 
WOLFE, SHE CRIED

By

## Bliss Addison

Published By Bliss Addison

© 2007 Bliss Addison

All Rights Reserved Bliss Addison

Cover Art Annie Melton

First Electronic Edition, May, 2007

Second Electronic Edition June 2012

*Previously Published by Write Words, Inc.*

12.31.12

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction based entirely on the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental. Real places mentioned in the book are depicted fictionally and are not intended to portray actual times or places. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

...............

Other Books by Bliss Addison:

A Battle of Wills (Shannon Murphy – Book I)

With Malicious Intent (Shannon Murphy – Book II)

Restless Souls

Murder at the Villa Maria-Sedona Retirement Home

A Waning Moon

One Millhaven Lane

Deadly Serum

Prophesy

An Equal Measure

Sleight of Hand

Watching Over Her

A Silver Lining (The Monahans – Book I)

Summary:

The day Chief of Police Simon Wolfe anxiously awaited arrives when Evie Madison returns to Beauchamp Island after a six-year absence. Unfortunately, Evie wants little to do with him on a personal level. He suspects she's hiding something - a secret so horrible she cannot confide in him, her trusted friend.

When an island resident is heinously murdered Simon enlists Evie's help with the investigation.

What trace evidence is left behind is virtually useless until they have a suspect.

As Simon and Evie become closer and the investigation progresses, he uncovers evidence which leads him to believe Evie is the killer.

Is Simon misinterpreting the facts? If he isn't, will he have the courage to arrest her?

_Contents:_

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Epilogue

Chapter One

The telephone on Simon's desk rang.

"Chief Wolfe," he said into the receiver.

"You'd better get out here quick," the caller said in a rush. "Someone just dropped off a dead body in my drills."

"Whoa, there. Take a deep breath and tell me who you are and where you're at." Simon heard the caller inhale and exhale.

"It's Wills Raven in Shampers Bluff."

Shampers Bluff was one of many small hamlets dotting the area surrounding Honeydale on Beauchamp Island and not far from the station.

"Stay out of the crime scene. I'm on my way."

Simon needed to preserve the crime scene and Wills tromping around in it meant it was already compromised. He disconnected the call and said to his rookie deputy, Aubrey Thatcher, "We've got a body in Shampers Bluff. Get the crime scene equipment—Polaroid camera, film, evidence bags, plastic gloves, strobe lights, everything, and meet me there."

Ten minutes later, Simon pulled the four-by-four to a stop across from the Raven farm and stepped out of the vehicle.

Wills ran out of his house and across the road.

"I ain't never seen anything like it, Chief."

Sympathizing with Wills' shock, Simon placed a hand on the farmer's shoulder. "Tell me what happened."

"My dog was barking up a storm. I came out and saw someone dragging something into the field." He pointed across the road. "I decided to take a look...Oh, God." He shoved his hand through his hair and shook his head.

"Can you describe the person?"

Wills gulped in air. "It was too dark for me to get a good look, and by the time I got on my boots and fetched a flashlight, the car was already down the road."

"Do you know what kind of vehicle it was?"

He shook his head. "I don't know one car from the other."

"Did you touch anything, move anything?"

"As soon as I figured out what it was, I got the hell out of there."

He instructed Wills to return to his house, then walked across the culvert.

Careful where he stepped, Simon trekked up the small incline where Wills had indicated. He smelled it, the putrid odor of death and the metallic scent of blood. Drawing closer, he scanned the area with his Maglite and got his first view of the victim. A man's body lay spread-eagled between two rows of soil. His longish brown hair hung sloppily around his head, his eyes staring straight up. His dress shirt was open and stained with blood, his muddied dress pants and boxers bunched at his knees. Simon nearly lost the contents of his stomach when he realized the man had been castrated. He choked back bile, forced composure by studying the bullet hole in the man's chest and the powder burns.

After his stomach settled, he said, "You royally pissed someone off, mister."

He implanted in his mind the position of the body, the victim's approximate weight and height, the drag marks, the trampled footprints, and the distance to the road. The island saw a couple of murders every other year or so, the result of domestic dispute or bar fights that turned deadly, but nothing so premeditated or gruesome as this. If one of theirs committed this murder, nothing would be the same on the island again.

He turned at the sound of someone lumbering up the hill. Stepping back in his footprints, he signaled to Aubrey to stay put.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Aubrey stared at the body. Shock registered in his eyes, his Adam's apple bobbed.

Simon recognized what would come next. "Don't you be sick on me."

Aubrey gasped, pulled a red polka-dot hankie from his back pocket and wiped his brow. "I'm...fine. Just...just need to catch my breath."

