MONDAY, JULY 4

There had been times in the last two years when Hadley Knox had been overwhelmed by the differences between her old life in Los Angeles and her new one in Millers Kill. Controlling traffic for the Independence Day Parade was turning out to be one of them.

She had taken her kids to a parade once in L.A., a spectacle of Disneyland-quality floats, the Golden Bears marching band, and professional dancers twirling flaming batons. In Millers Kill, half the town was marching. DAR ladies in nineteenth-century dresses and VFW men carrying cap lock rifles. A group from St. Alban’s toting their THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH WELCOMES YOU banner. The chief’s mother rode past on the Adirondack Conservancy’s Green Future float, and her own kids pedaled by on bikes they had spent all Saturday decorating.

There was the middle school band, and the antique and modern fire trucks, and finally the MKPD cruiser marking the end of the parade. Flynn was driving, one arm hanging out the window in a very nonregulation way, grinning and waving to the children lining the road.

He so young, so ridiculously hopeful and helpful, almost like a kid himself. She flashed on the night they had spent together, his eyes dark, his voice hard, saying, Once and for all, I’m not a kid. Her saying, No. You’re not.

God. She shook her head to clear it. She cleared traffic and drove toward the park, wedging her cruiser into a tow zone on Main.

Wading into the crowd, she spotted the chief right off, his height a reliable beacon. He was walking beat along the grassy edge of the park, scanning from the street-side shops to the gazebo at the center of the green and back again. He stopped to greet someone, then caught sight of her and changed direction. “Knox. Hi. Talk to me.”

“Everything quiet. Traffic is flowing.”

He nodded. “Good.”

“Did I, uh, miss anything?”

“Our assemblyman donated a new flag.” He thumbed toward the flagpole. “Reverend Fergusson”—he looked like he was trying not to smile—“gave a nice invocation.” He thumbed toward the Gothic tower of St. Alban’s. “She’s at your church’s yard sale.”

She stood on tiptoe. Between the lush green foliage of the park’s maples and the holiday crowd, she couldn’t see a thing. “How are we doing?”

“The Presbyterians are beating you all to hell. They’ve got an Italian sausage stand.”

“How’s Reverend Clare?”

“Hurting.” The chief looked exasperated. “I told her she shouldn’t have come. She’s on crutches, for chrissakes. Borrowed from somebody in your congregation, of course, because God forbid she go see a doctor.”

Hadley spotted Anne Vining-Ellis, one of the movers and shakers of St. Alban’s, crossing the road. Her youngest son trailed behind her, all pipe-cleaner legs and bangs in his eyes.

“You should ask Dr. Anne to check her out.”

“Check who out?” The doctor had gotten close enough to hear them.

“Clare. I’m trying to get her to see someone about her ankle. Plus, the back of her shoulder looks awful, like it might be getting infected.”

“I saw the crutches and the ACE bandage, but I didn’t know she had another injury. I’ll make sure to take a look before we go home.”

“Thanks. I swear, she—” The chief stopped, took a breath, and gestured toward Hadley. “Do you know Officer Knox?”

“Of course I do.” She smiled at Hadley. “We just ran into your kids over at the yard sale with your grandfather. Their bikes look amazing.”

“Thanks. They actually did most of the decorating themselves.” Hadley nodded toward Dr. Anne’s boy. “Are you helping out at St. Alban’s?”

“Not this time.” Dr. Anne threw an arm around her son. “Colin’s won the Civic Essay Award. He’s here to get the scholarship check from the mayor.”

Colin Ellis, who had been looking at the crowd while the adults droned on, straightened and pointed. “Mom! It’s Dad and Will.” He grinned. “He decided to come after all. All right. Hey! Will!”

Dr. Anne’s face froze, and suddenly Hadley could see her age around her eyes. Hadley followed the older woman’s gaze to see Mr. Ellis pushing a young man in a wheelchair.

A legless young man in a wheelchair. Whoa. Her stomach squeezed.

“Ah,” the chief said.

The pair came to a stop in front of Dr. Anne. “You’ve met my husband, Chris.” The doctor’s voice was strange, like an imitation of herself. “And this is my son Will. Will, this is Chief Van Alstyne, Reverend Clare’s … friend.”

