-33-
Emma worked feverishly the next two days, spending her daylight hours taking pictures, then working late into the night at George's editing and retouching the digital photos and churning out prints. Both Finn and George were excited as her work began to take shape, but Emma was just pushing through, doing what needed doing so she shouldn't let George down.
"There's no joy in it," Emma complained to Caro during their Wednesday night session.
"Joy will come," Caro promised. "For now, it's enough just to do the work, even if you feel like you're just going through the motions. There is comfort in activity, even if it feels rote. Maybe all the more so, actually."
She was right. Being busy was what Emma needed. Whenever she tried to settle down to sleep, or when she had a quiet moment in the truck or while waiting from prints to dry, her mind clamored with fear and anxiety, but so long as she was busy, she could focus. She could keep moving. If she stopped, she feared her anxieties would catch up and overwhelm her. She worried what would happen after the Festival. Without that project looming, how would she find the motivation to get out of bed?
****
Thursday, while Emma was at George's making prints, Finn knocked on Phoebe's door. He'd seen Gina, the mail carrier, deliver several packages that morning, and it was time to make sure his surprise was coming together.
Phoebe held open the door and waved toward a small collection of flat, cardboard wrapped packages in varying sizes, nearly a dozen in all.
"Not bad, considering you only had a few days to collect them," Phoebe noted, impressed.
"Have you opened them?"
She shook her head and went to the kitchen. She brought back a paring knife. "That honor is yours."
Finn had spent hours this week online, trying to track down former clients of Emma's photography business in Georgia. She'd had a website which she hadn't updated in months, but it had samples of photos from weddings, bar and bat mitzvahs, family portraits, baptisms, and the like. The photos on the website were saved in small file sizes, and were watermarked with Emma's brand logo, so she couldn't have run new prints from the web photos. But the website had offered enough clues that he was able to track down several clients on social media platforms, and then he'd sent them urgent messages and emails explaining Emma's situation: how she'd lost her portfolio in a fire and was trying to rebuild it.
Finn implored these clients to send discs and thumb drives with digital copies of her work, and to consider sending any framed 8x10 or larger prints to be displayed at the Harvest Festival. These framed photos were on loan: Finn offered to pay shipping both ways, plus $50 per photo for the privilege of the loan. There were a lot of people he couldn't track down, and many to whom he'd reached out hadn't responded, but a handful of people had been happy to help.
The packages contained the requested portraits, discs, and thumb drives, as well as notes of encouragement praising Emma's work and wishing her well.
Finn and Phoebe lined the framed prints along the porch floor in a line, studying the images. The frames were mismatched, of course, but most were fairly minimalist: Finn thought Emma would be able to display them without the frames detracting from her work.
"She's really good," Phoebe noticed. "She's got a gift for capturing the emotion in the shot, while still keeping it natural."
Finn nodded in agreement. He'd seen a lot of Emma's landscapes and nature photographs, as that was what she'd been doing lately, but her portrait work was new to him. She'd mentioned that portraiture was the bread-and-butter of her business, and she'd worried that the lack of portraits was the main shortcoming of her show, which had inspired Finn to try to collect these for her. He didn't consider himself an art critic, and he had no objective sense of what made a picture 'good' or 'bad' over than his own subjective experience in viewing it, but he suspected Phoebe was onto something when she described these portraits as 'natural.' They didn't seem posed, the way wedding photos often did: no bridal party neatly arranged on the church steps, no bride and groom staging a kiss with perfect hair and makeup. Finn's favorite photo was of a couple in their wedding finery, kissing passionately in a soaking rain while the groom held his sodden suit jacket over their heads. The background was fuzzy, diffused by a dreary, green-grey light, but the couple was in sharp focus, and the raindrops around them were lit up like diamonds. They looked happy and beautiful and blissfully in love. It was raw. Sexy. Finn felt his pulse kick with lust, not for the people in the photo, but for the woman who had captured this moment on film.
"I like this one," Phoebe said, pointing to a photo of two blonde teenagers, probably sisters, holding pitchforks in a hay strewn stall, laughing as they worked. They looked carefree and comfortable in jeans and boots and plaid work shirts. They also looked like they didn't do any actual work in their carefree, comfortable lives, and Finn could see why this image would speak to Phoebe.
"They look a little like you," he commented.
"It makes me wish I had a sister." Her tone was wistful.
"Do you think this is enough?" he asked. There were nine framed portraits in all.
"It has to be, right? Isn't the Festival tomorrow?"
He nodded.
"Well, take them to her. She'll know better than we do whether these will give her what she needs," Phoebe suggested.
She helped him rewrap the packages and load them into the truck. Emma was getting the show together at George's. They would go after business hours to set up Emma's booth in the auditorium above the town office, where the artists and crafters had been assigned booth space. There were also outdoor booths, but the indoor spaces were better, since the lighting could be controlled and weather would not be a factor.
"This is a great thing you've done, Finn," Phoebe said, when the last of the packages had been stowed behind the passenger seat in the truck. "I don't know if it will be enough to help Emma, but she's going to love that you tried."
He hoped so. He thanked Phoebe and drove to George Hazen's.
Leo, George's friend who had helped sheetrock Emma's cottage, answered the door when Finn rang the bell. His arm was in a sling. "What happened?"
The younger man grimaced. "I fell off a ladder and wrenched my shoulder. I'm supposed to take it easy for a week. If it heals up on its own, I might not need surgery."
"That sucks," Finn commiserated.
"It will if I have to go under the knife," Leo agreed. "George and Emma are downstairs."
"Actually, if you could get George to come up and give me a hand...? I have a surprise for Em."
"I can give you a hand," he said, holding up his uninjured left one, "but if you need two, George is your best bet."
"I do. Sorry."
Leo shrugged. "No problem. Give me a minute to lure him up here without raising Emma's suspicions."
While Leo was gone, Finn brought one load of photos in from the truck, and then George joined him in getting the rest.
"What is all this?" George asked.
"You'll see. Can we spread these out somewhere, so Emma can see them?"
George directed Finn to his enormous dining room, which looked like a set from Downton Abbey, it was so stuffy and ornate.
"You host a lot of dinner parties, Hazen?"
George shook his head. "No, but it comforts me to know that I could. Oh, wow," he breathed, as Finn unwrapped the first portrait, a 16x20 print of a beautiful coffee-skinned toddler in a white dress dancing in tall grass. "Where did you get these?"
Finn explained as he set the photos on the table, neatly stacking their packaging on a sideboard. "Do you think they'll help?"
"I think these are exactly what she needs. Damn, I wish I'd thought of it."
Finn grinned, proud that the idea had been his. George had been so instrumental in getting Emma this opportunity to show her work, but Finn was glad to have found a way to help. He knew his jealousy was petty and stupid—George didn't even play for the same team—but Finn's inner neanderthal couldn't seem to stop competing with him.
When he'd unwrapped the last package, lined up all the portraits, and put all of the disks and thumb drives and notes and cards in a pile on top of a single large manila envelope, he asked George to summon Emma to come see.
George didn't go immediately. He was walking slowly around the table, studying each photograph. "These are brilliant. My God."
"She's brilliant," Finn corrected, proudly.
"You're a good man, Finn."
He nodded shortly. "Will you get her?"
"Sure thing."
Finn's insides crawled with nerves as he waited. Would Emma appreciate this surprise, or would she think he'd overstepped? Was there some reason she hadn't reached out to past clients herself? He knew she worried about security, especially with the possibility that her stalker had followed her up from Georgia, but the only address he'd given out was Emma's cottage, which—for better or worse— her attacker already knew how to find.
