So, if Kevin returned, seeing Meghan would even be tougher on him than Annie could have predicted just a minute ago. “If it’s any help,” she said, desperate to change the subject, “the mere mention of secrets has led me to figure something out about Simon Anderson.”
“Something good?”
“It depends. First, we have to get to the library before it closes.” Now that some pieces had begun to gel, Annie needed answers. And she now knew where to start. With no cars ahead of her, Annie stepped on the gas. “I think I know who he is,” she said.
“Simon? So do I. I remember when he was on the news in Boston. Especially when he covered the Marathon bombing.”
But Annie was shaking her head. “Not then. Before. I think he was a newspaper reporter. I need to find out if I’m right. The library has access to theBoston Globearchives.”
Unlike Meghan, Annie had never had amnesia. She had not forgotten anything about the night Brian was killed—or the aftermath. She remembered standing outside the hospital, nearly catatonic, the big red letters of the Emergency Room sign glaring at her, the double-wide, automatic doors opening and closing, opening and closing, each time an ambulance arrived and a stretcher was wheeled inside. She’d been awaiting word if Brian could be saved. She hadn’t been able to stay in the waiting room because she couldn’t breathe in there.
But now, despite that her stomach was twisting like beach grass in hurricane-force winds, Annie was elated. She supposed it was possible that Simon wasn’t the reporter who’d interviewed her after the accident. She’d never seen the article; for all she knew it hadn’t been published. She’d called him two or three times; each time he said he was sorry, but he had no leads. He said he’d let her know. But she never heard from him again.
Zooming past the airport and the transfer station and Barnes Road, she was grateful that a steady stream of traffic was heading west, toward the fair, not east toward Edgartown. She was barely aware of Meghan sitting beside her. All Annie knew for certain was that the reporter’s name hadn’t been Simon Anderson. It had been Andrew Simmons. She remembered the business card he’d given her. The one with his direct line at theGlobe.
She supposed it could be a coincidence that the two names were so similar. Just as it could be a coincidence that he’d landed at the Inn more than two and a half decades later. But Annie didn’t really believe in coincidences.
She wondered why Murphy wasn’t chiming in. Then she wondered if her lead foot was freaking Meghan out. In the same instant that Annie thought she should slow down and chill, flashing blue lights appeared in her rearview mirror.
“Rats,” she said.
Meghan looked behind them. “I wonder if you’ve been speeding,” she said kindly.
“I was.” The only benefit in having to pull to the side of the road was that her stomach settled a little, perhaps welcoming a reprieve from being on the fast track. Until she looked in the side mirror and saw the cop walking toward them. She recognized the stride, of course. How could she not?
“Annie?” John asked when he reached the window on the driver’s side. “Jesus. Do you have any idea how fast you were going?”
She sighed. “Not really.”
He hooked his thumbs into his belt. “Seventy-five.”
She could have done nicely without knowing that.
Then he said, “License and registration, please.”
If she’d gotten angry, that would only slow down her mission to get to the library before it closed. She reached for her purse, pulled out her credentials, and handed them to him. She bit down on her lip to stop from asking if he needed further proof of her identity.
“Sorry,” he said. “Pete from the OB force called it in, so I have to write it up.”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
He leaned down and looked over at Meghan. “You two been at the fair?”
“It was wonderful,” Meghan replied. “I bought a very nice piece of pottery from Annie’s friend Winnie. But I have a terrible headache so Annie was in a hurry to get me back to the Inn.”
The two of them chatted, their words floating back and forth across Annie, who remained perfectly still, staring at the pavement ahead. It was thoughtful of Meghan to lie.
“I’ll only give you a warning,” he said to Annie. “Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks.” Thanks? Was she supposed to thank her fiancé for giving her a warning instead of a pricey ticket?
As he walked back to the cruiser to do whatever he needed to do (check her for priors? Search for outstanding warrants? Make sure her vehicle wasn’t stolen?), she sat, numb now, only wanting him to hurry up and do what he needed thanks to Pete from OB. Or, more precisely, thanks toherfor speeding. Yup. Her bad.
She sighed again.
Meghan reached across the console and touched Annie’s hand. “This isn’t easy for you.”
Annie shook her head, grateful she had set a goal of getting to the library because it no doubt sidetracked her from totally breaking down.