The chief shook the kid’s hand. “I think Clare told me you had enlisted. What branch?”

“Marines.”

“Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children. Where were you serving?”

“Anbar Province.”

The chief nodded. “I’ve heard that’s a hot zone. Heavy casualties.”

“I got out alive. I can’t complain.” Will’s face was clear and open, as if the fact that a third of his body was missing didn’t matter.

The chief smiled a little. “A marine platoon saved my life once in Vietnam. I make it a habit to thank jarheads when I meet them. Thank you.”

Will’s mouth crooked up. “What branch were you in, sir?”

“Army.”

Will smiled broadly. “Are you sure they only saved your life once?” The chief laughed.

“Well. Goodness. We’d better get over to the gazebo.” Dr. Anne’s voice was bright and cheery. “We don’t want Mayor Cameron giving the check away to somebody else.” The Ellis men chorused good-bye, walking—and rolling—away.

“God.” Hadley felt as if she had been holding her breath. “That’s tough. He’s so young.”

“They always are. They’re always too goddamn young.” The squawk on the chief’s radio was a welcome distraction. He keyed his shoulder mike. “Van Alstyne here.”

“Where’n the hell is here?” Static made Deputy Chief MacAuley’s voice crackle. “I been looking all over for you.”

“I’m at the south end of the park, looking at the Rexall.”

“I’m at the gazebo. Walk that way and I’ll meet you. MacAuley out.”

Within moments, Hadley saw the deputy chief’s grizzled buzz cut bobbing toward them. “There you are,” he said, as he came into sight. “They want you up on the stand.”

“So I can stand next to John Opperman and smile? Not a chance.”

“Opperman?” Hadley looked at the wooden pavilion, its spindled railing and octagonal roof draped in red-white-and-blue bunting. “As in BWI Opperman, the biggest employer in the county?” She could see Mayor Cameron, standing with a well-dressed middle-aged man and a woman whose twin set and glasses-on-a-chain said teacher or librarian. There were also three soldiers in camo: a young woman in a black beret, an even younger-looking man whose head was shaved bald, and an older guy twisting a bucket hat.

The young woman soldier turned, and Hadley saw it was Tally McNabb. The chief frowned. “What’s she doing up there with Dr. Stillman and the Stoners’ boy?”

“They’re all veterans, aren’t they? Jim Cameron’s probably planned some patriotic foolishness and these were the folks he could persuade to get up on the bandstand.” MacAuley gave Hadley a knowing look. “He’s running for reelection this year. Nothing says ‘vote for me’ like supporting the troops.”

“John Opperman’s no damn soldier.”

“Look.” MacAuley sighed. “Opperman’s announcing some new scholarship his company’s putting up for our high schoolers. Cameron’s got to know there’s bad blood between you two—”

“I’ve never discussed Opperman with him.”

“For chrissakes, Russ, you act like you smell dogshit whenever the man’s name comes up. Everybody who knows you knows how you feel. Cameron probably figures this is a good time to pour a little oil on those waters.”

“He’s throwing around money, so I’m supposed to forget what he’s done and play nice?”

“Russ—”

“No.”

“It’s a scholarship. For kids.” MacAuley frowned, his bushy gray eyebrows drawing together like miniature thunderclouds. “I’m not going to argue with you. You want to turn the mayor down, you have to go tell him yourself.”

*   *   *

The chief stalked away, muttering. Hadley frowned. “What was that all about?”

“A whole lot of old business.” MacAuley watched the chief for a few more seconds before turning toward her. “BWI Opperman came to build the new resort a couple years before you moved here. That was when they were just in the hotel trade, before they got into construction and what-all. Anyway, there were three partners in the business at that time, and before the place was completed, two of ’em were dead. The chief’s always been convinced John Opperman was behind it, but he couldn’t prove anything.”

“Huh. Okay.” She couldn’t help sounding doubtful. It didn’t seem very professional. Keeping an eye on someone you suspected, sure, but not acting like he burned down your house and shot your dog.

MacAuley gave her one of his deceptively lazy looks. “You’re thinking that’s not enough for him to be carrying on like this, right?”

She shrugged.

“Yeah. There’s more to it. Right before she died, Linda—his late wife—spent a week at Mr. Opperman’s private retreat in the Caribbean.”

