{"id":1169,"date":"2026-01-03T21:16:48","date_gmt":"2026-01-03T21:16:48","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/broken-promise-03-the-twenty-three-barclay-linwood\/"},"modified":"2026-01-03T21:16:48","modified_gmt":"2026-01-03T21:16:48","slug":"broken-promise-03-the-twenty-three-barclay-linwood","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/broken-promise-03-the-twenty-three-barclay-linwood\/","title":{"rendered":"Broken Promise 03 – The Twenty-Three – Barclay, Linwood"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Book Preview<\/h3>\n
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TWO<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/div>\n

PATRICIA<\/span><\/span> Henderson, forty-one, divorced, employed at the Weston Street Branch of the Promise Falls Public Library system as a computer librarian, was, on that Saturday morning of the long holiday weekend in May, among the first to die.<\/p>\n

She was scheduled to work that day. Patricia was annoyed the library board chose to keep all of the town\u2019s libraries open. They were slated to close on the Sunday, and on the Monday, Memorial Day. So, if you\u2019re going to close Sunday and Monday, why not close for the Saturday, too, and give everyone at the library the weekend off?<\/p>\n

But no.<\/p>\n

Not that Patricia had anywhere in particular to go.<\/p>\n

But still. It seemed ridiculous to her. She knew, given that it was a long weekend, there\u2019d be very few people coming into the library. Wasn\u2019t this town supposed to be in the midst of a financial crisis? Why keep the place open? Sure, there was a bit of a rush on Friday as some customers, particularly those who had cottages or other weekend places, took out books to keep them occupied through to Tuesday. The rest of the weekend was guaranteed to be quiet.<\/p>\n

Patricia was to be at the library by nine, when it opened, but that really meant she needed to be there by eight forty-five a.m. That would give her time to boot up all the computers, which were shut down every night at closing to save on electricity, even though the amount of power the branch\u2019s thirty computers drew overnight was negligible. The library board, however, was on a \u201cgreen\u201d kick, which meant not only conserving electricity, but making sure recycling stations were set up throughout the library, and signs pinned to the bulletin boards to discourage the use of bottled water. One of the library board members saw the bottled water industry, and the bins of plastic bottles it created, as one of the great evils of the modern world, and didn\u2019t want them in any of the Promise Falls branches. \u201cProvide paper cups that can be filled at the facility\u2019s water fountains,\u201d she said. Which now meant that the recycling stations were overflowing with paper cups instead of water bottles.<\/p>\n

And guess who was pissed about that. What\u2019s-his-name, that Finley guy who used to be mayor and now ran a water bottling company. Patricia had met him the first\u2014and, she hoped, last<\/span>\u2014time just the other evening at the Constellation Drive-in. She\u2019d taken her niece Kaylie and her little friend Alicia for the drive-in\u2019s final night. Kaylie\u2019s mom\u2014Patricia\u2019s sister, Val\u2014had lent her their minivan, since Patricia\u2019s Hyundai was too cramped for such an excursion. God, what a mistake that turned out to be. Not only did the screen come crashing down, scaring the little girls half to death, but then Finley showed up, trying to get his picture taken giving comfort to the wounded.<\/p>\n

Politics,<\/span> Patricia thought. How she hated politics and everything about it.<\/p>\n

And thinking of politics, Patricia had found herself staring at the ceiling at four in the morning, worried about next week\u2019s public meeting on \u201cInternet filtering.\u201d The debate had been going on for years and never seemed settled. Should the library put filters on computers used by patrons that would restrict access to certain Web sites? The idea was to keep youngsters from accessing pornography, but it was a continuing quagmire. The filters were often ineffective, blocking material that was not adult oriented, and allowing material that was. And aside from that, there were freedom-of-speech and freedom-to-read issues.<\/p>\n

Patricia knew the meeting would, as this kind of meeting always did, devolve into a shouting match between ultraconservatives who saw gay subtext in Teletubbies<\/span> and didn\u2019t want computers in the library to begin with, and ultra-left-wingers who believed if a kindergartner wanted to read Portnoy\u2019s Complaint<\/span>, so be it.<\/p>\n

At ten minutes after five, when she knew she wasn\u2019t going to get back to sleep, she threw back the covers and decided to move forward with her day.<\/p>\n

She walked into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and studied her face in the mirror.<\/p>\n

\u201cIck,\u201d she said, rubbing her cheeks with the tips of her fingers. \u201cABH.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was the mantra from Charlene, her personal trainer. Always Be Hydrating. Which meant drinking at least seven full glasses of water a day.<\/p>\n

Patricia reached for the glass next to the sink, turned on the tap to let the water run until it was cold, filled the glass, and drank it down in one long gulp. She reached into the shower, turned on the taps, held her hand under the spray until it was hot enough, pulled the long white T-shirt she slept in over her head, and stepped in.<\/p>\n

She stayed in there until she could sense the hot water starting to run out. Shampooed and lathered up first, then stood under the water, feeling it rain across her face.<\/p>\n

Dried off.<\/p>\n

Dressed.<\/p>\n

Felt\u2014and this was kind of weird\u2014itchy<\/span> all over.<\/p>\n

Did her hair and makeup.<\/p>\n

By the time she was in her apartment kitchen, it was six thirty. Still plenty of time to kill before driving to the library, a ten-minute commute. Or, if she decided to ride her bike, about twenty-five minutes.<\/p>\n

Patricia opened the cupboard, took out a small metal tray with more than a dozen bottles of pills and vitamins. She opened the lids on four, tapped out a calcium tablet, a low-dose aspirin, a vitamin D, and a multivitamin, which, while containing vitamin D, did not, she believed, have enough.<\/p>\n

