After a restless night, Keir could barely open his eyes when the phone rang in the morning. It was too much effort to find his glasses and take the call. Instead, he lay there waiting to hear what message might be left.
“Mr. Moreau! This will not be tolerated!”
Oh, great. Mrs. Prendergast, on a tear about something yet again.
She drew breath and continued, her voice rising in pitch. “You must deal with this immediately.” A pause followed, and Keir thought he heard her choke back a sob. “In all my years, I’ve never seen such willful, vicious desecration of our beautiful community.”
That sounded bad. He slid on his glasses and grabbed the phone. “Mrs. Prendergast? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, you’re there. Thank God! I just can’t bring myself to speak with that man—that horrid, horrid man!” She