Simon passed him an antacid tablet. "Thanks. What kind of monster do you suppose did that?"

"Aubrey, I want you to take Raven's statement." Simon pointed to Wills standing in the middle of the road. Following the direction of Simon's hand, he nodded. "It won't be long before we draw an audience. Call Henry and get him out here. He hasn't much experience, but he can do crowd control, and get the Doc here, too." Simon wasn't sure if he had his deputy's full attention. "I don't want any mistakes." He handed him a pocket-size recorder. "Use this and take notes, also. Canvass the residents once they show. Ask if anyone heard or saw anything, a car, voices, anything and nobody gets through except the Doc. Got that?"

"Are you calling in outside help?"

"This is our island, our town, our people. We'll handle it." When Aubrey left, Simon taped off the crime scene, set up the strobe lights and shot off one pack of film, then another, recording the scene. He slid on gloves, bagged the victim's hands, secured them with elastic bands around the wrists and carefully went through his pockets—wallet, a pack of gum, change, a paper clip, a pen, one telephone message from Bill Hogart marked 'Urgent', two foil-wrapped condoms. No car keys. No cell phone. He bagged, labeled, listed them and checked the ID.

Coroner Travis "Harley" Coombs, a five-foot-five welterweight with a reverence for the dead that both endeared and amazed, trekked up the hill. Simon nodded. "It isn't pretty, Doc."

"Death never is." Harley looked at the body and made the sign of the cross. "Whooiee. Someone didn't like this feller." He adjusted his bow tie. "What's his name?"

"Douglas Miller. Can you give me an approximate time of death?"

Harley applied pressure to Miller's arm. "No rigor and the body's still warm. Lividity is still blanching. Allowing for the cooler temperature, I'd say he's been dead less than two or three hours."

"That would make it," Simon checked his watch, "between seven and ten."

"I'll be able to give you a more specific time after the autopsy." Harley patted Miller's hand. "Don't you worry none, young fella. We'll find out who did this to you."

Chapter Two

Evie Madison stared into the darkness that engulfed the island like an ebony blanket. The wind whistled through the trees on its approach to the cottage. Now, it howled and pounded against the windowpanes like a ferocious beast. She turned from the living room window, curled up on the rattan double papasan chair and took the journal in her hand.

After a moment of hesitation, she opened it and wrote:

Journal Entry—Evie Madison—Thursday

I'm taking Gaston's suggestion and jotting down my thoughts, feelings and questions. It seems silly, but here goes.

I'm cold. I shouldn't be. A fire burns steadily in the wood stove and an afghan covers my legs. The dampness from the bay seems to seep to my bones, making me feel like I'll never be warm again.

Why did I move back home?

I shouldn't have to ask myself that question. Home is where you come when you have nowhere else to hide. I can't go back and undo what I did. I can't go forward because of what I did. Maybe this place I'm in right now, this place between emotion and lethargy, is where I'm most comfortable, or where I want to be.

I had another unproductive session with Gaston today. I shouldn't complain. It's not his fault. I can't stop myself from going through the motions, answering his questions as he wants them answered, agreeing with him when normally I'd disagree. He's trying to help, but I don't want his help. Guilt and shame are my punishments. No one should try to take that away from me. Of course, I can't tell him that. Sometimes, though, I want to, but that would only extend the length of the therapy, and I can't have that when all I want is to be left alone. If I had a reason to live, I might feel differently. Oh, I know I would. But it's too late. Everyone I once held dear is no longer mine to treasure and enjoy. Funny, though, the one person who makes me feel good about myself and who might help me recover from the past is the one person I can never be with. Not anymore. Not after what I did.

Suddenly, I'm feeling depressed. If depression had announced itself, I might have prevented its coming. But that's the way it is with depression. It sneaks up on you, then latches onto you like a leech. I'll function through it. I always do. If I didn't, Gaston, Simon and my coworkers would notice. Then there'd be questions, questions I'm too ashamed to answer. They'd offer to help, which would only make me feel deeper regret, plunging me into that dark, bottomless pit again and wishing if onlys.

Images flash in my brain—my gun trained on Brad, my finger on the trigger, temper running wild as a brush fire through me, the cries of his children, the fright in their eyes, two uniformed police officers, my colleagues, shackling me in handcuffs like some thug. He didn't tell me he was married. The bastard. How could he do that to me?

Don't think, Evie. Don't listen.

My reaction still puzzles me. I've been over this a thousand times in my head, yet I'm no closer to an answer. What possessed me that day? To cast blame on someone or something would be easy, but I can't. My parents taught me to take responsibility for my actions.