"Finn?" Emma asked uncertainly, entering the room. "Is everything — oh." Her voice cut off as she noticed the portraits lined up on the table. She stared for a long moment, and then turned wide eyes toward Finn. "How?"
Once again, Finn explained how he'd sought out her clients, and the terms on which they'd sent their pictures. Emma's eyes filled with tears. Her hands shook as she read through the notes from her clients and friends.
Finn waited on tenterhooks, practically holding his breath, as he waited for her reaction.
Finally, she set down the last card and stepped back from the table. She turned to Finn, and then ran and launched herself into his arms, covering his face with kisses. "You wonderful, wonderful man! I love you! Thank you so much."
Finn held her close, burying his face against her throat. "I love you, too. I'm sorry there's only a few. I didn't get this idea until Sunday night, so there wasn't a lot of time."
"It's more than enough. It's amazing. Thank you."
He opened his mouth to her kisses, heedless of George and Leo standing nearby. He was hers, and Emma could take whatever she wanted. He was just so relieved, not just that she liked his gift, but that she was happy. She still had too many problems weighing on her slim shoulders, but at least in this moment, she was happy, and Finn was hopelessly, irrevocably in love.
*****
The town office was open from 5:00-7:00 that night, so that venders and artists could set up their booths for the festival. Emma didn't have that much to do, considering that she had so much help: Finn, George, and Leo, plus Phoebe brought Catie over after soccer practice.
Emma draped large swaths of misty grey, silky fabric over the pockmarked bulletin board partitions that formed the walls of her booth, making a three-sided enclosure about ten feet by ten feet. She draped silken fabrics in several shades over blue over the card tables on either side of her booth. They hung prints at various heights from the walls, including the portraits Finn had collected.
On the tables, they arranged racks of smaller prints, mostly landscapes she'd taken locally, each wrapped in plastic and available for sale. She'd also printed business cards and a trifold pamphlet, so that people could contact her in they wanted to hire her to photograph their families, homes, and events.
Emma was worried about all that she hadn't managed to do. There were far fewer prints for sale than she'd have liked, and she worried that there wasn't enough variety on display. Most of her photos were autumn-themed, because she'd taken so many of them over the last few weeks, and she worried that, as much as everyone loved foliage, at some point foliage pictures all look the same.
When she voiced this fear out loud, though, Finn and George both told her it didn't matter. "It's perfect for Harvest Festival," George reminded her. "Autumn is kind of the theme."
She also worried that she hadn't updated her website. "I didn't even think of it," she berated herself. "I already have an online presence I could be using to get my work out there, and I completely forgot about it. In five days, Finn, you've done more to rebuild my portfolio than I've done in five months. I'm such an idiot!"
Finn pulled her into his arms. "I wanted to help, not make you feel worse. Stop," he urged. "There will be time to update your site. I can even help, if you want." He had a website and blog to sell his books, and though his agent had initially set it up, he did most of the work of updating its content. Emma's site would be pretty easy to update.
"Well, well, how cozy," someone said, and Finn and Emma looked up to see Andrea Greene, in her uniform, standing outside the booth.
Emma jerked away from Finn and busily — even manically — started straightening the display on the table behind them.
Finn thought he'd heard an edge to Andrea's voice, but her expression was friendly enough. She smiled at him and said hello Catie, who said 'hi' back but stayed close to Emma. "What brings you by, Andrea?" he asked.
"The town asked us to keep an eye out tonight: all of these people coming in and out of the town offices, all of these arts and crafts, some of which may be valuable." Andrea's gaze slid over Emma's display, and the slight emphasis she put on the word 'some' seemed to indicate she did not believe consider Emma's work in that category.
And yet, it was so subtle, Finn couldn't be sure she meant to imply any such thing.
But Emma seemed to have the same impression, because she said defensively, "I know it looks cheap, but I didn't have the money to-"
"It doesn't look cheap," George interrupted, with a sharp glare at Andrea. Finn became more certain that he hadn't imagined her dismissive tone.
Phoebe stepped forward and held out her hand. "Trooper... Greene?" she said, reading from the name tag pinned to Andrea's uniform pocket. "I'm Phoebe Chase. Although something tells me you already know that." Andrea's shook the offered hand, her expression sour and tight. Finn wondered if Andrea's displeasure might be directed toward Phoebe rather than Emma, but the thought made him feel only nominally better.
"Andrea is an old friend of mine," he said, then added pointedly, for Andrea's benefit, "as is Phoebe."
"Pleased to meet you," Phoebe said sweetly.
"Yes," Andrea replied. Stepping back, she nodded toward Finn, and said, "Excuse me. I need to make the rounds."
As she walked away, Leo made a sound like an angry cat. George's eyes lit with excitement at the prospect of new gossip. "My, my, that was interesting. You must like a gal in uniform, eh, Finn?"
Finn pursed his lips. "I wonder what's gotten into her?"
Leo coughed into his fist. Cough. "You." Cough.
George elbowed his friend in the chest, smirking. "Looks like jealousy, to me."
Finn didn't think that made sense. The night they'd run into each other at Stubb's, Andrea had flat-out told him she didn't care about his love life, and then she'd been fine the other day when she came to tell him they'd found Emma's car. "Maybe she's just having an off day."
"Or maybe it put her over the edge to see you loving up on Em just now," Phoebe suggested carefully, reminding everyone that she wasn't entirely comfortable with such displays, either.
Emma had been silent, but she blushed at this and muttered to Finn. "I keep telling you the PDAs piss people off."
He sighed. Emma was already stressed out, and he didn't want to fight with her again. He tried to change the subject. "Never mind. What else do we need to do? Put me to work!"
Emma looked around, frowning as turned in a slow circle, surveying the booth so far. "It's not... dynamic. It needs to catch people's attention better. Maybe I should have chosen brighter colors for the drapery, but I didn't want to wash out the photos."
"You know what draws people in?" Catie asked. "Cookies! You should give away cookies!"
George vetoed that suggestion. "There are food venders trying to sell food, so no one's allowed to give it away," he explained.
"Like how you're not allowed to brink snacks to the movie theatre," Leo said to Catie. "Good thought, though. Cookies would totally work on me."
Phoebe spoke up. "People are so used to backlit, electronic screens now. I think you need a big computer monitor to display a slideshow of your work. That way, maybe you'll snag the attention of people just walking by, who might not have the patience to stop and flip through the prints on the racks."
Finn beamed at his ex. "That's perfect!" he agreed.
"I don't have a monitor like that," Emma said.
"I do," Finn told her. "We'll make a slideshow on my laptop and display it on my monitor."
George grinned. "That's not even hard to do. You could have it ready by morning, no problem."
"Will that work?" Catie asked Emma.
"I don't have any better idea," Emma admitted.
Finn wished she could muster a little more enthusiasm, but considering that a few days ago she'd been ready to plow under, he knew it was something of a miracle that she'd managed to pull this display together at all.
They left the auditorium and headed across the village Green for pizza before parting ways: Phoebe to her borrowed home, George and Leo to theirs, and Finn, Emma, and Catie home to put together a digital slideshow of Emma's best work.
The best part of the slideshow concept was that it allowed Emma to include the work that her Georgian clients had sent up on digital media but which there hadn't been time to make into physical prints, which added some of the variety that she felt her work had been lacking. Emma stayed up late going over all the photos, editing and arranging them, then rearranging them again and again. Finn tried to urge her to come to bed, but eventually he just left her finish and went to bed himself. He was long asleep before she finally joined him.
