"You're right, Molly." Betsy said. "Howie is a very good guy who helps catch the bad ones."

"Does your Mom know you read her letter?" I asked.

Molly shook her head no. "She wrote it lots of different times and tore it up. One time she was crying so when she went to the bathroom, I read it."

I had to know. "Did the letter mention Howie's name?" She shook her head no once more. "How do you know she wished she hadn't sent it?" I asked.

"She told our neighbor Mildred she'd done something she regretted 'cause now she really liked this guy and thought maybe she'd messed things up between them."

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Betsy hugged her. "Did she tell Mildred what she'd done?" Molly shook her head no once more. "Don't worry; everything will work out fine. Howie really cares for you and your mom." She reached for the papers Molly held. "Now, let's see what you've done with those numbers."

Molly seemed mollified, excuse the alliteration. Thanks to my wife's calm and nurturing manner the balance of the morning passed peacefully. Baby Claire helped too, by taking her turn by demanding attention while I spent the time worrying about how I could protect the nest of fragile souls under my care. Just before lunch, I reached a decision. Was I paranoid, feeling we were under assault? None the less, I was convinced we needed help. Contrary to his request, I was determined to contact Daniel Brennan.

One chore remained before I'd do so though I was as nervous as a fly on a fry pan about it. Now that Molly had confessed more knowledge than any of us suspected, I felt obligated to tell Martha the full story before she learned it from overheard conversation or from Molly directly. She, in turn, would inform Quinn, both of whom would know I was holding back important information, a severe blow to our credibility compact. I had little doubt Quinn would tell Howie, disrupting his tenuous relationship with Julie. If our ship didn't sink, it was certainly leaking like the Titanic. The entire affair was a damn soap opera. Now I would muddy the waters even more by contacting Daniel Brennan, another fact I planned to withhold from all but my wife.

Martha returned with a pile of diapers in hand. I took a deep breath and called her into my office and closed the door.

New Hampshire. It's delightful in this campground with a singing brook outside my door, serenading me as I work. My eyes are tired from all this reading and culling, discarding the inappropriate ones. But to borrow Mr. Archimedes exclamation, Eureka! I have found it! The only chore left is to put down this bothersome cur that has so dogged me these many months.




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