Now, I feel tired. A symptom of depression. There are many symptoms of depression, so I'm told, and I experience them all — heart palpitations, tightness in my abdomen, nervous fatigue, no appetite, blurred vision, numbness in my arms and legs and pressure in my head. The noise in my ears almost drives me insane. Of course, that would be saying I am sane. Sometimes, I wonder. I have no interest, zest or initiative for life and cannot plan or make decisions. Simple tasks, ordinarily done without forethought require the greatest effort. Sleep won't help. What sleep comes is plagued with dreams, bad dreams from which there is no escape. Maybe death is my only alternative. Maybe—

The telephone rang. So intent on her feelings, the sound frightened her, sending her jumping from her seat as though pushed from behind. The phone called to her again, insisting on a response. She glanced at the clock: 11:15. There was only one person who would call at this hour.

"No. Not going to answer it." She turned and sat. Again, the phone jangled. She shook her head. "I don't think so. No thanks, Constance. You made your point. I know you're upset with me for having an affair with your husband. Perhaps you have the right, but enough is enough."

Without moving a muscle, she stared at the phone and waited out a fourth ring, then another. Maybe the caller wasn't Constance tormenting her by hanging up in her ear. She checked call display. Unknown number. Her curiosity won out.

"Hullo."

"Evie, it's Simon. We've got a murder."

"A murder?" She straightened, fully alert.

"The guy was castrated."

"Castrated? God." Six years as a cop, two of those as a homicide detective, and still her stomach lurched.

"Care to join me?"

Though she had anticipated the question and the reason behind the invitation, it unsettled her. She wasn't ready to work a case yet. "As an observer?"

"As an observer."

She pushed her fingers through her short, curly hair. "Okay."

"We're in Shampers Bluff. Remember where that is?"

"Yes. See you in ten."

Evie pulled her Explorer to a stop across the road from the crime scene and surveyed the crowd of onlookers. It seemed every resident of the Bluff turned out for the happening. She stepped from her vehicle, pulled up her collar and zipped her parka. The headlights of police cruisers cast shadows across trees bordering the plot of farmland. A breeze picked up, smelling of sea salt, earth, pine needles and spruce trees. She inhaled deeply, capturing the fragrance.

Simon approached her, grinning. "Twelve minutes. You said ten."

"I needed to fix my hair."

His eyes shot to her head. "Did you hear the one—"

She groaned and stared at his long, black hair captured in a low-hung ponytail. Most days, he braided it. "Please, not another blonde joke."

He grinned and steered her across a gravel culvert and onto cultivated farmland. "Mom and Pa would like you to come to dinner Sunday night."

How would she decline another invitation without hurting them, without raising questions?

One corner of his mouth lifted. "Why the frightened expression? It's just dinner with my folks. They haven't seen you since you got back." He moved closer and bumped her hip. "They might start to think you're too good for us now, big city girl and all."

She put some space between them. "I haven't felt up to socializing lately." Truthfully, the thought of being in Keertana's presence scared the bejesus out of her. The woman possessed a sixth sense and would surely prophesize the horrible secret Evie kept. Visualizing her disappointment, she saddened, better that though than —

"Don't you want to see them?"

Sweet memories of his parents focused: Baking cookies with Keertana. Dan chasing her around the yard with a garden hose.

"Of course, I do."

"What's the hesitation then?"

She found herself in that place, the uncomfortable place between another excuse and acquiescence. Realizing the prudence of submission, she stopped alongside him and gave him a look that said enough already. "Okay, okay. I'll go." Without intention, the words came out sharp.

He looked at her long and steady. "Something the matter?"

"No."

"I worry about you."

"We aren't children anymore, Simon." She smiled to soften her words. "You don't have to look after me. I'm fine. My life is fine. Okay?" Uncomplicated and boring suited her well for the moment.

"Uh-huh." He moved up the incline.

"It is." She jutted her chin, increased her step and caught up with him.

"Say it enough times and you'll believe it."

"I suppose next you'll tell me I need a man in my life."

"Nope. I wasn't going to say that at all. But since you brought it up..."

Once upon a time, eons ago, it seemed now, she wanted nothing more than a life with him. She motioned to the crime scene. "Have you ID'd him yet?"

He studied her a moment, his brow crinkling. "Douglas Miller."

She inhaled.

"Know him?"

Her exhaled breath frosted before her face. "Not really... kind of. We went to high school together. He never gave me the time of day back then, but he hit on me the other day in Bertha's Pastry Shop."

"So?"

"So, he's married." She looked at him. "But, then, you already know that, don't you?"

He nodded and looked off to the distance, as though something weighed heavily on his mind. "I want you to work this case with me."

Damn. Exactly what she feared. "What happened to observing?"