*****
-34-
The next morning, Finn left Emma sleeping, and he and Catie left early, planning to set up the monitor for Emma's slide show at the Town Hall before school. As they headed in that direction, though, it occurred to Finn that they probably wouldn't be able to get in, since the town offices didn't open until 8:30 and it was only 7:15. Yet when he arrived, the parking lot was surprisingly busy... and not in a good way.
Two police cruisers, the town's fire engine, and fire chief's pickup truck were all parked in the lot, and a little knot of bystanders stood outside on the sidewalk.
Not again, Finn thought grimly, parking well away from the emergency vehicles. Whatever was going on might be serendipitous, but he doubted it. He'd spent all summer lying to himself, but no more: as soon as he saw the fire trucks, he knew in his gut there had been another attack, and that Emma was the target.
"What's happening?" Catie asked.
Finn considered taking her to school and then coming back, but he knew she'd never go for it now. She's seen the emergency vehicles, too, and she could put two and two together as well as he could. "Let's go see."
They left the computer equipment in the truck and walked over to the cluster of gawkers on the sidewalk.
"Finn!" Mary Alice Cooper, whose store was across the street, called out as they approached.
"What's going on?"
She was happy to explain. "We're petsitting my Adele's German Shepherd this week. I brought him out for his morning walk, and I noticed their was a window open in the Town Hall, which I knew wasn't right because Shiela always locks that place up tight. So I got closer, and then I thought I smelled smoke, so I called 9-1-1 right away. And here we are!" She couldn't contain her excitement at having such a central role in the morning's going's on.
"The building doesn't look damaged," said one of the other bystanders, a woman Finn had seen around town but didn't know. "Maybe you caught it before the fire could spread."
"Was there actually a fire?" Catie asked.
"I smelled smoke," Mary Alice vowed.
"He'll know," Finn said, noticing police Sgt. Palmer leaving the building. Finn left Catie at the curb and strode forward. "Sgt. Palmer?"
The officer turned and his face registered recognition. "Finn McCaffrey." His grim expression somehow strengthened Finn's suspicion that whatever had happened had something to do with Emma.
"Emma has a booth in the Festival. I came to set up a monitor to display her photos."
Sgt. Palmer nodded, his frown deepening.
"There's been another attack, hasn't there?"
The sergeant's eyes widened. "Has there been anything since the one this summer?"
"Someone stole her car in Lebanon, New Hampshire, last weekend. VSP found it burned almost beyond recognition in a quarry up north," Finn explained. "What happened here?"
"Is Emma here?" Sgt. Palmer asked, glancing toward the small crowd at the curb.
Finn suppressed the urge to growl, impatient with the officer's failure to answer his questions. "She's home. Well, at my home. She was up late getting ready for the Festival. Will you please just tell me what's going on?"
Sgt. Palmer seemed uncertain for a moment, as if considering this request, and then he said, "Come with me... and then you'd better call your friend."
Finn followed him inside, and they passed a few more firemen and another officer standing in the foyer, talking without any particular urgency. Finn and Sgt. Palmer nodded as they went by. Finn didn't realize until they were halfway up the stairs that Catie had joined them. "Wait outside please, Katydid," he urged but it was too late. Emma's booth had already come in sight.
The framed photographs they'd so carefully hung and arranged were gone. The racks holding the prints to be sold were empty and some of them were crushed into twisted tangles of metal. All of Emma's work was gone. In its place, someone had spray painted GO HOME BITCHES in red on the fabric draped over the walls. Other obscenities — WHORE, SLUTBAG — were painted on fabric on the tables. In the center of the booth was a metal trashcan with a scarecrow in it—or something like a scarecrow. Some kind of effigy made of stuffing and rags, yet crude as it was, it was clear at a glance who it was meant to represent. It had a wig of short, dark curls, and its clothing seemed familiar. Finn had seen Emma wearing a light purple sweatshirt just like the one on dummy. He remembered thinking out nicely the purple brought out the unusual color of her eyes.
Catie gasped loudly. The officer noticed her for the first time, and said, "Kid, you can't be here. This is a crime scene."
Catie ignored him. She ran down the aisle between the booths, then back up the aisle between the stalls on the other side of the large room When she returned, seconds later, tears were flowing freely down her cheeks.
Finn held out his arms to catch her as she threw herself at him. "Ours is the only one they touched," she reported. "Everything else is all set up, but ours... Everything's gone."
Sgt. Palmer nodded. "It's definitely personal," he confirmed. "The graffiti, it's just like what happened at the house this summer. And the dummy in the trashcan: whoever did this lit it on fire, but she didn't actually want it to burn. She just singed it a little, to make the point."
"She?" Finn echoed, pointedly. "Do you have a suspect?"
Sgt. Palmer shrugged sheepishly. "Just a hunch. I might be wrong, but this looks like jealousy to me. If it were a man, I'd expect more threats, or something more personal about why he's mad, or what he expects Ms. Wyatt to do about it. This stalker just seems to really, really hate her, just because. I don't know, but it looks like a girl fight to me."
"Phoebe?" Catie suggested, horrified. "She wouldn't-"
"No, she wouldn't," Finn said with certainty. "They're friends."
Sgt. Palmer pulled a small notepad out of his breast pocket. "If you have any suspects, no matter how unlikely you think they are, we should check them out. Tell me about this 'Phoebe' person."
Finn shook his head as he looked at the ruined stall again. "Phoebe Chase. She's Catie's mother."
"Which makes her your ex," the other man noted, sounding intrigued.
"Ages ago. She didn't do this. Phoebe was out of the country when Emma's house got vandalized this summer."
"Oh, yeah, she was!" Catie agreed, looking relieved.
Sgt. Palmer asked when Phoebe had arrived in town. He made a few notes, and then said, "Anyone else seem to have a problem with Emma?"
Finn sighed. "I keep having this conversation, and I never come up with anything new." Once again, he summarized what he knew of the incident that had chased her from Savannah, and about the chilly reception she'd gotten from the community here.
Sgt. Palmer said, "That's right, I remember all of this from this summer. Tell me, did anyone seem particularly upset about her moving to town?"
Finn shrugged helplessly, at a loss. "She doesn't tell me. I know the Coopers have been rude to her, and Barbara from the hair salon, and yesterday Andrea Greene was kind of snarky with her. But I only know of those incidents because I was there to see it. I get the sense that Emma deals with more, and worse, but she doesn't tell me about it."
"I'll need to talk to her, of course," Sgt. Palmer said.
Finn hung his head in defeat. He didn't want Emma to know there had been another attack. He hoped she was still sleeping, blissfully unaware that across town, one more part of her life was unraveling, and he wished he could keep the knowledge from her forever. She'd already been through so much, and what if this was the last straw?
"She's been through a lot. I want to tell her first, and I want her therapist on hand, if she's available," Finn decreed. "Let me take Catie to school, and then -"
"Are you kidding me?" Catie scoffed. "I'm not going to school after this!"
Finn narrowed his eyes and prepared to argue, but she didn't let him speak.
"We have to fix this! What about the Festival?" she demanded.
"Honey, all her work is gone," he reminded her gently.
Catie shook her head. "No. There's the slideshow, which is right down in the truck. Plus there's George Hazen's lab: maybe she had some extra prints, or maybe we could print some more. We can't just give up. Emma's been working on this for months!"
