Wicked Witch Murder by Leslie Meier Page A

began to thin. Lucy lingered, trying to figure out her next step. Suddenly she spotted Todd Kirwan coming down the sidewalk and went to meet him. He was out of uniform, and as she got closer, she realized he was fresh from the shower, still smelling of shampoo, but his eyes were tired and red.
    â€œWere you out all night?” she asked, with a nod toward the mountain.
    â€œYeah. I grabbed a half hour for a quick nap, but now I’m back on duty.” He sighed. “This has been a hell of a week. First that poor devil in the woods and now this.”
    Lucy looked away, breaking eye contact and checking out the mountain. “I’m supposed to cover the response to the fire. Mind if I tag along?” she asked.
    â€œJust keep a low profile,” he said, politely holding the door for her. She followed him through the foyer and down the stairs to the crowded crisis center, where phones were ringing like crazy, radios were cackling, and everybody’s attention was focused on a large map. She recognized most of the people, even if she didn’t know them by name. There was fire chief Buzz Bresnahan; police chief Jim Kirwan; and Roger Wilcox, chairman of the board of selectmen.
    â€œWhat’s the status of the fire?” demanded a young woman Lucy recognized as a part-time dispatcher. “The governor wants to know.”
    â€œTell the governor the fire is ten percent contained, but we hope to get to fifty percent by noon,” replied Buzz Bresnahan.
    Lucy didn’t think that sounded very good. She had a million questions she wanted to ask, but she took Todd’s advice and made herself small, sitting on a plastic chair shoved against the wall. As she watched and listened, she gradually made sense of the scene: Reports were coming in from firefighters on the front lines, the information was evaluated, and orders were issued for fighting the fire and evacuating people. The area was popular with hikers and campers, and there were also a number of summer homes; those people were taken to a temporary shelter the Red Cross was setting up in the high school gym. Lucy was considering going over to the shelter to cover that aspect of the story when somebody called for attention.
    â€œWe’ve got trouble,” shouted a young officer. “A caller reports seeing a group of hikers near George’s Falls.”
    The fire chief and a couple of others rushed over to the map. “That’s the way the fire’s moving,” he said.
    â€œMaybe we can get a National Guard helicopter?” suggested Wilcox.
    â€œIt’s our only option—but I’d hate to be wrong,” said Buzz. He raised his head, making eye contact with the young officer who was still on the phone. “How reliable is your caller?”
    â€œRebecca Wardwell? She’s honest as the day is long.”
    â€œShe knows the area,” said a man in a Red Cross vest.
    â€œOkay,” agreed Bresnahan. “And it’s gotta be fast. I think we’ve got a small window here—maybe thirty, forty minutes, tops.”
    From outside they could hear shouting and banging on the door. “What the hell?” demanded the police chief.
    â€œTime for the press conference,” said somebody.
    â€œThe hell with ’em,” muttered the police chief, and Lucy concentrated hard on making herself even smaller. She couldn’t help wondering about the hikers and whether they knew the danger they were in. She hoped they had some survival skills and would be making some sort of marker so they could be spotted from the air.
    â€œThey’re giving us a Coast Guard heli,” announced Chief Kirwan. “It’s closer but it’s smaller—they’re gonna have to make a couple of trips. We need a landing spot.”
    Todd was already pointing at a spot on the map. “How about the outlet mall parking lot?”
    â€œI need the coordinates, fast,” snapped the chief.
    Lucy