"Evie," he lifted his Stetson from his head and mopped his brow with his coat sleeve, "you have the experience my other deputies don't. I'm going to need your help on this one."

"How will Aubrey and Henry react? I don't want to cause—"

"Who cares what they think?"

"Don't give me that. I know you, don't forget."

He halted and stared at her.

Further argument would only raise questions—questions she wasn't prepared to answer. "Okay, you're the boss."

"Right."

She shivered beneath the warmth of her down-filled jacket. "I don't remember it ever being this cold here."

"Winter is settling in fast and hard this year." He lifted the crime scene tape. She followed behind him, mindful where she stepped.

Harley looked up from the body. "Evie," he said, smiling. "I heard you were back and working on the Honeydale PD."

"Two months now." Her voice mingled with the sigh of the wind through the trees.

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at Simon. "The chief treating you all right?"

She smiled. "Of course."

"Well, if it changes, let me know. I'll straighten him out." He turned to Simon and winked.

The two six hundred watt strobe lights provided her a clear view of the body. She understood Simon's chattiness, now. He hadn't prepared her well enough, though. Castration. She'd envisioned something else. Bitter fluid filled her throat. Staring at the victim, she swallowed, once...twice, and took long, even breaths and spoke when she thought she could trust her voice. "How could a human being do something like that?"

"You can speculate as well as I. Drugs. Revenge. A love affair gone bad. One hundred and twenty bucks in his wallet, so it wasn't robbery."

Feeling like a rookie and an ass, she studied the size of the bullet hole in Miller's chest. "Looks like a twenty-two."

"That would be my guess." He directed his flashlight on the numbered marker beside a partial footprint next to the drag marks in the soil. "See this?"

"Uh-huh. You'll have a cast made?" Though she knew she wasn't well enough yet to work a case, her pulse raced with excitement.

"Of course." He grinned.

"I didn't mean to tell you how to do your job."

"No offense taken."

She pointed at the ground. "There's no saturation of blood. It looks like he was killed somewhere else and dumped here. Judging by the drag marks, the killer had a difficult time of it." Something near the victim's right wrist caught her attention. She crouched to get a better look. "Did you see this, or did you leave it to see if I would see it?"

"Why would I do that?"

To test me. She shrugged. "Yes, why would you?"

"What is it?"

"A candy wrapper."

Simon put down a numbered marker, photographed it to determine place, size and position to the body.

With her tweezers, she slid it into the plastic bag he handed her. "Smells like peppermint." She examined it more closely. "Looks like the wrapper on those pink and white striped wafer candies."

"Could we get so lucky to get a print?" He scrawled the date and name on the label.

"Stranger things have happened." She stood and looked around. Other than the farmhouse across the road, there wasn't another house in sight. "Who called it in?"

"Wills Raven." He related the farmer's accounting of the happening. "He saw someone dragging something into the field, then speeding away in a car. It was too dark for him to get a good look at the person or the vehicle." He stared at her. "Did you bring mayhem with you from the mainland?"

She shivered. "If I would have brought back anything, it would have been warmer weather."

Chapter Three

Evie watched Simon make a cast of the partial footprint, admiring the deftness of his fingers, his methodical and precision movements and how skillfully he worked. Nothing had changed about him.

Gathering the crime scene evidence together, he said, "Time to notify the next-of-kin."

The asphalt shimmered like sugar crystals in the headlights of the four-by-four. Evie clutched the handhold above her head as Simon steered sharply around a corner. "Your driving hasn't changed. Still the speed freak."

He slowed, turned down the street where Miller lived, a suffocated subdivision of average income residents. "This is the worst part the job, telling a family a loved one's dead."

"Yeah. Then we'll need to question them. I hate that part, too. Sometimes questions lead to revelations the family is unprepared to accept or believe."

Under the glow of the street lights, the houses, bungalows mass-produced in the seventies, draped in clapboard siding with the mandatory cedar trees on either side of concrete stoops, looked all the same.

He pulled to the curb in front of Miller's house.

She noticed lights inside. "Looks like she's still up."

Shaking off the image of a shocked and terrified face, she shuffled from the truck and followed Simon up the front walk.

The door swung open. "Where were you? Do you know what time it is? I was worried to death—" The woman, holding a ball of red yarn, circular needles and a length of knitting, halted abruptly. Small, frightened blue eyes stared at them. She placed a hand against her heart. "You scared me. I expected my husband."

"Ma'am." Simon removed his hat and showed her his badge. "I'm Chief Wolfe of the Honeydale PD, and," he pointed to Evie, "this is Officer Madison. Are you Deborah Miller, Douglas Miller's wife?"

"Yes."

"Is there somewhere we could talk?"