Finn admired her insistence, but reality compelled him to remind her, "It's too much, love. You can't recreate months worth of work in a few hours."
"No, it won't be the same, but it would be something," Catie protested. "People need to see Emma's work, because she's just incredible. Even if it's just a few more digital screens with slideshows and no pictures for sale, we can show off what she can do, and maybe people will start to hire her."
Finn smoothed his daughter's hair, his chest tight with affection for her, and pride in her loyalty and persistence. "Honey, once we tell Emma what's happened, she's not going to feel up to doing the Festival anymore," he explained.
Catie ducked away from his touch. "I can do it, Dad. George and I can set up the screens and fix this. I know George will help, once we tell him what happened. Please, take me to George's. You can go take care of Emma, and we'll take care of this." She gestured toward the ruined stall.
Finn couldn't argue. He didn't know how to shut down her determination without breaking her spirit, and in truth, he hoped her plan worked. He only wished he could be in two places at once, so he could care for Emma and help Catie and George at the same time. He put his hands on Catie's hot cheeks and wiped her tears away with his thumbs. "Okay," he agreed.
"You'll take me to George's?"
"Yes," he agreed.
Catie hugged him so tightly she almost knocked him off balance. "Thank you, Daddy! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
Finn set her down and turned his attention back to Sgt. Palmer. "Can you give me an hour to take her across town, and to call Emma's therapist? After that, you can come by my house and talk to Emma. Does that work?"
Sgt. Palmer agreed to the plan. Turning to Catie, he said, "Good luck, young lady. Emma is lucky to have you in her corner."
****
As predicted, once George heard what had happened, he was just as eager as Catie to help, and just as determined that Emma should not give up, even if it was too late to replace the stolen photos. "We'll pull together a Plan B," he vowed. "You go look after our girl."
Finn left Catie with George and headed home, calling Caro from the truck. Unfortunately she had appointments scheduled all morning, but she promised to meet with Emma during her lunch hour. "If things really go south on you before then, call my office and tell the receptionist to put you through," Caro instructed. "I'll warn her you might call."
Finn thanked her, though he hoped Emma's reaction would not be so bad he'd have to interrupt another patient's therapy session.
Emma was in the kitchen when he got home, and he stood in the doorway for a moment, taking a mental snapshot of her in this instant before she read his expression and knew he came bearing bad news.
She studied him, her morning greeting dying on her lips, and then she wrapped her arms around herself, bracing for the impact of whatever he had to say. Finn crossed the room and wrapped his arms over hers. He kissed the top of her head.
"Just tell me," she said stoically.
He rocked against her. "Don't want to," he muttered.
"Finn, I can tell by your face that something's wrong. Don't leave me here imagining all the possibilities, because maybe my imagination is worse than reality. Tell me."
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Someone broke into the town office and vandalized your booth."
Emma held very, very still. Finn wished she were taller so that he could see her better, but with her head beneath his chin, it was impossible to see her face.
"The photos people sent?" she asked quietly.
"Stolen," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."
The silence stretched. Every few seconds, Finn would apologize again, or ask if she was alright, or offer her a drink or a seat or anything he could thing of that might help, but Emma didn't answer.
Just when her silence had begun drive him mad, she tipped her head back and met his gaze. "I'm not even surprised," she said flatly. "We knew it wasn't over."
That too calm voice, when he'd expected hysteria, made Finn's skin crawl. Still, maybe it was a sign that she was holding herself together. Maybe the two sessions with Caro had given her some coping mechanisms. Yet he couldn't shake his unease. "I called Caro. She wants to see you over lunch, and if you need her sooner, we can call her."
Emma nodded absently.
He waited, holding his breath, but there was nothing more, just the single nod, and Emma's vacant stare. "Should I call?"
"It doesn't matter. There's nothing Caro can do. There's nothing you can do. There's nothing I can do."
Finn's stomach clenched painfully, twisted by fear. Emma was so calm, so hopeless. And the worst of it was, she was right. Nothing he could do would make this better. Nothing he could say would bring any comfort.
"I'm sorry," he apologized again, tightening their embrace. He didn't know if the hug was any comfort to her, but he needed it. He need to hold her, to love her, to know through his own hands that she was here, and whole, and well — physically well and safe, at least, if not emotionally so. "Don't leave. Please don't leave," he begged.
"It wouldn't matter. Even if I could afford it, which I can't, they'd follow. It wouldn't matter."
Finn buried his face in her soft hair, still slightly damp from her shower. "It matters to me."
Emma pressed closer, hugging him back. "I'm bad luck, Finn. You try to help me, and it just goes wrong. You're hemorrhaging money, trying to make your home safe, and this happens anyway. All those people who sent their photos — their wedding pictures, their cherished memories — because they wanted to help me start over, and now they're gone. Gone."
He didn't know what to say. The money, the photos, these were just things, insignificant compared to Emma herself, but she couldn't see that. "You're not bad luck. Next to Catie, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he told her.
Emma shook her head in disagreement. Her fingers found the edge of his sweatshirt and crept beneath, making his breath catch with the sharp, shocking promise of her cold touch on his skin. "It doesn't matter" she repeated, her forehead pressed to his chest as her chilly fingertips traced along the waistband of his jeans. "I can stay, or I can go, but shit still happens. I can work my tail off to start over, or I can hide in bed, and shit still happens. It doesn't matter... and since it doesn't matter anyway, then I choose to hide in bed. With you. Please."
She lifted her head to look at him, and Finn noted the determination in her eyes. He packed all of his doubts into a box at the back of his mind and locked it up tight. He hadn't expected Emma to initiate this — she hadn't been interested in sex since her car was stolen — but he couldn't fault her logic. Nothing else in life was going her way, so why not this? And, selfishly, Finn wanted this. The sex, of course, always, but even more than that, he wanted the chance to hold her, touch her, spoil her. He couldn't fix her problems, but maybe he could make her feel good, at least for now.
He smiled, and when she lifted her chin and stood up on tiptoes to kiss him, he dove in. She jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist, and he caught her with a soft grunt. He flexed his hips almost involuntarily, his body drawn to that warmest, softest core of her.
Emma opened her hot little mouth against his earlobe, her sharp teeth nipping teasingly. "To bed," she urged. "Move."
Shivering with anticipation, Finn did as he was told.
****
They kept each other busy, biting, flexing, moaning, coupling. By unspoken agreement, there was a driven, almost frantic edge to their lovemaking, as if neither wanted to leave room to think about anything else. There were no post-coital snuggles or pillow talk. Time was the enemy, including recovery time. They came, and came, and started over, hands never resting, pace never slowing.
At first, the urgency was part of the rush, and Finn felt as eager and unstoppable as a randy teenager. Yet he wasn't a teenager, and eventually, his body reminded him. His knees hurt. His back ached. His mouth was swollen. His cock... his cock was sore, damn it, and though it stirred feebly as Emma stroked and kissed it, oh, God, he was tired.
"Come on, baby," she coaxed, holding her breasts up and together for him to run. She was incredible, so fearless and sexy and strong, taking what she needed without apology. He wanted to be what she needed, to give her whatever she wanted, but he didn't know if he had anything left to give.
"I'm a tired old man," he groaned.
Emma sat up and leaned back on the pile of blankets they'd shoved toward the foot of the bed. She spread her knees while and stroked her hands over her skin. "Poor darling. Maybe you need to sit out this round," she teased saucily, circling her clit with her own slim fingers.
Finn groaned again, watching with rapt attention. "You're killing me."
