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daughters?”
    The woman indicated the girl who was crying. “This is Kaylie. She’s my niece, and this is her friend Alicia. Are you with the police?”
    “No, my name’s Randall Finley. What’s your name?”
    The woman blinked. “Patricia. Patricia Henderson.”
    “Hello, Patricia. And hi, Kaylie, Alicia. I need to know, are any of you hurt? Do you need any medical attention?”
    “We’re . . . okay,” Patricia said. “Just shook-up. Some of that . . . stuff . . . fell onto the car. The girls—not just the girls, me too—were pretty scared when it happened.”
    “I’ll bet.”
    “Are you with the police?” Patricia asked again.
    Finley shook his head. “No, like I said, my name is Randall Finley, and I’m just a concerned citizen, seeing if there’s anything I can do.”
    “Didn’t you used to be mayor?” Patricia asked.
    “That was some time ago,” he said, shrugging.
    “Why is that man taking pictures?”
    Finley glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t know. Could be the press, or someone who has to document the accident scene. Just someone doing his job. I wouldn’t worry about him. Is there anything I can get for you? Do you need some water? I have some bottled water in the trunk of my car. From my own company. Or maybe there’s someone you’d like me to call for you?”
    “I’m not married,” the woman said. “I’m waiting around, in case I have to talk to the police or anyone about insurance matters. But I really want to get the girls home. This is all so horrible.”
    Finley nodded sympathetically, moved in closer, bent over to smile at the girls, making sure he positioned himself so David could get a good shot. “Maybe Kaylie’s or Alicia’s parents could come get the girls, and then only you’d have to stay here. Would you like me to call them for—”
    “Randy!”
    Finley whirled around. “Why, Barry, hello. What a terrible thing that’s happened here. What do you know so far?”
    Duckworth approached. “What are you doing here?”
    “Lending support,” he said. “Pitching in where I can.”
    “And what about him?” Duckworth asked, pointing to David Harwood. “What support is he lending?”
    “Him?”
    “Why’s he taking pictures?”
    “Perhaps he’s back working for the press. Out of Albany.”
    “He’s working for you.”
    “Well, I suppose that’s true, but I certainly wouldn’t stand in Mr. Harwood’s way if he wanted to sell some photos to the media.”
    “What’s going on?” Patricia asked.
    Finley turned around and flashed her his most sincere smile. “Just working out with the detective here how best to help you folks deal with this tragic situation. If you’ll give me just a moment.”
    “I don’t really need your help anyway,” the woman said.
    “Well, then, why are you wasting my valuable time?” Finley asked her, turning back to face Duckworth before he had a chance to see the woman’s jaw drop.
    “Let’s go talk over here,” Finley said, attempting to lead Duckworth away. But the detective wouldn’t move.
    “You’re in the way,” Duckworth said. “I’ve got dead people up there. Injured people. I want you out of here now.”
    “Barry, come on,” Finley said. “I’m just doing my job, same as you.”
    “If I have to ask you again, you’ll be leaving here in handcuffs.”
    Finley met the man’s gaze. “I’m someone you’d rather have as a friend than an enemy.”
    “I’d rather have you on the side of a milk carton,” Duckworth said, not breaking eye contact.
    It was Finley who finally looked away. “David!” he called out, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear him. “The last thing we want to do is get underfoot. Detective Duckworth, thank you foryour continued support. God bless you and all the wonderful emergency workers we have here in Promise Falls. I don’t know where we would be without you!”
    And with that, he headed back to the Lincoln, taking David with him. Duckworth watched until they