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“I’ll catch up with you back at the office.”
    â€œI’m really in a hurry here,” said Lucy.
    â€œThis will only take a minute. I know you have that dog hearing coming up and I’m sure you’re worried about it.”
    â€œDo we have to talk about this now?” groaned Lucy.
    Ellie smiled at her. “I just wanted you to know that I think you’ve done a good job with Kudo.”
    This wasn’t what Lucy had expected her to say.
    â€œReally?”
    â€œI was so grateful when you took him after Curt died,” she continued. “He was a handful, more than I could manage, that’s for sure. He was constantly after my chickens. Curt never trained him, he had this idea that he was some sort of American wild dog and that training him would kill his spirit or something.”
    â€œHe was doing pretty well,” said Lucy, “until he discovered Mrs. Pratt’s chickens. I try to keep him confined, I really do, but he’s an escape artist.”
    â€œI know. I had the same problem with him going after my chickens. No matter what I did, I couldn’t stop him. Fences, loud noises, nothing worked. Believe me, I tried.” Ellie stood up. “I just wanted you to know that no matter how the hearing goes, the board members all respect you. They know you’re a good person.”
    Lucy was appalled to discover she felt weepy. “Thanks.”
    â€œWell, I’m off,” said Ellie, a naughty sparkle in her eye. “It’s a pretty hot day, you know. I think I might stop by the pond for a quick dip . . . au naturel. Just don’t tell Pru!”
    â€œI wish I could join you,” said Lucy, glancing over her shoulder at Ted. “But you know how he is.” She pointed at the sign that hung above her desk: “It’s not a guideline—it’s a deadline.”
    Ted cleared his throat. “I need that story, Lucy. NOW.”
    Ellie scooted out the door, and Lucy bent over her keyboard. The little bell on the door gave a jangle or two, and then the only sound in the office was the steady clicking of three sets of fingers striking computer keyboards.

Chapter Three
    B y the time Lucy typed the final period and sent her story to Ted for editing, the digital thermometer outside the bank read an unseasonable ninety-four degrees. It wasn’t much cooler inside the Pennysaver office, where the aged air conditioner wheezed and dripped.
    â€œIf you don’t need me for anything else, I’m going to beat it,” said Lucy, fanning herself with a sheaf of paper. “I’m hoping I can catch a ride home with Toby. They ought to be coming in around now.”
    â€œSee you tomorrow, Lucy,” said Ted, nodding his assent.
    â€œKeep cool,” advised Phyllis, lifting her brightly-printed Hawaiian shirt away from her skin so the little fan she kept on her desk could cool her. “This is awfully warm for this time of year. Must be that global warming.”
    Her words echoed in Lucy’s mind when she stepped outside and was hit by a blast of hot air. The bright sunlight bounced off the concrete sidewalk, radiating heat, and shimmers rose from the black asphalt road, which felt sticky on her feet when she crossed the street. It wasn’t much cooler at the harbor, either, but there was a faint breeze off the water. Chuck’s boat hadn’t come in yet, so Lucy found a shady spot and sat down to wait.
    She didn’t have to wait long. Pretty soon she heard the steady chug of an engine and spotted the distinctive red hull of the Carrie Ann, named after Chuck’s wife, rounding Quisset Point. Lucy got up and slowly walked down to the floating dock to greet them.
    â€œHot enough for you?” she asked, watching as Toby tied the boat fast. Sweat was dripping down his face.
    â€œBoy, it’s a lot hotter here than it was out on the water.”
    â€œPhyllis thinks it’s global