She grinned and kept playing. She was swollen and wet and red — really red, he realized.
"You must be sore."
Her grin flickered and slipped into a grimace, but she shook her head. "Don't care. Don't want to stop," she said stubbornly.
Finn understood, but he couldn't let her hurt herself. Summoning the last reserves of his energy, he managed to shift around, nudge her hand away with his nose, and then lowered his head, soothing her sore, hot slit with his tongue. She was sweet and delicious, and he loved paying her this attention, but it didn't take long before his jaw started to ache in protest. Christ, his tongue ached, and his eyes were so, so heavy. Mmm, he could lose his eyes, just for a minute...
"Finn!" Emma shoved hard at his shoulders, and he realized with horror that he'd dozed off. In the middle of...
She jerked away from him, shoving him back as she closed her legs and grabbed the quilt to cover herself. He barely had time to wonder why before he realized someone was in the house, thundering up the stairs.
"FINN!" Phoebe yelled, and then the blaring siren of the new burglar alarm split the air, drowning her out.
He cursed as he grabbed at the crumpled sheet. By the time he'd pulled it free of the bed and Emma's quilt, Phoebe was pounding on the bedroom door. "Coming!" he called, but she opened the door and stood at the threshold as he struggled to cover himself.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Phoebe demanded furiously. "We've been trying to call you for hours. I knocked and knocked. I didn't think you were home. How can you be doing this, when Catie is missing?!"
Finn's heart stuttered in terror, until his brain caught up with the conversation, and he remembered he knew where Catie was.
"The school called. They said they'd tried to call you, but when they couldn't reach you, they called me. She's not there," Phoebe reported, panicked.
"She's with George," he said.
Phoebe grunted in fury and threw her purse at him. Finn ducked, but too slowly. It hit the side of his head, and toiletries and pens exploded out of it and scattered. "Why the fuck is she with George on a school day?!"
He rubbed his head, stunned by the blow from the purse, deafened by Phoebe's shouting and the still-blaring alarm, paralyzed by exhaustion and mortification. He wanted to explain, but he just stood there, frozen.
Emma spoke up. "Phoebe, can you give us a minute?"
Phoebe glared, but she left the room slamming the door behind her so that both Finn and Emma winced.
Emma pulled on a bathrobe and handed Finn a pile of clothes — the ones he'd shucked at the edge of the bed, hours before. He dressed quickly, but his hands fumbled at his fly and he nearly zipped himself. "Fuck," he cursed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"At least we know the alarm works. How do we shut it off?" Emma asked.
"There's a code you type in to your phone, remember?" He'd shown her how the system worked the day they'd installed it, but either she hadn't been paying attention or she'd forgotten. "Where is my goddamn phone?"
He searched frantically, but it wasn't in his pockets, or on the nightstand, or under the bed.
"It must not be up here," Emma observed as he searched. "She said she'd been calling, but we didn't hear it."
Finn remembered the last person he'd called: Caro, in the truck. The phone was probably still out there. Swearing again, he ran downstairs, passing Phoebe, who was standing outside the bedroom looking pissed off.
"Sorry. The alarm. I've got to stop the -" He ran downstairs, explaining as best he could. He pressed the code into the keypad by the front door, mistyping in his agitation. He forced himself to stop, breathe, and focus before trying again, because the system only allowed three tries before it shut down. After that, they'd have to call the security company out to have the system reset, and there would be no way to silence the alarm in the meantime.
He managed to enter the code, an the silence that followed was a blessed relief. The alarm had been going off for so long, Finn was sure the police must already be on their way.
Phoebe had followed him down the stairs, and she was waiting, hands on hips, glaring at him. "I'm waiting."
"I have to find my phone and call the cops. The alarm - "
"I already called 9-1-1."
He stared at her. "What? Why?"
"The school said my daughter was missing. I knew there had been another... incident, because when I went out for coffee this morning, everyone in town was talking about the break-in at the Town Hall and how someone stole all of Emma's art. And then you wouldn't answer your phone or the door, even though your truck's right there in the driveway. I panicked."
Finn sighed. Put that way, he couldn't consider her fear, or her anger, an overreaction. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. Catie's fine. She's with George Hazen, trying to pull together enough of Emma's work to put on a show anyway. I should have called the school, but with all that's gone on, I didn't think of it."
"No. You were clearly too busy to think. Does Emma even know about the break in, or were you just trying to distract her?"
He blushed. "She knows. We were distracting each other."
Police sirens screamed up the street, and Finn cursed yet again.
"You're unbelievable." Phoebe shook her head in disgust.
"Are we being arrested?" Emma called down the stairs, as two police cars pulled up to the curb out front.
"No," he called back. "They're checking on the alarm."
"Okay. I'm gonna jump in the shower. I'll be right down."
Finn longed for a shower as well. And a nap. In a soundproof room. Since none of those things were in his immediate future, he raked his fingers through his hair—which he could tell by feel must look a wreck—and went to the door to greet the police.
Sgt. Palmer, accompanied by a younger patrol officer Finn didn't know, waited on the porch. Palmer looked at Finn's disheveled state, and the way his brow cocked up toward his hair revealed that he saw way too much. "Everything alright, McCaffrey?"
Finn blushed hotly. "I'm sorry about the alarm, Sergeant. -And about the report that Catie's missing. My ex and I had a little miscommunication."
Phoebe snorted derisively. "Noncommunication, more like." She shook hands with the officers. "I'm the ex. Apparently our daughter is with some George fellow, though how I should have known that, I don't know." Sgt. Palmer smiled slightly. "I knew that, actually."
Phoebe scowled. "Well, it's a shame the 9-1-1 operator didn't put me through to you, so that you could tell me all about it. The officer I spoke to seemed to share my concern."
The younger officer cleared his throat. "That would be me, Ma'am. I didn't realize Sgt. Palmer had already spoken with Mr. McCaffrey here."
Sgt. Palmer looked chagrinned. He told Finn, "Now that there's a missing person report, we need to lay eyes on your daughter before I can cancel it. And I still need to speak to Ms. Wyatt. I've been trying to call you all day."
"He's been busy," Phoebe scoffed.
Finn glared at her, but there was nothing to say in his defense. He invited the officers in, ignoring Phoebe. "I must've left my phone in the truck. I'll go get it, and we'll call Catie."
"And Emma?"
He gestured toward the stairs. "She's in the shower."
Sgt. Palmer nodded. "Ah. Good idea."
Finn resisted the urge to sniff himself as he went out to his truck. He knew he must be pretty pungent, but as there was nothing he could do about it, he figured it was better not to know for sure.
He located his phone in the center console of the truck. It had blown up in his absence. There were missed calls from Catie's school, Phoebe, Caro, and several numbers he didn't recognize, as well as several increasingly anxious texts from Caro and Phoebe. It was nearly 2:00 PM. They had missed their lunchtime appointment with Caro.
As he walked back to the house, he texted Caro. "We're okay. Sorry to stand you up. Talk later?"
Returning to Phoebe and the officers, he held up his phone. "I'll just call Catie..."
He dialed, but the phone just rang and rand until her voicemail picked up. Finn frowned.
"No answer?" Phoebe asked worriedly.
"No, but she often leaves her phone on mute, or in her bag. I'll call George." He tried, but George's number also rang through to voicemail. "Maybe Emma has another number for him?" he wondered, and excused himself to check.