She tossed them all into her mouth at once and washed them down with a small glass of water from the kitchen tap. Moved her upper body all around awkwardly, as though her blouse were made of wool.<\/p>\n

Patricia opened the refrigerator and stared. Did she want an egg? Hard-boiled? Fried? It seemed like a lot of work. She closed the door and went back to the cupboard and brought down a box of Special K.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhoa,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

It was like a wave washing over. Light-headedness. Like she\u2019d been standing outside in a high wind and nearly gotten blown over.<\/p>\n

She put both hands on the edge of the counter to steady herself. Let it pass,<\/span> she told herself. It\u2019s probably nothing.<\/span>
\nUp too early.<\/span><\/p>\n

There, she seemed to be okay. She brought down a small bowl, started to pour some cereal into it.<\/p>\n

Blinked.<\/p>\n

Blinked again.<\/p>\n

She could see the \u201cK\u201d on the cereal box clearly enough, but \u201cSpecial\u201d was fuzzy around the edges. Which was pretty strange, because it was not exactly a tiny font. This was not newspaper type. The letters in \u201cSpecial\u201d were a good inch tall.<\/p>\n

Patricia squinted.<\/p>\n

\u201cSpecial,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

She closed her eyes, shook her head, thinking that would set things straight. But when she opened her eyes, she was dizzy.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the hell?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

I need to sit down.<\/span><\/p>\n

She left the cereal where it was and made her way to the table, pulled out the chair. Was the room spinning? Just a little?<\/p>\n

She hadn\u2019t had the \u201cwhirlies\u201d in a very long time. She\u2019d gotten drunk more than a few times over the years with her ex, Stanley. But even then, she\u2019d never had enough to drink that the room spun. She had to go back to her days as a student at Thackeray for a memory like that.<\/p>\n

But Patricia hadn\u2019t been drinking. And what she was feeling now wasn\u2019t the same as what she\u2019d felt back then.<\/p>\n

For one thing, her heart was starting to race.<\/p>\n

She placed a hand on her chest, just above the swell of her breasts, to see if she could feel what she already knew she was feeling.<\/p>\n

Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-tha-thump.<\/span><\/p>\n

Her heart wasn\u2019t just picking up the pace. It was doing so in an irregular fashion.<\/p>\n

Patricia moved her hand from her chest to her forehead. Her skin was cold and clammy.<\/p>\n

She wondered whether she could be having a heart attack. But she wasn\u2019t old enough for one of those, was she? And she was in good shape. She worked out. She often rode her bike to work. She had a personal trainer, for God\u2019s sake.<\/p>\n

The pills.<\/span><\/p>\n

Patricia figured she must have taken the wrong pills. But was there anything in that pill container that could do something like this to her?<\/p>\n

No.<\/span><\/p>\n

She stood, felt the floor move beneath her as though Promise Falls were undergoing an earthquake, which was not the sort of thing that happened often in upstate New York.<\/p>\n

Maybe,<\/span> she thought, I should just get my ass to Promise Falls General.<\/span><\/p>\n

Gill Pickens, already in the kitchen, standing at the island, reading the New York Times<\/span> on his laptop while he sipped on his third cup of coffee, was not overly surprised when his daughter, Marla, appeared with his ten-month-old grandson, Matthew, in her arms.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe wouldn\u2019t stop fussing,\u201d Marla said. \u201cSo I decided to get up and give him something to eat. Oh, thank God, you\u2019ve already made coffee.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gill winced. \u201cI just killed off the first pot. I\u2019ll make some more.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s okay. I can\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, let me. You take care of Matthew.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re up early,\u201d she said to her father as she got Matthew strapped into his high chair.<\/p>\n

\u201cCouldn\u2019t sleep,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cStill?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gill Pickens shrugged. \u201cJesus, Marla, it\u2019s only been a little over two weeks. I didn\u2019t sleep all that well before, anyway. You telling me you\u2019ve been sleeping okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSometimes,\u201d Marla said. \u201cThey gave me something.\u201d<\/p>\n

Right. She\u2019d been on a few things to help ease the shock of her mother\u2019s death earlier that month, and learning that the baby she\u2019d thought she lost at birth was actually alive.<\/p>\n

Matthew.<\/span><\/p>\n

But even if her prescriptions had allowed her to sleep better than her father some nights, there was still a cloud hanging over the house that showed no signs of moving off soon. Gill had not returned to work, in part because he simply wasn\u2019t up to it, but also because child welfare authorities had allowed Marla to take care of Matthew only so long as she was living under the same roof as her father.<\/p>\n

Gill had felt a need to be present, although he wondered how much longer that would be necessary. All the evidence suggested Marla was a wonderful, loving mother. And the other good news was her acceptance of reality. In the days immediately following Agnes\u2019s jump off Promise Falls, Marla maintained the belief that her mother was actually alive, and would be returning to help her with her child.<\/p>\n

Marla now understood that that was not going to happen.<\/p>\n

She filled a pot with hot water from the tap, set it on the counter instead of the stove, then took a bottle of formula she\u2019d made up the day before from the refrigerator and placed it in the pot.<\/p>\n

Matthew had twisted himself around in the chair to see what was going on. His eyes landed on the bottle and he pointed.<\/p>\n

\u201cGah,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s coming,\u201d Marla said. \u201cI\u2019m just letting it warm up some. But I have something else for you in the meantime.\u201d<\/p>\n

She turned a kitchen chair around so she could sit immediately opposite Matthew. She twisted the lid on a tiny jar of pureed apricots and, with a very small plastic spoon, aimed some at the baby\u2019s mouth.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou like this, don\u2019t you?\u201d she said, glancing in her father\u2019s direction as he scanned his eyes over the laptop screen. He appeared to be squinting.<\/p>\n

