to indicate a joke. “Jock’s gone, that’s for sure.”
Candy felt a chill go through her that made her think of winter’s coldest day. Suddenly hushed, she asked, “What happened?”
Doc started to speak, but his voice was low and hoarse. He paused, took a moment to clear his throat. Obviously the conversation at the diner that morning had been more spirited than usual. It must have been quite an event. The boys are probably in a frenzy, Candy thought. The whole town probably is.
Her next thought was, This is big news. I’ve got to call Maggie.
Gathering himself, his voice grave, Doc said, “Well, the information’s still pretty sketchy. But what’s clear is that sometime late last night, Jock took a nosedive off a cliff up on Mount Desert Island -”