He had tried to stand by her, but Doreen couldn’t even see clear to help herself. Every few months, when her rage boiled up, she’d spend the day drinking. Then she’d “borrow” someone’s car and go for one of her famous high-speed drives. People in town knew to stay off the roads when Doreen Kelly got behind the wheel.

Back at the Tranquility police station, Lincoln let Floyd do the booking and locking up. Through the two closed doors leading to the cell, he could hear Doreen yelling for a lawyer. He supposed he should call One for her, though no one in Tranquility wanted to take her on. Even down south as far as Bangor, she’d worn out her welcomes. He sat at his desk, flipping through the Rolodex, trolling for a lawyer’s name. Someone he hadn’t called in a while. Someone who didn’t mind being cussed out by a client.

It was all too much, too early in the morning. He shoved away the Rolodex and ran his hand through his hair. Doreen was still yelling in the back room. This would all be reported in that nosy Gazette, and then the Bangor and Portland papers would pick it up because the whole damn state of Maine thought it was funny and so very quaint. Tranquility police chief arrests own wife. Again.

He reached for the telephone and was dialing the number for Tom Wiley, attorney at law, when he heard a knock at his door. Glancing up, he saw Claire Effiot walk into his office, and he hung up.

“Hey, Claire,” he said. “Got your safety sticker yet?”

“I’m still working on it. But I’m not here about my car. I want to show you something.” She set a dirty bone down on his desk.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a femur, Lincoln.”

“What?”

“A thigh bone. I think it’s human.”