\u201cNeed glasses, Dad?\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked up. Gill suddenly looked very pale to her. \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou looked like you were having trouble looking at the screen.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy are you doing that?\u201d he asked her.<\/p>\n

Matthew swatted at the spoon, knocked some apricots onto his chair.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy am I doing what?\u201d Marla asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cMoving around like that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m just sitting here,\u201d she said, getting more apricot onto the spoon. \u201cYou want to bring that bottle over?\u201d<\/p>\n

The pot with the bottle in it was sitting immediately to the right of the laptop, but Gill appeared unable to focus on it.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs it funny in here?\u201d he asked, setting down his mug of coffee too close to the edge of the island. It tipped, hit the floor, and shattered, but Gill did not look down.<\/p>\n

\u201cDad?\u201d<\/p>\n

Marla got out of the chair and moved quickly to her father\u2019s side. \u201cAre you okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNeed to get Matthew to the hospital,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cMatthew? Why would Matthew have to go to the hospital?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gill looked into his daughter\u2019s face. \u201cIs something wrong with Matthew? Do you think he has what I have?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDad?\u201d Marla struggled to keep the panic out of her voice. \u201cWhat\u2019s going on with you? You\u2019re breathing really fast. Why are you doing that?\u201d<\/p>\n

He put a hand on his chest, felt his heart beating through his robe.<\/p>\n

\u201cI think I\u2019m going to throw up,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

But he did not. Instead, he dropped to the floor.<\/p>\n

Hillary and Josh Lydecker had been frantic for four days.<\/p>\n

They had not seen their son, twenty-two-year-old George Lydecker, since late Tuesday. Now here it was Saturday morning, and they still had no idea where he was.<\/p>\n

Early Wednesday morning the family was supposed to have flown out to Vancouver to visit Josh\u2019s relatives. When George left the house Tuesday evening, he had promised to be home early so that he could get in at least a few hours of sleep before the taxi came for everyone.<\/p>\n

His parents were not shocked when he failed to get home at a decent hour, but they were surprised he didn\u2019t make it home at all. It would have been just like George to show up at the house as the rest of his family was putting their bags into the cab, grinning stupidly, weaving slightly, saying something like, \u201cTold ya I\u2019d be here.\u201d<\/p>\n

But that had not happened.<\/p>\n

George had always been their wild child\u2014their daughter, Cassandra, sixteen, was a perfect angel, at least so far\u2014with a reputation for getting into trouble, most recently at Thackeray College, where he had, among other things, turned a professor\u2019s Smart car onto its roof (no real damage done, but still) and put a baby alligator into Thackeray Pond. He drank too much, even by the standards of college-age boys, and often acted impulsively without considering the consequences. He thrived on risk. Back when he was in his teens, he was caught twice wandering the halls of his high school in the middle of the night when the facility was supposedly all locked up.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat has he done?\u201d Hillary kept asking her husband. \u201cWhat has that damn fool done?\u201d<\/p>\n

Josh Lydecker kept shaking his head. For the first two days, he kept saying, \u201cHe\u2019ll show up. He will. The dumbass is sleeping it off somewhere, that\u2019s all.\u201d<\/p>\n

But by day three, even Josh had come to believe that something serious had happened.<\/p>\n

The morning of the first day, Hillary had called all of George\u2019s friends, including Derek Cutter, to see if anyone had seen him. She got George\u2019s sister, Cassandra, to spread the word via social media so that everyone they knew could be on the lookout for George.<\/p>\n

Nothing.<\/p>\n

By the afternoon, Hillary wanted to bring in the Promise Falls police. Josh had objected at first, still believing George would turn up. He was also worried that whatever was delaying George\u2019s return might not be something they wanted the police to know about. Although he did not share this thought with his wife, it occurred to him that maybe George and his buddies were celebrating the end of the Thackeray school year by engaging the services of prostitutes. Maybe they\u2019d gone to Albany and were doing God knew what.<\/p>\n

But Hillary called the police anyway.<\/p>\n

They took down all the relevant information. But a young man who liked to party hard, who had a history of mischief, was not exactly a high priority for the local police. And it wasn\u2019t as though they had nothing to do. There\u2019d been some crazy shoot-out at a Laundromat the other day, and it hadn\u2019t even been a week since some nutcase had blown up the drive-in on the outskirts of Promise Falls and killed four people.<\/p>\n

Whoever\u2019d done that was still out there.<\/p>\n

The Lydeckers had not just sat around doing nothing the last four days. They\u2019d been out every day, driving around town, going out to the college, popping into local bars, checking back in with George\u2019s friends. They felt they had to be doing something.<\/p>\n

They\u2019d been back to the police, too, who were finally starting to take this more seriously. On Thursday, they sent around a detective named Angus Carlson. He sat down with the parents and Cassandra, made notes. He even took Cassandra aside later, said he wondered if she might know anything about her brother that she wouldn\u2019t want to say in front of her parents. Something that might help him find George.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d she\u2019d said, \u201che likes to break into people\u2019s garages and look for stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo your parents know about that?\u201d<\/p>\n

Cassandra had shaken her head no. Said maybe she should tell them.<\/p>\n

Carlson had made a note.<\/p>\n

And now here it was, Saturday morning. Hillary and Josh in the kitchen, Cassandra upstairs in bed. Hillary had been down here since five, making a pot of tea, and then drawing up a list of things they should do today in their search for George.<\/p>\n

The list, so far, read:<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n

\u2022<\/span> call Detective Carlson, update<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n

\u2022<\/span> call friends again. D. Cutter<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n

\u2022<\/span> check places George might explore, abandoned factories, Five Mountains park, drive-in disaster<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n

\u2022<\/span> make flyers with George picture, put up around town, call printer<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\u00a0<\/div>\n