She squeezed her eyebrows together. "What's this about?"

"I'm afraid I have bad news." He shifted his weight. "There's no easy way to say this. Your husband is dead."

Simon caught her before she hit the floor. He carried her to the sofa, propped her against the cushions. "I'll get her a glass of water," Evie said.

Deborah Miller came around slowly, sat up and looked first at Evie, then Simon. "H-how'd it happen?" She pushed Evie's hand away when she handed her the water. "I don't want any water."

Simon stared at her and determined she seemed stronger now. "He was murdered, ma'am." It only took a second for the words to sink in.

"Murdered? How?"

"He was shot." Simon felt now wasn't the time to tell her all of the details of her husband's death. She would learn them soon enough.

"Shot?" Her body shuddered. She clutched her face and rocked back and forth. "Why would someone shoot Doug?"

"I hoped you could give us some insight into that." Simon waited a moment. "Are you up to answering a few questions?" When she didn't answer, he said, "Ma'am?" She stopped rocking.

"What?" It came out a whisper.

"I need to ask you a few questions."

She sniffled and nodded.

He took a pen and pad from his jacket pocket. "How long were you and your husband married?"

"Nine years."

"Where was your husband tonight?"

"He was work...working late." She turned her eyes from the floor to look at him. "He often works..." Her face took on the look of someone experiencing a horrible thought before she said, "Oh, God. My girls. How am I going to tell them?" She swiped at the tears on her cheeks and looked into space.

"When was the last time you saw your husband?"

"This morning when he left for work," she said without looking at him. "He was so happy...like he'd just won the lottery." She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

Simon gave her a moment, then asked, "Do you know why he was happy?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. He just was."

"Do you know anyone who would have reason to kill him? Did he have any enemies?"

"No, everyone likes...liked Doug."

"Did he gamble?"

"No."

"Did your husband have any girlfriends?"

She jerked her head toward him and glared. "No, of course not! My husband loved me and only me." She jabbed a finger against her chest.

Evie stepped closer to the sofa. "I know these questions are hard to accept at a time like this, but we have to ask, Mrs. Miller. The sooner we know everything there is to know, the sooner we'll make an arrest. You do want that, don't you?"

"Of course, I do." She heaved a huge sigh.

Simon looked at her. "Did your husband do drugs?"

"No, my husband did not do drugs."

"Where were you this evening between the hours of seven and ten o'clock?"

"I didn't kill my husband if that's what you're insinuating. I wouldn't have done anything to hurt him. I really don't like your questions. It's time you left." She jumped up and sped to the front door.

Evie looked at Simon.

He shrugged.

They followed behind.

"Is there someone you'd like me to call?" Simon asked at the door. "Your parents? A friend?"

"No."

"We're sorry for your loss, ma'am." Simon tipped his Stetson.

In the Jeep, Evie looked at Simon. "That was strange."

Simon grunted, staring straight ahead. "People react differently than we expect sometimes."

"She's hiding something."

"Maybe."

"But you don't think so."

He frowned. "Her surprise and shock seemed genuine. I'll be back in the morning to question her more."

"Do you think she did it?"

"I'm open to the possibility."

***

Evie followed Simon through the rear door of the Sir Charles Dunn hospital, a one hundred-bed facility located in the center of town. They took the elevator to the basement. Simon held open the double doors to the morgue for her. She couldn't escape the smell—a mixture of decay, formaldehyde and ether—and the quiet and the emptiness sounded unearthly. Unable to take her eyes off the body bag lying on a metal slab in the middle of the room, she shuffled her feet.

"Looks like we're the only guests at this party," Simon said.

She poked him in the ribs.

They turned at the sound of the door swishing open. Harley, dressed in green scrubs and paper booties, strode toward them. He nodded at Evie and Simon and pulled on surgical gloves. The snap of rubber against skin echoed off the walls.

The door swung open again and all of them turned toward the sound.

"Nice of you to join us, Noah," Harley said, eyeing his assistant.

"Sorry I'm late. I had car trouble."

"You're here now, and that's what matters." Harley secured a face mask and unzipped the body bag. Noah and Harley removed the body from the bag.

Evie and Simon stepped aside to let him x-ray and photograph the body and take scrapings from beneath Miller's fingernails. Whether it was premonition or a gut feeling, Evie didn't know, but she doubted they'd find any trace evidence.

