Worth a try anyhow.

He found the E-ZPass website via a Google search, but it required both an account number and a password. He didn’t have them—had never, in fact, gone on the website—but they’d be on the bills at home. Okay, good. Time to go home anyway.

He grabbed his jacket and hurried to the car. When he merged onto Interstate 80, his mobile rang. It was Thomas.

“Where’s Mom?”

He debated how to play it, but now was not the time for detailed honesty. “She’s away.”

“Where?”

“I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Will you be home for dinner?”

“I’m on my way now. Do me a favor. Take burgers out of the freezer for you and your brother. I’ll grill them when I get home.”

“I don’t really like those burgers.”

“Too bad. I’ll see you in half an hour.”

He flipped through the music stations as he drove, searching for some nonexistent perfect song that would be, as Stevie Nicks might sing, “hauntingly familiar” yet not played so often as to beat it into submission. When he did find such a song—a rarity—it was always the last verse, and so the flipping would start anew.

When he pulled onto his street, Adam was surprised to see the Evanses’ Dodge Durango in the driveway. Tripp Evans was getting out of the vehicle as Adam pulled in beside him. The two men greeted each other with handshakes and slaps on the back. Both were wearing business suits with loosened ties, and suddenly, the lacrosse draft at the American Legion Hall, just three days earlier, seemed very far away.

“Hey, Adam.”

“Hey, Tripp.”

“Sorry to just stop by like this.”

“No worries. What can I do for you?”

Tripp was a big man with big hands. He was the kind of guy who never looked comfortable in a business suit. The shoulders were too tight or one sleeve was too long, something, so that he was always adjusting himself and you could see all he really wanted to do was rip the damn thing off. Lots of guys looked like that to Adam. Somewhere along the way, the suit had been strapped to them like the proverbial straitjacket, and now they simply couldn’t get it off.

“I was hoping to talk to Corinne for a sec,” Tripp said.

Adam stood there, hoping nothing showed on his face.

“I texted her a few times,” Tripp continued, “but, uh, she hasn’t replied. So I just figured I’d stop by.”

“Can I ask what it’s about?”

“No big deal, really,” he said in a voice that for a guy as forthright as Tripp felt awfully forced. “It’s just some lacrosse business.”

Might be just Adam’s imagination. Might be just the craziness of the past couple of days. But it felt as though some sort of tension was gathering in the air between them.

“What kind of lacrosse business?” Adam asked.

“The board met last night. Corinne never showed. Which was odd, I guess. I wanted to fill her in on some stuff, that’s all.” He looked toward the house as though he expected her to appear at the door. “It can wait.”

“She’s not here,” Adam said.

“Okay, fine. Just tell her I stopped by.” Tripp turned and met Adam’s eye. That tension in the air seemed to thicken. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Adam said. “I’m fine.”

“Let’s grab a beer soon.”

“I’d like that.”

Tripp opened his car door. “Adam?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll be honest here,” Tripp said. “You look a little rattled.”

“Tripp?”

“What?”

“I’ll be honest here. You do too.”

Tripp tried to smile it off. “It’s really no big deal.”

“Yeah, you said that before. No offense, but I don’t believe you.”

“It’s lacrosse business. That’s the truth. I’m still hoping it’s nothing, but I can’t tell you more right now.”

“Why not?”

“Board confidentiality.”

“Are you serious?”

But he was. Adam could see that Tripp wouldn’t budge on the subject, but then again, if Tripp was telling the truth, what the hell could the lacrosse board have to do with anything truly relevant in this?

Tripp Evans slipped back into his car. “Just tell Corinne to give me a call when she can. Have a good night, Adam.”

Chapter 16

Adam expected Mayor Gusherowski to look like a fat-cat politico fresh off the graft train—soft build, ruddy complexion, practiced smile, maybe a pinkie ring—and in this particular case, Adam was not disappointed. Adam wondered whether Gusherowski had always looked like a poster boy for corrupt politicians or if, over his years of “service,” it had just become part of his DNA.

Three of the past four mayors of Kasselton had been indicted by the US Attorney’s office. Rick Gusherowski had served in two of those administrations and been on the town council for the third. Adam wouldn’t judge the man strictly on his looks or even legacy, but when it came to New Jersey small-town corruption, where there was smoke, there was usually a blazing, supernova-like bonfire.

The sparsely attended town hall meeting was breaking up when Adam arrived. The median age of the audience appeared to be in the mideighties, but that could be because this particular town hall meeting was being held at the brand-spanking-new PineCliff Luxury Village, which was unquestionably a euphemism for nursing and/or retirement home.

Mayor Gusherowski approached Adam with a Guy Smiley smile—the perfect blend of game show host and Muppet. “Wonderful to meet you, Adam!” He gave Adam the perfunctory too-enthusiastic handshake, adding that little pull toward him that politicians believed made the recipient feel somehow inferior or obligated. “Can I call you Adam?”

“Sure, Mr. Mayor.”

“Oh, we’ll have none of that. Call me Gush.”

Gush? Oh, Adam didn’t think so.

The mayor spread his arms. “What do you think of the place? Beautiful, am I right?”

It looked to Adam like a conference room at a Courtyard Marriott, which was to say neat, generic, and impersonal. Adam gave a noncommittal head nod.

“Walk with me, Adam. I want to give you a little tour.” He started down a corridor with forest-green walls. “Great, isn’t it? Everything here is state-of-the-art.”

“What does that mean?” Adam asked.

“Huh?”

“State-of-the-art. How is it state-of-the-art?”

The mayor rubbed his chin, signaling deep thought. “Well, for one thing, they have flat-screen televisions.”

“So does almost every house in America.”

“There’s Internet service.”

“Again, like almost every house, not to mention café, library, and McDonald’s, in America.”

Gush—Adam was warming to the name—volleyed the question away by reigniting the smile. “Let me show you our deluxe unit.”

He used a key to unlock the door and opened it with the flourish of—maybe Adam’s mind was on game shows now—a model on The Price Is Right. “Well?”

Adam stepped inside.

“What do you think?” Gush asked.

“It looks like a Courtyard Marriott.”

Gush’s smile flickered. “These are brand-new and state—” He stopped himself. “Modern.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Adam said. “Frankly, it doesn’t matter if it looks like a Ritz-Carlton. My client doesn’t want to move.”

Gush nodded with great sympathy. “I get that. I really do. We all want to hold on to our memories, am I right? But sometimes memories hold us back. They force us to live in the past instead of the present.”

Adam just stared at him.

“And sometimes, as a member of a community, we have to think about more than just ourselves. Have you been to the Rinsky house?”

“I have.”

“It’s a dump,” Gush said. “Oh, I don’t mean it like that. I grew up in that neighborhood. I say this as a man who worked his way up from those very streets.”

Adam waited for the bootstraps analogy. He was somewhat disappointed when it didn’t come.

“We have a chance of making real progress, Adam. We have a chance to chase away the urban blight of crime and bring sunshine to a part of our city that could use it. I’m talking new housing. A real community center. Restaurants. Quality shopping. Real jobs.”