When Josh entered the room, Hillary had turned on the kettle to make another pot of tea. She showed her husband the list.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d he said wearily. \u201cI\u2019d been thinking about Five Mountains. I could imagine him looking around there, now that it\u2019s closed down. It\u2019ll probably be all locked up. I could call the management, or maybe get the detective to do that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGeorge would find a way in, even if it was locked. You know what he\u2019s like. He\u2019s always sneaking into things.\u201d<\/p>\n

Josh hesitated. \u201cAbout that. Cassie told me something, last night.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTold you what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSometimes .\u00a0.\u00a0. sometimes George breaks into places. Not like a school or something, just goofing around. He looks for unlocked garages, gets in, takes stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe does not,\u201d Hillary said angrily. Her face had become flushed, and beads of sweat had sprouted on her forehead.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m just telling you what she said. I think .\u00a0.\u00a0. at first I didn\u2019t want the police brought in, in case George had done something stupid, but I\u2019m past that. We should ask them if there have been any break-ins. Of garages. Maybe that would be a lead to finding out what\u2014Hillary, are you okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSeriously?\u201d Hillary said. \u201cI\u2019ve had three hours\u2019 sleep this week. Now you\u2019re saying my son is a thief, and you ask if I\u2019m okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m just saying, you don\u2019t look good.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t sleep, I\u2019m worried sick about what\u2019s happened to my baby, I feel like I\u2019m going to have a heart attack, and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

Hillary\u2019s cell phone, which was on the table next to her cup of tea, vibrated. A text.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh my God, maybe it\u2019s George!\u201d she said, and dived for the phone, snatched it up, looked at it with puzzlement. \u201cIt\u2019s Cassie.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCassie?\u201d Josh said. \u201cShe\u2019s upstairs.\u201d He hesitated. \u201cIsn\u2019t she?\u201d<\/p>\n

Hillary, her face crumpling, turned the phone to her husband.<\/p>\n

The text read:<\/p>\n

\n
\n

I think I\u2019m dying<\/span><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\u00a0<\/div>\n

\u2022 \u2022 \u2022<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/div>\n

Ali Brunson said, \u201cHang in there, Audrey. You\u2019re going to be fine. You just have to keep it together a little bit longer.\u201d<\/p>\n

Of course, Ali had said that many times in his career as a paramedic, and there were many of those times when he hadn\u2019t believed it for a second. This looked as though it was turning into one of those times.<\/p>\n

Audrey McMichael, age fifty-three, 173 pounds, black, an insurance adjuster, resident of 21 Forsythe Avenue for the last twenty-two years, where she lived with her husband, Clifford, was showing every indication of giving up the fight.<\/p>\n

Ali called up to Tammy Fairweather, who was behind the wheel of the ambulance, and racing it to Promise Falls General. The good news was, it was early Saturday morning and there was hardly anyone on the road. The bad news was, it probably wasn\u2019t going to matter. Audrey\u2019s blood pressure was plummeting like an elevator with snapped cables. Barely sixty over forty.<\/p>\n

When Ali and Tammy had arrived at the McMichael home, Audrey had been vomiting. For the better part of an hour, according to her husband, she had been complaining of nausea, dizziness, a headache. Her breathing had been growing increasingly rapid and shallow. There had been moments when she\u2019d said she could not see.<\/p>\n

Her condition continued to deteriorate after they loaded her into the ambulance.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow we doing back there?\u201d Tammy called.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t worry about me. Just get us to church on time,\u201d Ali told her, keeping his voice even.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know people,\u201d Tammy said over the wail of the siren, trying to lighten the mood. \u201cYou need a ticket fixed, I\u2019m the girl to know.\u201d<\/p>\n

The radio crackled. Their dispatcher.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet me know the second you clear PFG,\u201d the male voice on the radio said.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot even there yet,\u201d Tammy radioed back. \u201cWill advise.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNeed you at another location ASAP.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the deal?\u201d Tammy asked. \u201cAll the other units take off sick? They go fishing for the weekend?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNegative. All engaged.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s like an instant flu outbreak all over town,\u201d the dispatcher said. \u201cLet me know the second you\u2019re available.\u201d The connection ended.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019d he say?\u201d Ali asked.<\/p>\n

Tammy swung the wheel hard. She could see the blue H<\/span> atop Promise Falls General in the distance. No more than a mile away.<\/p>\n

\u201cSomething going around,\u201d Tammy said. \u201cNot the kind of Saturday morning I was expecting.\u201d<\/p>\n

Whenever Tammy and Ali got the weekend morning shifts, they usually started them with coffee at Dunkin\u2019s, chilling out until their first call.<\/p>\n

There\u2019d been no coffee today. Audrey McMichael, it turned out, was their second call of the day. The first had been to the Breckonwood Drive home of Terrence Rodd, an eighty-eight-year-old retired statistician who\u2019d called 911 after experiencing dizziness and chest pains. Tammy had pointed out that he lived right next door to where that Gaynor woman had been murdered a few weeks ago.<\/p>\n

Terrence never made it alive to the ER.<\/p>\n

Hypotension,<\/span> Ali thought. Low blood pressure.<\/span><\/p>\n

And here they were again, with another patient experiencing, among other things, dangerously low blood pressure.<\/p>\n

Ali raised his head far enough to see out the front window just as Tammy slammed on the brakes and screamed, \u201cJesus!\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a man standing in the path of the ambulance, halfway into their lane. \u201cStanding\u201d was not quite accurate. More like stooping, with one hand on his chest, the other raised, palm up, asking the ambulance to stop. Then the man doubled over, and vomited onto the street.<\/p>\n

\u201cGoddamn it!\u201d Tammy said. She grabbed her radio. \u201cI need help!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDrive around him!\u201d Ali said. \u201cWe don\u2019t have time to help some geezer cross the road.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t just\u2014he\u2019s on his knees, Ali. Jesus fucking Christ!\u201d<\/p>\n