Harley cleaned, weighed and measured the body. In a hand-held recorder, he entered the measurements, race, sex, age, hair color and length, eye color, old scar tissue, birthmarks and moles. He placed a rubber brick under the back of the body. Miller's chest heaved upward and his arms and neck fell backward as though cooperating. He cut a deep Y-shaped incision from shoulder to shoulder, meeting at the breastbone and extending down to the pubic bone with a slight turn to avoid the navel. A gravity-fed thin line of blood trailed the scalpel. He engaged the Stryker saw and sawed through the ribs on the lateral sides of the chest cavity, then removed the sternum and attached ribs. He removed the soft tissue fastened to the posterior side of the chest plate, exposing the heart and lungs.

Evie's stomach heaved. She was wrong; this was the worst part of the job. She couldn't stay one more second. "You don't need me here, do you?" she asked, hoping her voice hadn't betrayed her. She looked at Simon. He appeared to consider her request, then shrugged.

"When can I expect the autopsy report?" Simon asked.

"I'll have a preliminary later tomorrow. Give me a call."

"I will."

Evie bid a hasty farewell.

Chapter Four

Simon entered the police station, which was located at the back of a four-story brick building built in the 1920s. He brought doughnuts from the all-night coffee shop. Aubrey sat at his desk and stared at the floor, looking as white as the moon. Henry, anxious and serious-minded, sat kitty-corner on his desk. He pushed a shock of midnight black hair off his forehead and looked at Simon out of dark, almost black eyes. "Chief."

"Deputy." He motioned them into his office and onto chairs. "What've you got for me, Aubrey?"

"Bob Bunker said he heard a gunshot around ten o'clock. He had just settled back to watch the news. He didn't investigate. Said he thought it was Ches Harris shooting at coyotes again."

"He didn't even look out a window?"

Aubrey checked his notes. "No. He said the shot sounded far away and doubted he would have seen anything."

"Help yourselves to a doughnut." Simon grabbed a Boston Cream. Both deputies blanched like almonds. Simon grinned. After the mutilation they witnessed, he understood their queasiness. "Where does Bunker live in relation to the crime scene?"

"About a quarter mile before it."

"Did he hear anything else or happen to see anything later on?"

"No, sir. Nothing."

"Anyone else hear or see anything? A car, maybe?"

Aubrey turned over a page. "No, sir. Truth is, no one's going to pay any mind to a car traveling that road. It dead ends and couples use it to make out in their cars."

"How about Wills? What did you get from him?"

"He said his dog was barking, and he came out to investigate. Said he saw someone dragging something through his field across the road. By the time he got on his boots and came back out, the car was speeding away. Didn't get a good look at the person, couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman. Tall enough to be a man, but he couldn't say for sure. Didn't get a make on the car, either."

"That coincides with what he told me. Either of you know the deceased or know anything about him?"

Henry stood. "I-I kn-new...knew him. We...we went to school to-together."

"Take your time." Simon knew Henry only stuttered when nervous. "We're in no hurry here."

"He...he th-thought he was God's gift to women and couldn't ke-keep his hands off the la-ladies. He had the sweetest wife—"

"You know his wife?"

"We went to school to-together, too, and w-we keep in touch."

"Go on."

"A-as I wa-was saying, his wife is the sweetest thing and they have the cutest kids, bu...but they me-meant as much to him as...as a coon's ass."

"How about his wife? Did she know her husband ran around on her?"

Henry shook his head. "She thought Miller was perfect, and even if someone had told her he was a lying, a-adulterous bastard, she probably wo-wo-wouldn't have believed it, anyway."

Simon thought Henry might have a crush on the recently widowed Deborah Miller. "Henry, I want you to write down everything you know about Miller, anything his wife may have said about her husband in passing, a compliment, a complaint, weekends away on fishing or hunting trips, whatever. Everything. Even if you don't think it's relevant, and I want it on my desk before noon."

"Yes, sir. Do-do you think a jealous girlfriend did that to Miller?"

"Why not a boyfriend of Mrs. Miller's getting the husband out of the way?" Simon squinted and leveled a steely stare on his deputy. "You're not our killer, are you, Henry?"

"No, sir!"

Simon smiled. "Okay, then. Now, for show and tell." He walked to the antiquated combination cork and chalkboard. "Anything that applies to Miller gets copied in duplicate. One copy is pinned up here and I get the other. Henry, I need to get a look at Miller's home computer and cell phone, if he had them, and I need to go through his things. Mrs. Miller wasn't too happy with me when I left tonight. Maybe you could help me with her, explain to her I need to ask questions."

He threw back his shoulders and puffed his chest. "Sure, chief. Be happy to."

Simon flipped the board to the chalk side and took a piece of chalk in his hand. He drew two columns. In the first column he wrote: Douglas Miller, and in the second, wrote: Evidence. Under that he wrote: Candy wrapper, partial footprint, castrated, powder burns. He pinned the photos to the board, turned and looked into the faces of his deputies. "Now, the facts, gentlemen. What've we got?"