He ran upstairs, beginning to get anxious himself. Catie was fine. He was sure she was. It wasn't unusual for her not to answer her phone right away, and who knew what George's phone habits were? Still, with so many attacks targeted at Emma, Finn was spooked. He wouldn't feel at ease until he saw Catie in person.
"Everything okay?" Emma asked, when he let himself into the bathroom. She stepped out the shower.
While she dried herself off, Finn washed his face and hands, wishing he had time for a shower. He filled Emma in while he scrubbed.
"Catie's fine, I'm sure," she assured him. "We'll find them in the darkroom or something, oblivious. But why did you send her to George instead of to school?"
He tried to comb out his hair, though nothing short of actually washing it would put it to rights. "She insisted. She wanted to figure out how to display your work despite the vandalism, and George was eager to help, so I left them to pull it together."
Emma's mouth and eyes both formed wide, stunned circles. "Really? They're doing that for me?"
Finn hugged her, even though they were in too much of a hurry to linger. "You always sound so surprised. We love you, Emma. Every single one of us will always do anything and everything within our power tomato things right for you."
She shivered. "I don't deserve you. Any of you."
"Yes, you do. You deserve all good things." He kissed her quickly, then hurried to change into clean clothes. He splashed himself with some aftershave he'd received as a gift and wasn't in the habit of using, though today he hoped it would mask his eau de sex until he could bathe properly.
Emma also dressed quickly and put on minimal makeup, and they went downstairs together.
Phoebe and Sgt. Palmer were still waiting in the foyer, though the younger officer had left. Finn wondered if they'd stood at the foot of the stairs in awkward silence the whole time he'd been upstairs. He should have at least invited them to sit down in the living room.
"Ms. Wyatt? May I call you Emma? I'm Sgt. Palmer." He shook Emma's hand politely. "I assume Finn told you about the vandalism at the Town Hall?"
"He did," Emma confirmed.
"There were a number of similarities between this and the vandalism at our house next door, which makes me suspect the two incidents are related," Sgt. Palmer explained.
She nodded, and Finn put his arm around her waist. He wanted to offer his strength, though she was holding her own.
"Can you think of anyone who would do something like this?"
She opened her mouth, but Sgt. Palmer's radio cracked before she could speak, and he held up his hand to silence her while he listened.
Finn could barely make out words amid the crackling static on the radio, but Sgt. Palmer was more used to deciphering that garbled noise. A moment later, he turned down the radio and announced, "It seems there's been an arrest in your daughter's kidnapping."
"What?!" Finn asked.
Sgt. Palmer explained. "That was the VSP dispatcher. Catie is in custody at the barracks, alone with two male suspects being booked for kidnapping."
"Two men?" Phoebe demanded, her pretty face draining of color. She turned to Finn. "You said she was with - "
"George and Leo," Emma gasped, gripping Finn's arm tightly.
"Oh, God," he breathed. "This isn't right. They haven't done anything wrong."
Sgt. Palmer gestured toward the door. "We need to get to the barracks and sort this out. Need a lift?"
*****
-35-
Finn and Emma drove the truck behind Sgt. Palmer, who gave Phoebe a ride in the Wellsboro PD cruiser. Finn's thoughts were racing. How had this misunderstanding gone so far? Catie must be terrified, and poor George and Leo. How had the State Police made an arrest, without even checking with him, the custodial parent? Hadn't Catie explained? It wasn't like her to stay silent, especially if she thought something was unfair. Yet maybe she was so intimidated by the police that she couldn't speak up. Since when did police act so quickly, anyway? He thought someone had to be gone for twenty four hours before police would even consider them "missing," but maybe the rules were different when children were involved.
Beside him, Emma rode silently, though her fidgets betrayed her nerves. She shifted in her seat, her knee bounced, her hands twisted in her lap, and she plucked dog hair from her clothing.
Finn reached over and stilled that bouncing knee with his hand. "Sorry," he apologized. He couldn't think of anything else to say.
She didn't answer, but she put her hand over his, and the warmth of her fingers gave him comfort as he willed Sgt. Palmer to drive faster.
When they reached the barracks, Finn, Emma, and Phoebe all ran inside, leaving Sgt. Palmer behind in his cruiser as he checked in with his dispatcher. Inside, they found themselves trapped in a small lobby, waiting impatiently for a woman behind a thick plexiglass window to notice them. She was on the phone, but hung up just as Sgt. Palmer came through the door behind them.
"Can I help — Oh, hi," she said, recognizing Sgt. Palmer.
"Hey, Wendy," Sgt. Palmer greeted her. "This is Catie McCaffrey's family." At her blank look, he added, "The little girl Trooper Greene just brought in."
"Of course," Wendy said, her confusion clearing.
Finn's confusion was just setting in, along with a crawly, queasy, twisty feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Wait. Did you say Trooper Greene did this? Andrea?"
Sgt. Palmer caught Finn's gaze with an almost imperceptible nod, and there was a serious, knowing glint in his eye that made Finn's innards flip over.
Oblivious, Wendy said helpfully, "She's booking the suspects in now. The little girl is in the conference room with Trooper Williams. Come on in."
She pushed a button, and after a buzzing noise, Sgt. Palmer opened the door that led further into the barracks. He held the door wide, and Phoebe and Emma hurried through. Finn stayed rooted in place, frozen as his thoughts raced faster than his mind could keep up.
"Finn?" Sgt. Palmer prompted.
Finn looked up. "It's not right. Andrea would have called me. She knows me. She knows Catie."
Sgt. Palmer nodded seriously. "I did think of that," he said quietly, gesturing Finn closer.
With effort, Finn finally got his feet to obey. He stepped out of the lobby and into a short hallway. Phoebe and Emma had already disappeared into a conference room at the end of the hall; Finn could hear their voices, and Catie's as they greet one another. He wanted to join them, but Sgt. Palmer caught him by the arm.
"You and Andrea dated?" The officer's voice was low, barely a whisper.
Finn shrugged. "Well, sort of. It was always very casual."
Sgt. Palmer let go of Finn's arm and rubbed his brow as if he had a headache. "In my experience, 'casual' means different things to different people."
"Are you thinking - ?" Finn hissed.
Sgt. Palmer kept rubbing his temple. He looked almost as uncomfortable as Finn felt. Pitching his voice even lower, he said, "When Emma's house got vandalized, I thought it was a little strange that Trooper Greene stopped by. VSP doesn't usually get involved in municipal calls unless we ask for assistance, and I hadn't. But she said she was just passing by, and I believed her."
"Me, too," Finn said. VSP doesn't get involved in municipal calls. "Last night, she was at the Town Hall when we set up Emma's booth. She said the town asked VSP to keep an eye on the Festival set up, because some of the art was valuable."
Sgt. Palmer shook his head. "The town didn't even ask us to do that. We have extra patrols for the Festival, sure, but nothing to do with set up and take down."
Finn remembered how rude Andrea had been to Emma and Phoebe, and how he'd wondered even then if he might be imagining it. God, he was so blind!
Sgt. Palmer stopped rubbing his forehead and stood a little straighter. "Well, I guess we'd better go see what she has to say for herself," he resolved. "Your friend George Hazen is in handcuffs while we stand here talking."
"Right," Finn recalled, following in Sgt. Palmer's wake.
"Finn? Where are you going?" Phoebe called, noticing as they passed the open door of the conference room without stopping.
He looked back and caught a glimpse of Phoebe, Emma, and Catie, and a male trooper he didn't know, watching in confusion from the doorway. Catie had obviously been crying, which broke Finn's heart. He wanted to stop and comfort her, but there wasn't time. He had to trust that Emma and Phoebe could take care of her. Emma already held Catie close to her side, their arms around each other's waists.