Tammy threw the shift lever into park, said, \u201cBe right back!\u201d and jumped out of the ambulance.<\/p>\n

The dispatcher said, \u201cWhat\u2019s happening?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ali couldn\u2019t leave Audrey McMichael to tell him.<\/p>\n

\u201cSir!\u201d Tammy said, striding briskly toward the man, who looked to be in his late fifties, early sixties. \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHelp me,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s your name, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n

The man mumbled something.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFisher,\u201d he said. \u201cWalden Fisher. I don\u2019t feel .\u00a0.\u00a0. something\u2019s .\u00a0.\u00a0. not right. My stomach .\u00a0.\u00a0. just threw up.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tammy put a hand on his shoulder. \u201cTalk to me, Mr. Fisher. What other symptoms have you been experiencing?\u201d The man\u2019s breaths were rapid and shallow, just like those of Audrey McMichael and Terrence Rodd.<\/p>\n

This is one serious clusterfuck. That\u2019s what this is,<\/span> Tammy thought.<\/p>\n

\u201cDizzy. Sick to my stomach. Something\u2019s not right.\u201d He looked fearfully into the paramedic\u2019s face. \u201cMy heart. I think there\u2019s something wrong with my heart.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCome with me, sir,\u201d she said, leading him to the back of the ambulance. She\u2019d put him in there with Audrey.<\/p>\n

The more the merrier,<\/span> she thought, shaking her head, then wondering, What next?<\/span><\/p>\n

Which was when she heard the explosion.<\/p>\n

When Emily Townsend had her first sip of coffee, she thought it tasted just a tiny bit off.<\/p>\n

So she dumped out the entire pot\u2014six cups\u2019 worth\u2014as well as the filter filled with coffee grounds, and started over.<\/p>\n

Ran the water for thirty seconds from the tap to make sure it was fresh before adding it to the machine. Put in a new filter and six scoops of coffee from the tin.<\/p>\n

Hit the button.<\/p>\n

Waited.<\/p>\n

When the machine beeped, she poured the coffee into a cup\u2014a clean one; she\u2019d already put the first one into the dishwasher\u2014added one sugar and just a titch of cream, and gave it a stir.<\/p>\n

Brought the warm mug to her lips and tentatively sipped.<\/p>\n

Must have been her imagination. This tasted just fine.<\/p>\n

Maybe it was her toothpaste. Made that first cup taste funny.<\/p>\n

Cal Weaver was having breakfast\u2014if you could call it that\u2014in a room adjacent to the lobby of the BestBet Inn, which sat on Route 9 a quarter mile from the exit off 87, halfway between Promise Falls and Albany.<\/p>\n

He\u2019d been here most of the week.<\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t a surveillance or any other kind of private detecting gig that had brought him to the lovely accommodations of the Best-Bet (Free Wi-Fi!<\/span>). It was, however, the only affordable hotel close to Promise Falls that had any rooms available. He\u2019d booked himself in here while he looked for a new place to live. Someone had firebombed the bookstore below his apartment and while his place had not burned to the ground, it was not a place where anyone could stay. The smell of smoke was overwhelming, and power had been cut to the building.<\/p>\n

Cal was not going to stay with his sister, Celeste, and her husband, Dwayne. His presence would aggravate the tensions that already existed between his sister and his brother-in-law. The man did road repairs for the town, and with all the recent budget cuts, he was getting very little work.<\/p>\n

So Cal found a hotel.<\/p>\n

The BestBet advertised a free breakfast, and it was true what they said. You get what you pay for. The first day, when Cal came down, he was thinking he\u2019d get a ham and cheddar omelet with home fries and brown toast. So he was dismayed when he found that his breakfast choices consisted of single-serving cereals in sealed plastic containers, hard-boiled eggs (preshelled, which he supposed was at least something), day-old muffins and donuts, bananas and oranges, containers of yogurt, and\u2014praise the Lord\u2014coffee.<\/p>\n

The only time any hotel employee showed up was to make sure there was coffee in the tall, aluminum urn.<\/p>\n

Miracle of miracles, it was drinkable.<\/p>\n

He\u2019d grabbed a free copy of the Albany paper in the lobby and was leafing through it, sitting at a table by the window so he could watch the traffic go by on 9, washing down a dry blueberry muffin with his paper cup of coffee. He\u2019d already refilled it twice.<\/p>\n

He hadn\u2019t expected to find any Promise Falls apartment-for-rent listings in the paper, and he was not disappointed. And since there was no longer a Promise Falls<\/span>
\nStandard<\/span>, he\u2019d turn to the Net after breakfast to see whether any new places had come online.<\/p>\n

His cell rang.<\/p>\n

He reached into his pocket, checked out the caller.<\/p>\n

Lucy Brighton.<\/p>\n

It was not the first time she\u2019d tried to reach him since he\u2019d last seen her earlier in the week. He\u2019d taken a couple of her calls, but had ignored the more recent ones. He knew what Lucy was going to say, what she was going to ask him. It would be the same thing she had asked him the time before.<\/p>\n

What was he going to do?<\/span><\/p>\n

He still didn\u2019t know.<\/p>\n

Should he tell the police what he knew? Should he call up his old friend Promise Falls police detective Barry Duckworth, and tell him he knew who had murdered Miriam Chalmers?<\/p>\n

Cal knew he probably should. But he wasn\u2019t sure that it was the right thing to do.<\/p>\n

Because of Crystal, Lucy\u2019s eleven-year-old daughter. The girl Lucy was raising on her own, ever since her husband, Gerald, had skipped off to San Francisco and rarely been seen since.<\/p>\n

