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at the time of Danny Joe’s arrest, it was uncertain whether his twelve-year-old victim would survive, she did eventually recover from the brutal attack. She was the daughter of next-door neighbors, not a member of the vacationing family, and she was staying at the house to take care of their two cats. She’d been so proud to be allowed to do this as a favor to them, secure in the knowledge that her parents were directly across the yard if she needed them.
    Danny Joe was lucky he hadn’t killed her. As it stood, he was convicted of rape and aggravated assault and battery with a deadly weapon and sentenced to five years in state prison. That was the maximum for a youthful offender. He was fourteen years old at the time he was charged and wouldn’t be released from prison until he was twenty-one, serving extra time for disciplinary actions involving female correction offi cers.

7
    I rose from romantic dreams of Andrew Coyne only to fall immediately back into reality. The phone shrilled, I rolled over and grabbed the receiver. “Andrew?” I mumbled.
    But, no. “Good morning, Maggie. Sorry to wake you.” Chief Betsy was calling to bring me up to date about the rapist. “Looks like we have a match on the perp’s description. There’s no doubt now that the two women were attacked by the same guy!”
    I took a deep breath, then breathed it out. My mouth was fuzzy from last night’s red wine. “Well, it’s good to know there’s only one of them. What happens now, Chief?” I tried to veil my anxiety with the faux-calm voice I use whenever a home sale threatens to fall through.
    “I spoke to the Mayor. He’s asked that Real Estate Agencies cancel all open houses in the river towns for the time being. He’s also agreed to call a meeting of area brokers to discuss safety precautions as we go forward. I’ll need your help in getting the names and phone numbers of officials at the Board of Realtors. The police will be contacting them.”
    I rolled out of bed in my ruffled lavender pajamas. “I’ll get myself into the office right away. Claire’s a whiz on the Internet. I’ll have her pull up the list and bring it right over, Chief. Has any information been found linking this person to other attacks?”
    She hesitated, then cleared her throat. “Confidentially, Maggie, the answer is yes, but don’t quote me, or I’ll deny saying that. The investigation has just begun and we can’t afford to screw it up!
    “I’m total discretion,” I said, and headed for the bathroom.
    Several days later, in a large conference room at the swanky Tarrytown Doubletree Hotel, the Hudson Hills Mayor and Village Trustees met with Chief Betsy, the CEO of the County Board of Realtors, and local brokers. We sat on the edges of our matching vinyl chairs, balancing identical coffee mugs, and listening with fascinated horror to the Chief’s briefing.
    The main takeaway (and this was a sensible suggestion) was that all open houses should be manned by more than one agent, and that entrance should require personal identification. If someone refused to show their I.D., they should be turned away.
    “There’s too much at stake not to take these precautions,” Chief Betsy told the crowd, “because, for good reasons, Real Estate is considered a ‘high-risk’ profession. Everyone has to then be accompanied throughout the interior of the house, even the basement. Not just to protect you and the homeowner from dangerous criminals like the rapist, but also from the average burglar who can use the open house as an opportunity to check out the place for valuables and then plan a robbery at a later date. When people are not accompanied during the tour of a home, sticky fingers can quickly pick up items in bedside drawers or credit cards and mobile phones mistakenly left exposed. The whole culture of open houses has to be rethought and updated. I hate to say it, but we may be living in a more dangerous time now. Even here, in Hudson