"Miller ran around on his wife," Aubrey said.

Simon wrote "Womanizer" beneath Miller's name. "What else?"

Aubrey pointed to the chalkboard. "The powder burns indicate he was shot at close range, so chances are he knew his assailant."

"We don't know that for certain. Maybe it was a senseless, random act of a psycho, and she...or he got the drop on him, or maybe his assailant didn't pose a threat to him. Keep an open mind. Anything else?" Aubrey and Henry appeared deep in thought for a moment, then shook their heads. Simon focused on Aubrey. "What can you tell me about the crime scene?"

His face flushed crimson with embarrassment, obviously remembering how he gagged at the sight of Miller's butchered body. He regained his composure. "You whisked me off to control the spectators almost as soon as I arrived. I didn't really have a chance to study the scene."

"I disagree. Take a moment and visualize the area and tell me what you see." Simon paused. "Or didn't see."

Aubrey closed his eyes. After a moment, he opened them. "There wasn't much blood."

Simon nodded. "What does that tell you?" He watched Aubrey give the question some thought.

"Maybe he was killed somewhere else."

"Do you have any idea where that might be?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

Simon folded his arms across his chest. "Are you sure?"

Henry raised his hand. "Maybe he was killed in the car that brought him there."

Simon smiled. "Excellent. What does that tell us?"

Henry cleared his throat. "Our primary crime scene drove away."

"Exactly. Get cracking on finding that car. We've got a murder to solve."

***

He wasn't spying on her, he told himself, though she might see it that way.

Well hidden among the spruce and pine trees, Simon relaxed behind the wheel of the four-by-four and watched Evie's cottage. Hardly a cottage, though, really, with its hardwood floors, cherry cabinets and the finest fixtures, appliances and furniture money could buy. The one concession at rough-it was the wood stove in the living room, and even then, the gold-plated finials adorning the top told a different story. The inside was lit like the Las Vegas strip, though none of the outdoor lamps burned. He found it strange. Most people feared what lurked in the shadows and darkness outside their homes.

Movement beyond the panes of glass caught his attention. Evie moved from room to room. What was she doing? Was she looking for something? He checked the time: 4:13. She should be in bed. Maybe she was too wound up to sleep. Viewing an autopsy would make even the seasoned and disciplined cop anxious. It had that affect on him, too, but thoughts of holding Evie in his arms shut his mind to the atrocities of the job.

His thoughts traveled back to the time when he thought he had it all: A degree in criminology, a job with the Honeydale PD and Evie. He was so in love with her, it made the slightest breath difficult. Six years later, she still made him feel the same way. Did he affect her at all anymore? At times, he seemed to.

Shifting his weight, he stretched his legs as much as the area below the dash of the Jeep allowed. The air was damp and cold inside the vehicle. The risk of her hearing the engine start was too great. He shivered despite the thick layers of clothing covering his skin, but he'd gladly suffer any discomfort, any pain for Evie.

It had devastated him when she accepted the position with the Concord PD after graduating from the police academy, but he tried not to let it show. He knew it would be a mistake pressuring her to stay. She would have ended up resenting him, so he let her go. Once she got a taste of life on the mainland, he believed she'd find it not to her liking. The opposite happened. Her daily telephone calls turned into every other day. Then one day, he got the call. He couldn't say he hadn't expected it. Still, though, he had held out hope for her return. The island and its quaint customs and mixed cultures were as much a part of her as him. She just needed to realize it for herself.

Her departure had devastated Dan and Keertana, as well, destroying their dreams and hopes for their marriage and grandchildren.

For a long time after she told him she wouldn't be returning to Honeydale, he moped around. Nothing interested him. Not his job he loved so much, not the weekly poker games, not riding Snowdancer, his Arabian. At some point, he realized he was squandering his life and straightened out. His heart continued to ache for her, but he'd learned to live with it by telling himself that one day she would return to the Island and to him.

The day he hoped and prayed for finally arrived two months ago, and he had to learn of her return from his dentist who learned it from his wife who learned it from her hairdresser. At least she was back. That made him happy, even though they weren't as close as they once were. He'd bridge the gap. Time would heal the wounds she tried hard to cover up. He wished she'd confide in him, but his attempts to get her to talk seemed only to reinforce her resolve that whatever happened in her past was best left kept to herself.

