Page 1 of Don't Tell Me How to Die

PROLOGUE

THE ANGEL OF DEATH

ONE

three months before the funeral

At six feet eight, 360 pounds, Irv Hollingsworth was not only the biggest TV weatherman in Heartstone, New York; his larger-than-life personality and his flair for showmanship had made him the most popular in the county.

Which is why instead of reporting from a warm, dry studio that watershed June morning, Big Irv, dressed in bright yellow waist-high waders and a matching XXXXL slicker, was broadcasting live from Magic Pond during a torrential downpour.

“I’m here at Heartstone Medical Center,” he said, letting the rain lash his face for effect. “The hospital has been operating on auxiliary power for the last twelve hours. And I do mean operating. I spoke to the chief surgeon, Dr. Alex Dunn, and he told Channel Six that despite this nor’easter, it’s business as usual inside.

“But outside is a whole different story.” The camera panned to take in the rest of the medical center’s campus. Big Irv slogged across the muddy grounds to the swollen edges of Magic Pond, which had crested far beyond its banks.

“Normally, this is where hospital workers and locals would be sitting around enjoying their morning coffee,” he said, stopping at a partially submerged bench, its seat lost beneath the murky waters. “But as you can see, Magic Pond has?—”

And then, as if the media gods had come down to help the big man claim his place in broadcasting history, she appeared on camera. A woman. Floating face down on the surface of the pond.

For a second, maybe two, the only sound that could be heard was the white noise of the rain hammering on the water. Then Big Irv regained his composure and heralded her arrival with two words. Probably not the same two that most people would choose, but Irv was a TV pro. He knew what would resonate.

“Good Lord,” he said in a reverent hush.

Within seconds, the internet’s lust for the bizarre kicked into high gear, and the video of the hulking man in a yellow rain slicker gently guiding the sad remains of a woman in a lavender sweat suit to shore spread like a virus on steroids.

Within minutes, Big Irv, a local celebrity here in Heartstone, would be seen by millions of people around the world. I’m the mayor of Heartstone, and I’ll bet that the mayor of Helsinki saw the poignant footage before I did. It’s the curse of social media. Death and bad weather course through the ether with the speed of light.

As Irv’s star was rising, mine was rapidly sinking. Thirty hours of relentless rain had left my town with roads that were submerged, trash pickups that were suspended, power lines that were down, and emergency services that were stretched to the limit.

My inbox was also flooded. The emails were split between my being woefully unprepared or deplorably unresponsive. Either way, I expected the front page of theHeartstone Crierto be a photo montage of downed trees, mud-caked basements, and disabled cars in three feet of water. The headline might not say “This Mess Is All Mayor Dunn’s Fault,” but society needs a scapegoat, and I was the obvious front-runner.

And then came the coup de grâce. Chief Vanderbergen called.

“Minna Schultz is dead,” he said. “Her body was found floating in Magic Pond.”

Immediately, my instincts as a former prosecutor for the DA’s office kicked in. “Foul play?” I asked.

“The ME isn’t here yet,” the chief said.

“Butyouare,” I said. “What’s your take?”

“There’s no obvious signs of trauma, but let’s face it, the woman had enemies.”

Enemieswas an understatement. Minna Schultz had destroyed a lot of people’s lives over the years. Most of them would probably show up at her wake just to make sure she was really dead.

“Of course we can’t rule out suicide,” the chief added.

“Absolutely,” I said, although I doubted it. Anyone who ever met Minna would know that she wouldn’t have the common decency to whack herself.

“One more thing, Mayor Dunn. The Channel Six weather guy discovered the body while he was on the air. The video has gone viral.”

“Shit,” I muttered. “So we’re talking media frenzy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I said, ending the call.

“Madam Mayor,” a familiar voice said.

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