Cal didn\u2019t know what would happen to Crystal if her mother went to prison. Lucy\u2019s father, Adam, had died in that bombing at the drive-in. Her mother had died years ago.<\/p>\n

Was justice served if it left a young girl without her mother?<\/p>\n

And was that Cal\u2019s problem? Wasn\u2019t that something Lucy should have thought of before she\u2014<\/p>\n

The phone continued to ring.<\/p>\n

The so-called dining area of the BestBet was not busy, but the handful of others having breakfast had glanced furtively in Cal\u2019s direction, wondering whether he was ever going to answer his damn phone.<\/p>\n

He tapped the screen, declined the call.<\/p>\n

There.<\/span><\/p>\n

Cal went back to reading the paper, which had been following the recent events in Promise Falls pretty closely. The police still hadn\u2019t made any headway in finding out who\u2019d toppled the drive-in screen. There was a quote from Duckworth, that police were pursuing several leads and hoped to make an arrest shortly.<\/p>\n

Which sounded, to Cal, like they were nowhere.<\/p>\n

His phone rang. Lucy again.<\/p>\n

He couldn\u2019t let it ring another dozen times. Either he declined the call right now, or he answered it.<\/p>\n

He tapped the screen, put the phone to his ear.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Lucy,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not Lucy,\u201d a young voice said.<\/p>\n

\u201cCrystal?\u201d Cal said.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs this Mr. Weaver?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. Is that you, Crystal?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d she said flatly.<\/p>\n

Crystal was, Cal had quickly learned, an odd, but incredibly talented, kid. She was constantly creating her own graphic novels, withdrawing into her own imaginary world. Her interactions with others, beyond her mother, were hesitant and awkward, although she had warmed to Cal after he\u2019d shown an interest in her work.<\/p>\n

Was Lucy using her own daughter to ensure that Cal didn\u2019t go to the police? Using her to gain sympathy? Had she put her daughter up to making this call?<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s up, Crystal?\u201d he asked. \u201cDid your mother ask you to call me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d she said. \u201cShe\u2019s sick.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry to hear that. Has she got the flu?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know. But I think she\u2019s really sick.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI hope she gets better soon. Why\u2019d you call, Crystal?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause she\u2019s sick.\u201d<\/p>\n

Cal felt a shiver. \u201cHow sick is she, Crystal?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s not moving.\u201d<\/p>\n

Cal stood up abruptly from the table, kept the phone to his ear as he started heading for his car. \u201cWhere is she?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn the kitchen. On the floor.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou need to call 911 right now, Crystal. You know how to do that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. Everybody knows how to do that. I did that. Nobody answered. Your number was in her phone, so I called you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid your mother tell you what\u2019s wrong?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s not saying anything.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m on my way,\u201d he said. \u201cBut keep calling 911, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d Crystal said. \u201cGood-bye.\u201d<\/p>\n

Before Patricia Henderson decided to try to get herself to the hospital, she dialed 911.<\/p>\n

She figured when you called 911, someone answered right away. First ring. But 911 did not respond on the first ring, nor did it respond on the second.<\/p>\n

Or the third.<\/p>\n

By four rings, Patricia was thinking maybe this was not the way to go.<\/p>\n

But then, an answer.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease hold!\u201d someone said hurriedly, and then nothing.<\/p>\n

Patricia\u2019s symptoms\u2014and there were more than a few\u2014were not subsiding, and she did not believe, even in her increasingly confused state, that she could wait around for some 911 dispatcher to get back to her.<\/p>\n

She let go of the receiver, not bothering to place it back in the cradle, and looked for her purse. Was that it, over there, waaaay<\/span> over there, on the small table by the front door?<\/p>\n

Patricia squinted, and determined that it was.<\/p>\n

She stumbled toward it, reached into the bag for her car keys. After ten seconds of digging around without success, she turned the bag over and dumped the contents onto the table, most of them spilling onto the floor.<\/p>\n

She blinked several times, tried to focus. It was as though she\u2019d just stepped out of the shower, was trying to get the water out of her eyes so she could see. She bent over at the waist to grab what appeared to be her keys, but was snatching at air, some three inches above where her keys lay.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, stop that,\u201d Patricia told the keys. \u201cDon\u2019t be that way.\u201d<\/p>\n

She leaned over slightly more, grabbed hold of the keys, but tumbled forward into the hallway. As she struggled to get to her knees, nausea overwhelmed her and she vomited onto the floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cHospital,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n

She struggled to her feet, opened the door, made no effort to lock, or even close, it behind her, and went down the hallway to the elevators, one hand feeling the wall along the way to steady herself. She was only on the third floor, but she still possessed enough smarts to know she could not handle two flights of stairs.<\/p>\n

Patricia blinked several times to make sure she hit the down instead of the up button. Ten seconds later, although to Patricia it might as well have been an hour and a half, the doors opened. She stumbled into the elevator, looked for g, hit the button. She leaned forward, rested her head where the doors met, which meant that when they opened on the ground floor a few seconds later, she fell into the lobby.<\/p>\n

No one was there to see it. But that didn\u2019t mean there was nobody in the lobby. There was a body<\/span>.<\/p>\n

In her semidelirious state, Patricia thought she recognized Mrs. Gwynn from 3B facedown in a puddle of her own vomit.<\/p>\n

Patricia managed to cross the lobby and get outside. She had one of the best parking spots. First one past those designated for the handicapped.<\/p>\n

I deserve one of those today,<\/span> Patricia thought.<\/p>\n

She pointed her key in the direction of her Hyundai, pressed a button. The trunk swung open. Oops.<\/span> Pressed another button as she reached the driver\u2019s side, got in, fumbled about getting the key into the ignition. Once she had the engine running, she took a moment to steel herself, rested her head momentarily on the top of the steering wheel.<\/p>\n