"I'll be right back," he told them. We have to stop Andrea."
The trooper he didn't know, Williams, took exception to that. He pushed between the women to follow Finn and Sgt. Palmer.
Sgt. Palmer knew where he was going. He turned left into a small room crowded with too much stuff, a battered table and chairs, a variety of machines and file cabinets, messy bulletin boards, a water cooler, and, most importantly, Andrea and George. George was indeed handcuffed, sitting at the table while Andrea filled out some form. George's face was red with shame or anger, and he'd been crying.
They both looked up when Finn and the other officers entered, crowding into the already cramped space. George sagged with obvious relief, and exclaimed, "Finn, thank fucking God. Will you please tell her I didn't kidnap anyone?!"
"Of course," he promised. "Andrea, what are you doing? This is crazy!"
Andrea's dark eyes had an angry, determined gleam. "We had a missing persons report."
"We had a 9-1-1 call from an overreacting, noncustodial parent," Sgt. Palmer corrected. "You made the arrest even before Wellsboro PD had a chance to respond and take her report."
"What's going on here?" Trooper Williams tried to interject, but no one paid attention.
"This isn't your department, Palmer," Andrea sneered.
"No, but your station commander will thank me for interfering, if it spares him a lawsuit. Let Mr. Hazen and his friend go. They've done nothing wrong," Sgt. Palmer urged.
Andrea's cheeks flushed with anger. She stood up from the table and turned to Sgt. Palmer. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"
Finn turned to Trooper Williams. "Can you uncuff him? I'm Catie's dad. I have full custody, and I left her with George this morning. There's been a terrible mistake," he pleaded, even as he was beginning to process that it wasn't a mistake at all, but another way for Andrea to target Emma and the people and things she cared about.
Trooper Williams, who looked very young and very uncertain, shifted his gaze from Finn to Andrea. "Maybe we were hasty, Greene?" he ventured, only to be ignored yet again.
"I investigated a break in at the Wellsboro Town Hall this morning," Sgt. Palmer told Andrea. "A number of witnesses mentioned that you were there yesterday while the exhibitors were setting up their booths. The town didn't order a State Police detail for the Festival."
"Perhaps you didn't get the memo, officer," Andrea drawled, leaving off his rank to emphasize his lack of importance.
Sgt. Palmer didn't rise to the bait. He was perfectly calm as he went on. "I noticed the similarities—the spraypainted, gendered slurs, the fires, and, well, obviously the fact that Emma Wyatt was the target—and of course I remembered that you just happened to be in the area the night her home was vandalized in August."
"What are you suggesting?" Andrea demanded, her hand hovering over the holster of her weapon as she braced for confrontation.
Uneasily, Finn noticed that both of the male officers kept their hands near their firearms as well. He pressed back against the door, feeling extremely vulnerable in his unarmed state... not that he'd have felt any better with a gun of his own. Surely, there was no need for such aggressive posturing?
Sgt. Palmer continued laying out his damning observations, his voice steady and sure. "This morning, Finn told me about Emma's car being stolen. That was the first I'd heard about it, so I looked it up in the Spillman system. What a coincidence: you were the one to discover the car and cancel the BOL."
"So?" Andrea snapped.
Sgt. Palmer shook his head. His tone was almost pitying as he said, "Trooper Greene, we are trained to notice coincidence."
"Andrea, why?" Finn asked.
Andrea's gaze swung to him, her eyes so full of hatred that Trooper Williams wordlessly pushed Finn out into the hallway and stepped between them.
Whether or not he intended it, Trooper Williams' action communicated to everyone in the room that suddenly Andrea was the suspect, here. She glared at the younger trooper, and then, shaking, sat back down at the table.
"Fuck," she cursed. "Fuck you all." Her voice broke as she slumped over and began to cry into her hands.
Trooper Williams looked shaken, but he moved without being told. He stepped past Andrea, uncuffed George, and steered him out to the hall as well.
"What about Leo?" George asked, but Trooper Williams didn't answer. He'd gone back to Andrea and stood very stiffly in front of her.
"Cpl. Greene? I need to ask to Lieutenant to join this discussion, alright?" he said.
Andrea nodded without raising her head.
Williams coughed. "I'm sorry, but I'd feel better if you'd let me put your duty belt in your storage locker while we talk," he added. He was clearly mortified, but very, very respectful and polite.
Andrea looked up. She curled her lip in disgust, but she stood and laboriously removed the thick, black belt that held her holstered revolver, her taser, her club, pepper spray, and all the gear with which she armed herself for every shot. She handed it to Trooper Williams silently, then sat back down, folded her arms on the table, and put her head down like a chastened grammar student.
Finn waited for the younger trooper to leave the room, and then he went back in. "Why?" he asked again. "Why would you do this?"
Andrea turned her face to look at him. "You don't think you're worth it?" she asked, with a bitter chuckle.
"Nobody's worth this! Andrea, your whole career!" he exclaimed, dumbfounded, because although the fallout of her actions was yet to be determined, Finn was sure she'd never work in law enforcement after this.
Andrea didn't offer any explanation.
Finn went on. "You've been chipping away at Emma for months, attacking everything she cares about... but in the end, you're the one who's lost everything."
She wiped her damp cheeks, but didn't speak.
"What did you think would happen when you got caught?" Finn asked.
"I wasn't planning to get caught," she retorted bitterly, her lips twisting as she sat up. "That bitch Emma was supposed to give up and leave town before it came to this!"
Finn's fists clenched at his sides as he realized how close this plan had come to succeeding. Emma had been on the verge of fleeing after every attack. "It would have broken my heart to lose her."
Andrea shrugged dismissively. "You'd have gotten over it." She grabbed a box of tissues from the top of a nearby file cabinet and started cleaning herself up, beginning to regain her professional stoicism.
Sgt. Palmer, who had been keeping watch without intervening in the confrontation, took advantage of Andrea's distraction to lean over and whisper in Finn's ear. "The art."
"Where're Emma's pictures?" Finn demanded, grateful for the prompt. "Or have you already torched them?"
"It's been a busy day. They're still in my truck."
Sgt. Palmer cleared his throat. "You might want to wait-"
Andrea cut him off with a scathing look. "What kind of cop are you, interrupting an uncoerced confession?" She pointed to the camera mounted near the ceiling on a wall behind her, which seemed to be trained on the chair in which George had been sitting. "If you're lucky, it's still recording."
Raising her voice, she looked straight at the camera and enunciated clearly. "I, Andrea Margaret Greene, confess to burglary of a locked building. I broke into the Wellsboro Town Hall this morning, with intent to commit larceny therein. I stole Emma Wyatt's photographs. That's petit larceny — maybe grand, depending upon how much they're worth. I spray painted her booth. That's unlawful mischief. -And I set fire to - "
"What the hell are you doing, Greene?" a new voice demanded, as Trooper Williams returned with the station commander, an older man whose military style haircut was graying at the temples.
"Confessing, sir," Andrea answered calmly. "I was just about to get to arson."
"Why?" the Lieutenant asked.
"Because I've listened to too many bullshit excuses in my career to insult you all by lying. I know when I'm caught," she explained.
"Jesus. You ought to know when to shut up and call a lawyer," her boss retorted.
Andrea shrugged. She looked at Finn. "My cruiser's in the sally port. The photos are in the trunk."
