Tribute

help,” Ford said slowly. “That mandatory time in a psychiatric facility isn’t the answer. But, Cilla, it’s not him who’s asking for pity or forgiveness. It’s not Hennessy who’s looking for redemption.”
    “No, it’s not.” And there, too, she knew he was right. “I’m not doing it for him. For whatever good it does, I’m doing it for that desperate and terrified woman. And more, I’m doing it for Janet.”
    IN CILLA’S EXPERIENCE working with a good crew in construction meant no coddling because you happened to be female. She got questions, concern, anger and disgust on her behalf, but no more than she’d have been afforded as a man.
    And she got plenty of jokes and comments about being a ballbuster.
    It helped put her back on track so she could spend the morning hanging trim.
    “Hey, Cill.” One of the laborers stuck his head in the living room as she stood on the stepladder nailing crown molding. “There’s a lady out here, says she knows you. Name’s Lori. Want me to send her in or what?”
    “Yeah, tell her to come in.” Cilla shot in the last nails, started down the ladder.
    “If I’d been through what you went through yesterday, I’d be lying in bed, not climbing up ladders.”
    “It’s just another kind of therapy.” Cilla set the gun aside and turned to her Good Samaritan. “I was going to come by later today or tomorrow, thank you again.”
    “You thanked me yesterday.”
    “Not to diminish what you did, but I’m always going to have this image of you running down the road with a portable phone in one hand, and a garden stake in the other.”
    With a laugh, Lori shook her head. “My husband and I took this week off, short holiday week, to putter around the house and yard. He was off with our two boys buying peat moss and deer repellant while I restaked the tomatoes. I can tell you, if he’d been home, he’d likely’ve beat that idiot over the head with the stake, even as he went down.”
    With a sympathetic smile, she studied the bruise on Cilla’s temple. “That looks painful yet. How are you doing?”
    “Not too bad. I think it looks worse than it feels now.”
    “I hope so.” She looked around the room. “I confess, while I did want to see you, I’ve always wanted a look inside this place.”
    “It’s in major transition, but I’ll give you a tour if you want.”
    “I’d love a rain check on that. This room’s very nice. I love the color. Well, let me just wind my way around to the point. Of course I know who you are, and who your grandmother was. We moved here about twelve years ago, but Janet Hardy’s legend looms large, so we knew this had been hers. It’s good to see somebody finally tending to it, which is not the point I’m winding to.”
    “Is something wrong?”
    “I don’t know, because while I know who you are, and feel a particular interest in you now, I don’t know you. I’ve had two reporters call me this morning, wanting quotes and information and my account of what happened yesterday.”
    “Oh. Of course.”
    “I told them I gave my account to the police. In both cases, they got pretty insistent, and that put my back up.”
    “I’m sorry you’re being bothered by this.”
    Lori tossed up a hand, waved that aside. “I stopped by to let you know that someone’s been talking to reporters. For all I know you might’ve talked to them yourself, though I can see now that’s not the case.”
    “No, but I’ll have to. I appreciate you letting me know.”
    “We’re neighbors. I’m going to let you get back to work.” She glanced around. “I think it’s time to go nag my husband about painting the living room.”
    Cilla walked Lori to the door, then went back and sat on the stepladder. She considered the cleanest, most direct way to get out a statement. She still had contacts, and even if tapping any of them was dicey, the Hardy name would ring the bell. She needed something brief and concise, carefully written. She’d been taught not to duck a story but to confront it, spin it and ride it out with class.
    She pulled her phone off her belt when it rang, then closed her eyes as she answered. “Hello, Mom.”
    “Cilla, for God’s sake, what’s going on out there?”
    “I had some trouble. I’m handling it. Listen, could you contact your publicist? You’re still using Kim Cohen?”
    “Yes, but—”
    “Please, contact her and give her this number. Ask her to call me as soon as she can.”
    “I don’t see why I