And asked herself, Where am I going?<\/span><\/p>\n

The hospital. Yes! The hospital. What a perfectly splendid idea.<\/span><\/p>\n

She turned around to see her way out of the spot, but the upraised trunk lid blocked her view. Not a problem. She hit the gas, driving the back end of her car into a Volvo owned by Mr. Lewis, a retired Social Security employee who happened to live three doors down from her.<\/p>\n

A headlight shattered, but Patricia did not hear it.<\/p>\n

She put the car into drive and sped out of the apartment building parking lot, the Hyundai veering sharply left and right as she oversteered in the manner of someone who\u2019d had far too much to drink, or was texting.<\/p>\n

The car was quickly doing sixty miles per hour in a thirty zone, and what Patricia was unaware of was that she was heading not in the direction of the hospital, which, ironically, was only half a mile from her home, but toward the Weston Street Branch of the Promise Falls Library system.<\/p>\n

The last thing she was thinking about, before her mind went blank and her heart stopped working, was that when they had that meeting about Internet filtering, she was going to tell those narrow-minded, puritanical assholes who wanted what anyone saw on a library computer closely monitored to go fuck themselves.<\/p>\n

But she wouldn\u2019t get that chance, because her Hyundai had cut across three lanes, bounced over the curb at the Exxon station, and driven straight into a self-serve pump at more than sixty miles per hour.<\/p>\n

The explosion was heard up to two miles away.<\/p>\n

Now that he was working as a publicist and campaign manager for Randall Finley, owner of Finley Springs Water as well as the former mayor of Promise Falls on the comeback trail, David Harwood was bringing home free cases of bottled water every day. The stuff was coming into the house faster than he\u2014and the others under his roof\u2014could consume it.<\/p>\n

David\u2019s son, Ethan, drank mostly milk anyway, but David was tossing a bottle a day into the lunch Ethan took to school. With his parents, who were living with him and Ethan until the rebuilding of their kitchen was finished, it was a mixed bag. David\u2019s mother, Arlene, was drinking the stuff at every opportunity, forgoing the water that came out of the tap. It was her way of showing support for David in his new job, even if she hadn\u2019t been very happy at first that he was working for Finley, a man whose predilection, at least once a few years back, for underage prostitutes had tarnished her opinion of him.<\/p>\n

David\u2019s father, Don, however, did not share his wife\u2019s contempt for the former mayor. As the ex-mayor himself had said to David, and Don could not have agreed more, if everyone in the world refused to work for assholes, there\u2019d be almost total unemployment, and there were a lot bigger assholes out there than Finley. Don\u2019s enthusiasm for Finley, however, did not extend to his product. Don viewed bottled water as the ultimate rip-off. The very idea of paying for what came out of the tap for next to nothing was ridiculous to him.<\/p>\n

Not that David disagreed.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019ve already got us paying for TV when it was free when I was a kid,\u201d Don railed. \u201cAnd they\u2019ve got these deluxe radio stations you have to subscribe to. Good ol\u2019 AM radio\u2019s good enough for me. Christ, what next? They gonna put in a coin slot on our upstairs toilet?\u201d<\/p>\n

When David came downstairs and opened the refrigerator, he found more space than he was expecting. \u201cYou\u2019re really guzzling these down,\u201d he said to his mother, who was already there fixing breakfast for Don. David swore they must get up at three in the morning. He\u2019d never managed to beat them downstairs.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m using them to make the coffee,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

Don, his finger looped into the handle of his mug, looked up from the tablet he was struggling to read the news on. \u201cYou what?\u201d<\/p>\n

Arlene shot him a look. \u201cNothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou made this with that bottled stuff?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m just trying to use it up.\u201d<\/p>\n

He pushed the mug toward the center of the table. \u201cI\u2019m not drinking this.\u201d<\/p>\n

Arlene turned, put one hand on her hip. \u201cIs that so?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s so,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t hear you complaining about the taste.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not the point,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

Arlene pointed to the coffeemaker. \u201cWell, you\u2019re more than welcome to pour that out and make yourself another pot.\u201d<\/p>\n

Don Harwood blinked. \u201cI never make the coffee. You always make the coffee. I always measure it out wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, today\u2019s a good day to learn.\u201d<\/p>\n

They stared at each other for several seconds before Don retrieved the cup and said, \u201cFine. But I want to go on record that I\u2019m opposed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll send CNN a tweet,\u201d his wife said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI swear,\u201d David said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou better not,\u201d Arlene said. \u201cWhat do you have going on today with our God-help-us possible future mayor?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot much,\u201d David said. \u201cLooks like it\u2019s going to be a quiet day.\u201d<\/p>\n

His father\u2019s head went up suddenly, like he was a deer listening for an approaching hunter. \u201cDo you hear that? Must be a helluva fire somewhere. Been hearing those sirens all morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

Those sirens woke Victor Rooney.<\/p>\n

It was a few minutes past eight when he opened his eyes. Looked at the clock radio next to his bed, the half-empty bottle of beer positioned next to it. He\u2019d slept well, considering everything, and didn\u2019t feel all that bad now, even though he hadn\u2019t fallen into bed until almost two in the morning. But once his head hit the pillow, he was out.<\/p>\n

He reached out from under the covers to turn on the radio, maybe catch the news. But the Albany station had finished with the eight o\u2019clock newscast and was now on to music. Springsteen. \u201cStreets of Philadelphia.\u201d That seemed kind of appropriate for a Memorial Day Saturday. On a weekend that celebrated the men and women who had died fighting for their country, a song about the city where the Declaration of Independence had been signed.<\/p>\n