Finn turned to the Lieutenant and asked hopefully, "Can we have them back, please? They're supposed to be displayed at the Harvest Festival this weekend?"
"It sounds like they may be evidence of a crime," the station commander noted unhappily. "Not that I understand what's going on yet. Who are you?"
Finn sighed and was about to explain when Catie ran out of the conference room and wrapped her arms around his waist. "What's going on? They let George go, but Leo's still locked up, and George is crying and Phoebe's mad at Emma and Emma says she doesn't know what's happening, and you're all just standing here!"
Finn picked her up and gave her a hug. "We're trying to get it sorted out, love." Turning to Trooper Williams, he asked, "Could you please let our friend Leo out of wherever he's being held?"
Trooper Williams told the lieutenant, "He's in holding. We took them in for custodial interference, but it was a ... misunderstanding."
The older man looked pained as he waived Trooper Williams off. "Yes, yes, let the man go already!"
Williams hurried down the hall, unlocked a door, and emerged a moment later with Leo, who was rubbing his newly-liberated wrists and wincing as he moved his right shoulder. Finn remembered that he'd been wearing that arm in a sling yesterday.
"Is your shoulder okay?" he asked Leo worriedly.
Leo nodded. "Think so; just stiff. I figured this would get sorted out as soon as you showed up," he said calmly.
Finn shook Leo's hand. "I'm so sorry you got caught up in this. It's crazy."
Leo shrugged. "Where's George?"
At the sound of his name, George appeared in the doorway of the conference room. "Leo!?" he called, sounding panicky.
"Right here, babe," Leo answered. He clapped Finn on the arm and walked down the hall to join the others.
"Now will someone please tell me what's going on?" the lieutenant demanded impatiently.
"I-"
"Not you," he snapped at Andrea. "Not a word out of you, unless it's the name of your lawyer."
Andrea rolled her eyes, but she shut up.
Finn hesitated. He didn't want Catie present for this explanation, but Emma deserved to hear it. He put his daughter down and told her quietly, "Please go wait with Phoebe, and send Emma to me." He gave her a gentle push toward the conference room door.
"Ugh, no," Andrea groaned. "If you don't want my confession, fine. Put me in the holding cell. I don't want to watch the lovebirds canoodling."
"Canoodling?" Finn echoed, offended.
The station commander rolled his eyes impatiently. He pointed to Finn. "You: wait with your family in the conference room." To Williams, "You: put her in holding and call her a goddamn lawyer." To Palmer, "You: step into my office and tell me what you know. WENDY!"
"Yeah, boss?" Wendy stepped out of a cubicle some yards away.
"Call the Attorney General's Office. We have an officer-involved allegation and will need another agency to come investigate to avoid a conflict of interest."
"Got it," she said, returning to her cube with an efficient little salute.
Finn joined the others in the conference room just as Emma was about to come out. "'Officer-involved allegation?'" she echoed. "George says Andrea - ?"
Finn silenced her with a kiss. She melted into his arms for the barest instant, then pulled back, undeterred. "Tell me."
"Andrea. Andrea did all of it: your house, your car, your booth at the festival."
Emma's eyes widened. She looked past him to where Trooper Williams was leading Andrea, now handcuffed but still in uniform, out of the processing room. Andrea cast them a filthy glare before Williams locked her in the holding cell Leo had just vacated.
"Ludo. She hurt Ludo," Emma said.
Finn nodded. "All of it, except Savannah. That was your ex's fault, I think."
She looked up at him, disbelieving. "It's over? It's really over?"
Relief made him giddy as he assured her it was, or maybe that was lack of oxygen. Emma hugged him so tightly he could hardly breathe, her whole body trembling as all the months of fear and tension shivered out of her. Finn leaned down and kissed her hair, so grateful to be able to share this moment with her.
"Andrea. Is that the woman who was such a bitch last night?" Phoebe asked, catching up.
Catie put her hands on her hips and announced firmly, "I never liked that woman."
"I don't much like her either," George said stiffly. He was sitting at the conference table while Leo stood behind him rubbing his shoulders.
Finn knew what an affront to George's dignity this whole ordeal must have been, and he felt partially responsible. "George, Leo, I am so incredibly sorry."
Leo waved off the apology. "That woman's a bunny-boiler. Not your fault, man."
****
It took hours before they were cleared to leave the police barracks. They all had to give statements to a pair of detectives sent over by a town thirty miles away. The State's Attorney had to give permission for Emma's art to be released from evidence after it was recovered from the back of Andrea's cruiser (along with spray paint cans and a bottle of lighter fluid), and then only after all of it had been photographed and inventoried for the police record. There were endless forms to sign, statements, property receipts, applications for restraining orders and no trespass orders. Finn and Emma both got 'no stalking' orders against Andrea, though Finn was fairly confident there was no real need.
Andrea wouldn't bother them again, even if she managed to post bail. He couldn't say what made him so sure, since clearly his instincts were not infallible, given that he hadn't guessed she was behind the attacks. But he kept thinking of her calm resignation as she'd confessed to her crimes.
Yes, she might be bunny-boiler crazy, but she knew when she was caught.
Lieutenant Harcourt and Trooper Williams retrieved George's sedan from the impound lot where it had been towed upon George and Leo's arrest, and they all went home, tired, hungry, and emotionally wrung out.
Finn was staring blankly into the refrigerator just after they got home. He had to feed his family. They'd all missed lunch, and he didn't know if Emma had had breakfast, either. Yet even the effort of calling out for pizza seemed too taxing.
The doorbell rang, and he cursed. No doubt the small-town gossip mill was already churning, spreading word of the day's events to every busybody in a ten mile radius. He didn't have the energy or the patience to deal with the likes of Mary Alice Cooper right now.
"Dad! It's Mrs. Cooper!" Catie called from the front door.
Finn knocked his head against the freezer door and bit his lip against a torrent of curse words.
"I brought you dinner," Mary Alice said. She was somehow already in his kitchen, Catie trailing at her heels. She carried a covered pan in her hands, and Catie was holding an unfamiliar canvas shopping bag. "My own lasagna, plus fixings for a green salad, and a big bottle of red wine. After the day you've had, I figured you'd need it."
Finn swallowed hard, drawing on what felt like the last reserves of his good manners. "Mary Alice," he started, forcing a smile.
She set her offerings down on the kitchen island and put her hands up to stop him. "I know you don't need any company right now. I'm not planning to stay. I just came to say — well, where's your Emma? I need to say this to both of you."
His Emma, Finn thought, enjoying the sound of that.
"Emma!" Catie hollered up the stairs.
Emma came down, having washed her face and pulled her hair back. Without makeup, she looked pale and drawn, but still lovely enough to steal Finn's breath.
"Mrs. Cooper. How nice to see you," she said, with careful politeness.
Mary Alice pulled Emma into a quick, tight hug. "We didn't give you a fair shake, girl. I'm sorry for that. You stick around, and we'll show you that we can do better, okay?"
"Um...okay," Emma agreed, a little stunned.
Mary Alice kissed her cheek and then patted it gently, as if to rub it in. "Well, that's all I came to say. I know you've had a long day; I'll be out of your hair. Finn, you just drop that pan off at the store whenever you're done with it. No hurry!"
They all thanked her and watched as she bustled back out the door.
The lasagna was still hot. The wine bottle was exactly enough for two. The salad dressing was homemade and delicious. The whole meal tasted of forgiveness, of the townspeople's blessing, of the grace of a fresh start. They were home, they were together, and they were safe.
THE END