Under the Dome

Ginny Tomlinson was standing nearby, conversing quietly with an oldish-looking fellow. Both looked dazed and shaken. Ginny saw Andy and came over. The oldish-looking fellow trailed along behind. She introduced him as Thurston Marshall and said he was helping out.

Andy gave the new fellow a big smile and a warm handshake. “Nice to meet you, Thurston. I’m Andy Sanders. First Selectman.”

Piper glanced over from the bench and said, “If you were really the First Selectman, Andy, you’d rein in the Second Selectman.”

“I understand you’ve had a hard couple of days,” Andy said, still smiling. “We all have.”

Piper gave him a look of singular coldness, then asked the girls if they wouldn’t like to come down to the caff with her and have tea. “I could sure use a cup,” she said.

“I called her after I called you,” Ginny said, a little apologetically, after Piper had led the two junior nurses away. “And I called the PD. Got Fred Denton.” She wrinkled her nose as people do when they smell something bad.

“Aw, Freddy’s a good guy,” Andy said earnestly. His heart was in none of this—his heart felt like it was still back on Dale Barbara’s bed, planning to drink the poisoned pink water—but the old habits kicked in smoothly, nevertheless. The urge to make things all right, to calm troubled waters, turned out to be like riding a bicycle. “Tell me what happened here.”

She did so. Andy listened with surprising calmness, considering he’d known the DeLesseps family all his life and had in high school once taken Georgia Roux’s mother on a date (Helen had kissed with her mouth open, which was nice, but had stinky breath, which wasn’t). He thought his current emotional flatness had everything to do with knowing that if his phone hadn’t rung when it did, he’d be unconscious by now. Maybe dead. A thing like that put the world in perspective.

“Two of our brand-new officers,” he said. To himself he sounded like the recording you got when you called a movie theater to get showtimes. “One already badly hurt trying to clean up that supermarket mess. Dear, dear.”

“This is probably not the time to say so, but I’m not very fond of your police department,” Thurston said. “Although since the officer who actually punched me is now dead, lodging a complaint would be moot.”

“Which officer? Frank or the Roux girl?”

“The young man. I recognized him in spite of his… his mortal disfigurement.”

“Frank DeLesseps punched you?” Andy simply didn’t believe this. Frankie had delivered his Lewiston Sun for four years and never missed a day. Well, yes, one or two, now that he thought of it, but those had come during big snowstorms. And once he’d had the measles. Or had it been the mumps?

“If that was his name.”

“Well gosh… that’s…” It was what? And did it matter? Did anything? Yet Andy pushed gamely forward. “That’s regrettable, sir. We believe in living up to our responsibilities in Chester’s Mill. Doing the right thing. It’s just that right now we’re kind of under the gun. Circumstances beyond our control, you know.”

“I do know,” Thurse said. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s water over the dam. But sir… those officers were awfully young. And very out of line.” He paused. “The lady I’m with was also assaulted.”

Andy just couldn’t believe this fellow was telling the truth. Chester’s Mill cops didn’t hurt people unless they were provoked (severely provoked); that was for the big cities, where folks didn’t know how to get along. Of course, he would have said a girl killing two cops and then taking her own life was also the kind of thing that didn’t happen in The Mill.

Never mind, Andy thought. He’s not just an out-of-towner, he’s an outof-stater. Put it down to that.

Ginny said, “Now that you’re here, Andy, I’m not sure what you can do. Twitch is taking care of the bodies, and—”