Fitting.<\/p>\n

Victor had always liked Springsteen, but hearing the song saddened him. He and Olivia had talked once about going to one of his concerts.<\/p>\n

Olivia had loved music.<\/p>\n

She hadn\u2019t been quite as crazy about Bruce as he was, but she did have her favorites, especially those from the sixties and the seventies. Simon and Garfunkel. Creedence Clearwater Revival. The Beatles, it went without saying. One time, she\u2019d started singing \u201cHappy Together\u201d and he\u2019d asked her who the hell\u2019d done that. The Turtles, she\u2019d told him.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re shittin\u2019 me,\u201d he\u2019d said. \u201cThere was actually a band called Turtles?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe<\/span> Turtles,\u201d she\u2019d corrected him. \u201cLike the<\/span> Beatles. No one says just Beatles<\/span>. And if you could name a band after what sounded like bugs, why not turtles?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo happy together,\u201d he said, pulling her into him as they walked through the grounds of Thackeray College. This was back when she was still a student there.<\/p>\n

The better part of a year before it happened.<\/p>\n

Three years ago this week.<\/p>\n

The sirens wailed.<\/p>\n

Victor lay there, very still, listening. One of them sounded like it was coming from the east side of the city, the other from the north. Police cars, or ambulances, most likely. Didn\u2019t sound like fire trucks. They had those deeper, throatier sirens. Lots of bass.<\/p>\n

If they were ambulances, they were probably headed to PFG.<\/p>\n

Busy morning out there on the streets of Promise Falls.<\/p>\n

What, oh, what could be happening?<\/span><\/p>\n

He wasn\u2019t hungover, which was so often the case. A relatively clear head this morning. He hadn\u2019t been out drinking the night before, but he did feel like rewarding himself with a beer when he got home.<\/p>\n

Quietly, he\u2019d opened the fridge and taken out a bottle of Bud. He hadn\u2019t wanted to wake his landlady, Emily Townsend. She\u2019d hung on to this house after her husband\u2019s death, and rented a room upstairs to him. He\u2019d taken the bottle with him, downed half of it going up the stairs. He\u2019d fallen asleep too quickly to finish it off.<\/p>\n

And now it would be warm.<\/p>\n

Victor reached for it anyway and took a swig, made a face, put the bottle back on the bedside table but too close to the edge. It hit the floor, spilling beer onto Victor\u2019s socks and the throw rug.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, shit,\u201d he said, grabbing the bottle before it emptied completely.<\/p>\n

He swung his feet out from under the covers and, careful not to step in the beer, stood up alongside the bed. He was dressed in a pair of blue boxers. He opened the bedroom door, walked five steps down the hall to the bathroom, which was unoccupied, and grabbed a towel off one of the racks.<\/p>\n

Victor Rooney paused at the top of the stairs.<\/p>\n

There was the smell of freshly brewed coffee, but the house was unusually quiet. Emily was an early riser, and she put the coffee on first thing. She drank at least twenty cups a day, had a pot going almost all the time.<\/p>\n

Victor did not hear her stirring in the kitchen or anywhere else in the house.<\/p>\n

\u201cEmily?\u201d he called out.<\/p>\n

When no one called back, he returned to his room, dropped the bath towel on the floor where the beer had spilled, and tamped it down with his bare foot. Put all his weight on it at one point. When he\u2019d blotted up all the beer he believed was possible, he took the damp towel and placed it in a hamper at the bottom of the hallway linen closet.<\/p>\n

Back in his room, he pulled on his jeans, and found a fresh pair of socks and a T-shirt in his dresser.<\/p>\n

He descended the stairs in his sock feet.<\/p>\n

Emily Townsend was not in the kitchen.<\/p>\n

Victor noticed that there was an inch of coffee in the bottom of the pot, but he decided against coffee today. He went to the refrigerator and pondered whether eight fifteen was too early for a Bud.<\/p>\n

Perhaps.<\/span><\/p>\n

Sirens continued to wail.<\/p>\n

He took out a container of Minute Maid orange juice and poured himself a glass. Drank it down in one gulp.<\/p>\n

Pondered breakfast.<\/p>\n

Most days he had cereal. But if Emily was making bacon and eggs or pancakes or French toast\u2014anything that required more effort\u2014he was always quick to get in on that. But it did not appear that his landlady was going to any extra trouble today.<\/p>\n

\u201cEmily?\u201d he called out again.<\/p>\n

There was a door off the kitchen that led to the backyard. Two if one counted the screen door. The inner door was ajar, which led Victor to think perhaps Emily had gone outside.<\/p>\n

Victor refilled his glass with orange juice, then swung the door farther open, took a look at the small backyard through the glass of the screen door.<\/p>\n

Well, there<\/span> was Emily.<\/p>\n

Face-planted on the driveway, about ten feet away from her cute little blue Toyota, car keys in one hand. She\u2019d probably been carrying her purse with the other, but it was at the edge of the drive, where, presumably, she had dropped it. Her wallet and the small case in which she carried her reading glasses had tumbled out.<\/p>\n

She was not moving. From where Victor stood, he couldn\u2019t even see her back rising and falling ever so gently, an indication that she might still be alive.<\/p>\n

He put his juice glass on the counter and decided maybe it would be a good idea to go outside and take a closer look.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Read the full book by downloading it below.<\/p>\n

DOWNLOAD EPUB<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Book Preview TWO \u00a0 PATRICIA Henderson, forty-one, divorced, employed at the Weston Street Branch of the Promise Falls Public Library system as a computer librarian, was, on that Saturday morning of the long holiday weekend in May, among the first to die. She was scheduled to work that day. Patricia was annoyed the library board … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1168,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[45],"class_list":["post-1169","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-linwood-barclay"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1169","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1169"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1169\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1168"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1169"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1169"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1169"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}