13


Jesse was parked across the street from the Cassidy estate, which was located on the South Shore, spread across twenty acres of prime beachfront property.

The Cassidys had razed the estate’s original house, a sprawling shingled Colonial, and in its place had erected an oversized postmodern featuring a pair of extended wings off the main house, each containing lavishly appointed guest suites and an exercise room.

They had also added an Olympic-size swimming pool, two tennis courts, a putting green, and servants’ quarters.

Between the beach and the pool they had constructed a cabana that housed separate dressing-room facilities for men, women, and children. It contained a game room, a TV room, and a card room with a full-size bar.

The estate’s big gates swung open, and a Lexus convertible turned onto Beach Road, heading toward town.

Courtney Cassidy was at the wheel, holding a cell phone to her ear. Which was illegal.

Jesse fired up his cruiser and followed her. She was driving above the speed limit, oblivious to the fact that she was being followed by a police cruiser. She continued to talk on her phone.

After a while, Jesse hit the siren and lights. He saw Courtney look in her rearview mirror. He beeped the siren a few times, signaling for her to pull over.

When both vehicles were stopped on the shoulder, Jesse got out of his cruiser and walked to the Lexus. Courtney lowered her window as he approached.

“License and registration,” he said.

She stared at him.

“You again,” she said. “What do you want this time?”

“Your license and registration, please. And while you’re at it, hand me your phone, too.”

“Why?”

“It’s illegal in Massachusetts for anyone under the age of eighteen to talk on a handheld device while driving.”

“Everyone knows that’s a stupid law.”

“It’s a law, however, regardless of your personal lack of regard for it.”

“I suppose you’re gonna arrest me again.”

“No. I’m going to cite you for breaking the law. And I’m going to confiscate your phone.”

“Must you?”

Jesse didn’t say anything.

She removed the license from her wallet and handed it to him.

“Registration,” Jesse said.

“It’s in here somewhere. Do I really have to find it?”

“You do if you don’t want to spend the next several hours in jail.”

She glared at him, then started searching for the registration slip.

“Cell phone,” he said.

“What?”

“Give me your phone.”

“No.”

“Don’t force me to arrest you again.”

She sighed.

She gave him the phone.

“Everyone talks on their cell phones,” she said.

“Didn’t yesterday teach you anything?”

“Like what?”

“Like how driving while distracted can cause accidents and seriously injure people.”

He stepped away from her car and began writing the citation.

She returned her license to her wallet and the registration slip to the glove box.

She muttered the word “shithead” under her breath.

He heard her.

“You talking to me,” Jesse said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

He stepped closer to the car and stared at her. Then he handed her the citation.

“What do I do with this?”

“What it says to do.”

“How about I just give it to my father.”

“You can give it to the tooth fairy, for all I care.”

He smiled at her.

“Have a nice day,” he said.

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