Hadley’s mouth opened.

“She didn’t have a romance going with Opperman or anything. She worked for him, making all the fancy curtains and frilly bits for the hotel. It was just a getaway.” MacAuley’s denial was so firm Hadley figured Opperman and the late Mrs. Van Alstyne must have been going at it like crazed rabbits from dusk to dawn. “But it stuck hard in the chief’s craw. You know the intersection where her car wrecked?”

“Yeah. Eric pointed it out to me back when I was a rookie.”

MacAuley gave her a look that said, You’re still a rookie, girlie. “She was driving there because John Opperman dropped her off at the resort after the trip. He was one of the last people to see Linda Van Alstyne alive.” He pointed at the pavilion. “Huh. Looks like the mayor got him up there after all.” The chief was standing behind the soldiers, talking to the teen, turned away from the rest of the people on the stage. “Lotta folks around here owe their jobs to Opperman.” MacAuley tapped his nose. “Jim Cameron can smell which way the wind’s coming in.”

Small-town politics was definitely on her list of things to avoid. “Do you want me to walk the loop, Dep?” Every merchant along the street circling the park had a sidewalk display set up, an open invitation to snatch and run. “Patrol the shops?”

“Naw, I’ll take that. You stay here. Watch out for anybody who thinks it might be funny to set off a rocket during the speeches.” He turned away, then turned back. “And keep an eye on him. Just in case he forgets to smile and play nice.”

Mayor Cameron stepped up to the microphone stand. “Hi, everyone. I’m happy to say we’re welcoming back our veterans to a strong and growing economy, thanks in no small part to BWI Opperman, whose commitment to hire locally has made a big difference in our community’s life.” Tally McNabb dropped her head as if she would have rather been anywhere than in front of the crowd. Four days ago, she had been hiding from her husband and her boyfriend. Hadley wondered what had changed since then. “Now the CEO of BWI is here to make another commitment to our town, and to tell you about it, please welcome Millers Kill High School principal Suzanne Ovitt.”

There was enthusiastic applause as the woman in the twin set took the microphone. “Thank you. Mr. John Opperman has generously established a scholarship for four years’ tuition, room and board at any State University of New York campus.”

Holy shit. If Hudson could land that, she wouldn’t need that lousy ten bucks a week.

“The winning scholar must be a graduating senior with a strong academic record who serves his or her community and encourages others to do so. This year’s inaugural recipient of the BWI Opperman scholarship is Olivia Bain.”

More applause, along with some whooping from the winner’s friends. The oldest of the three soldiers cheered. A slim girl mounted the pavilion steps and shook Ms. Ovitt’s hand. Hadley got her first good look at John Opperman as he came forward, greeted the teen, and handed her an envelope. His clothing was expensively casual, and he boosted his middling height with three-hundred-dollar shoes. His darkish hair hadn’t been cut in any Millers Kill barbershop, that was for sure. If they had been in L.A., she would have pegged him as a corporate lawyer, with an office in Century City and a mistress in Bel Air.

“Thank you, Principal Ovitt, and congratulations to Miss Bain.” Opperman’s voice wasn’t warm, but she figured that was normal from someone more used to giving orders than speeches. “I’m pleased BWI Opperman can, in this small way, give back to the town which has so wholeheartedly taken us into its bosom.”

Hadley glanced at the chief, standing behind the soldiers. He looked like he wanted to spit.

“However, being up here with these fine representatives of the armed forces has made me realize that one scholarship is not enough.” The men and women around her who had been discussing the scholarship and the high school and the Bain girl fell silent. “Therefore, I have decided to establish a fund that will provide one thousand dollars to each and every graduate of Millers Kill High School who has had a parent serve in a combat arena.”

The crowd went wild. The teenaged soldier grinned and said something to Van Alstyne.

“Now. I understand Mayor Cameron has a certificate of appreciation to give to these brave soldiers behind me.” The mayor stepped toward the microphone, but Opperman pulled several note cards out of his back pocket and continued. “First, Lance Corporal Ethan Stoner. Ethan will be heading back to Afghanistan shortly for his second tour of duty with the 2nd Battalion, 3rd Marine Division.”

The kid the chief had been talking with stepped forward, shook the mayor’s hand, and accepted an envelope. He looked at Opperman, clearly uncertain if there was more to do.

The CEO brought the mic up again. “Corporal Stoner, I’d like to add my thanks by offering you and all our honorees a complimentary weekend at the Algonquin Waters Spa and Resort.” Stoner grinned and pumped Opperman’s hand until it looked as if the CEO’s gold watch might fly off.

Van Alstyne put his arms behind his back and assumed a parade rest posture. He didn’t even glance toward Opperman this time. His grudge match against the Algonquin’s owner was starting to look like a vendetta against Santa Claus.

“Dr. George Stillman is a lieutenant colonel in the National Guard and has just gotten back from his second tour of duty in Iraq.” Opperman put down the mic and clapped. Stillman seemed much more assured than the Stoner boy when he stepped up to get his certificate. Hadley thought it was weird, that a guy as old as her father could be sent off to war.

At the other end of the pavilion, Olivia, the outstanding senior, was bent over the railing, making come-on-up gestures. Hadley cut through the crowd until she spotted Will Ellis, talking back to the girl, shaking his head. Will could only be a year or two older than Olivia. Maybe they’d been in drama together, or band. Maybe prom dates. Now she was going off to college and he was stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but evidently Opperman could. He left the doctor and the mayor, who, having retaken the mic, was going on about “the ethos of service.”

Olivia straightened as Mr. Opperman approached. He asked her something. She shook her head. No. Opperman made a gesture, smoothing, dismissive. He turned away and spoke directly to Will. The wounded boy’s family closed ranks around his chair, blocking Hadley’s view.

The mayor glanced at Opperman before introducing Tally McNabb, but Hadley didn’t pay him any attention. The chief had given up his attempt to ignore Opperman and was glaring at the CEO. The other guy, Dr. Stillman, had come over and was talking with Opperman and Olivia. The crowd applauded at something the mayor said, Tally McNabb scooted behind the marine, and John Opperman took two steps toward the center of the pavilion and held up his hands.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” He used what her daughter would have called “his big voice.” “It’s come to my attention that we have another veteran here today, a young hero who was gravely wounded in combat. Naturally, he doesn’t want anyone making a fuss over him, but I think bravery in the service of our freedom ought to be rewarded. What do you say?”

All around Hadley people began cheering, whistling, yelling out, “Bring him up!” and “USA! USA!” Most of the spectators couldn’t see Will, she realized. They were thinking he had been wounded and gotten better.

Her radio crackled. “Knox?”

She looked up. The chief was talking to her from the gazebo. She pulled the mic off her shoulder and raised her hand so he could see her. “Here, Chief.”

“Get over there and help the Ellises. Don’t let anybody lay hands on that wheelchair.”

He snapped his mic into place without signing off and strode toward Opperman. Hadley caught glimpses of the action as she wedged her way through the crowd toward the Ellis family. Van Alstyne’s hand coming down on Opperman’s shoulder. Turning the CEO away from the spectators. The chief’s face, like a stone wall, saying something to Opperman. Hadley reached Dr. Anne’s side as the chief plucked the microphone out of Mayor Cameron’s hand and said, “Enough.” The chanting died away. “That’s enough. You want to thank these folks, give ’em a big round of applause and let ’em go enjoy the rest of the holiday with their families.”

The crowd cheerfully complied, clapping and hooting. “Chief Van Alstyne wanted me to assist you,” Hadley yelled in Dr. Anne’s ear.

The doctor bent toward her son. “Will, let’s go.”

“No. Dammit, Mom, I want to see Colin get his award.” The kid was pale, with bright splotches over his cheeks, but his voice was steady.

“How ’bout I stand behind you and make sure your family isn’t bothered?” Hadley offered.

“Thanks. That would be great.” Dr. Anne gave her another of those tight smiles.

Hadley stepped behind Will and his dad. Just before she turned away from the gazebo, ready to present her best do-not-mess-with-me face to the rest of the crowd, she caught a glimpse of Opperman. His genial, satisfied look was gone. Instead, he was staring at the chief. The loathing and contempt in his expression raised goose bumps on Hadley’s arms. Then his face smoothed to a bland calm. Hadley shivered.