Years ago, she had told him everything; nothing was too personal, nothing too innate, nothing too silly. He wanted to be her trusted friend again, but it seemed he was a stranger to her. At least, she treated him like one. That wasn't the only thing which changed, though. Now, whatever he did was the wrong thing to do. Whatever he said was the wrong thing to say. When he saw what was happening, he took a different approach, a psychological one. If she asked him what he thought, he answered, "What do you think I should think?" Hell's bells but it didn't go over well. He opted, then, for smiling—a lot—and pats on the back with a "hang in there", or "great job", as might be the case. That appeared to work. For awhile. He wouldn't repeat the mistake. Now, he censured every word, every smile, every movement for fear she'd get the wrong idea or draw the wrong conclusion, which was working better. For how long, he didn't know.

She'd lost her confidence, though Evie without confidence was like an apple without a core. In the event her problem might be that, he had decided to include her in the investigation. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do, but he needed to do something.

After Evie left all those years ago, he'd adopted a Doberman to fill the void her absence created. When Lady Laura decided she loved the rottweiler down the road more, the damn dog left him, too. God. It seemed all his women left him. Hell's bells. At least, he had work and crank baits to occupy his time and thoughts.

The night grew still. Not a branch or a leaf stirred. The birds and squirrels had long ago retired for the night. Only a Chinese owl to keep him company. He looked out the windshield at the bird perched high on a fat branch of a billowing pine. "I see you." The owl hooted a long 'oo', as though he heard and understood.

He'd give her another fifteen minutes to ensure her well being, then he'd go home to his camp and crash. He might as well be here as home, though. No one to come home to. Before he thought better of it, he fished his cell phone from his jacket pocket and hit one on speed dial—first friend, first love, first thought, first in his heart was Evie. He listened to the monotonous ring of the telephone. One, two, three...six. What was that about? Why didn't she answer the phone? She picked up on the eighth ring. He cleared his throat. "Were you asleep?"

"No."

"Can't sleep?" He saw her walking into the kitchen, running her fingers through her hair. "No."

"The autopsy?"

"Uh-huh."

"You've been to autopsies before?"

"No. My partner hated paperwork. We traded off."

Oh, God. What had he done? "Close your eyes."

"Simon, I'm not in the mood for—"

"Close your eyes," he whispered and picked the binoculars from the seat and put them to his eyes. He saw her lashes lower. "Are your eyes closed?"

"Yes."

"Take a deep breath." He kept his voice soft and listened. When she inhaled, he said, "Hold it...let it out slowly." He waited and a moment later an exhaled breath that sounded like a long, withering sigh followed. "Good. You're in a meadow. There are wildflowers. Maple trees rustle in the wind. Jack Pines stand straight and tall. A breeze fragrant with lilac caresses your hair. Turn your face to the sun and embrace the warmth." He paused a moment. "Evie?" Another moment passed. "Evie?"

"What?"

Simon had to strain to hear. "Are you feeling better?

"Uh-huh."

"I'll call you tomorrow. Go to sleep."

"Okay." Simon watched her stand and turn out the lights. He waited fifteen minutes, then started the Jeep. He rolled down the window and looked at the owl. "She's all yours. Keep her safe."

Chapter Five

Evie woke to sunshine and warmer temperatures. Though she only slept a few hours, she felt rested and relaxed, almost content — something she hadn't felt in a long, long time. Working this murder case with Simon triggered something inside her. Excitement, maybe. Or maybe it made her realize she still had a purpose in life. Maybe there was a chance for her, after all.

She looked back at the last few months — how she had kept everyone at a distance; how Simon worked so hard to include her in his life and break through the barrier she'd built around herself. She still loved him and couldn't bear to hurt or disappoint him again.

Was there still a chance for them?

It would be a long, arduous journey back to the person she was, to feel the passion for life and her job she once did, but she needed to try. Her determination strengthened. She wanted to do this, if not for herself, for Simon. Taking an interest in what she loved, was good, something Gaston tried to make her see.

In the months she'd worked on the Honeydale PD she hadn't done much more than keep a chair warm. Sitting at a desk, answering telephone calls and occasionally directing traffic after fender-benders was safe. The thought of getting "back into action" frightened her now, the fear bearing down on her, pressing, pressing until her breath came in uneven gasps. Her hands shook. Beads of perspiration formed on her brow. She fought the panic attack. No. She wouldn't give in to fear. How easy it would be to fold to self-pity and guilt, though. "No, I won't go to that dark place this time." Simon. She had Simon. She would always have Simon.

She felt stronger now.

An hour later, she opened the door to her cottage and put Bear on the floor. She returned the skunk's stare. "Don't look at me like that. We had enough fresh air for one day. You have a fur coat—" The ring of the telephone interrupted her argument. "Another minute and you would've had me back outside. It's hard to refuse those soulful eyes." She ruffled the hair between Bear's ears. Shrugging out of her coat and thinking it was Simon calling, she answered the phone. "Hello."

"Hi." A voice from the past and someone Evie had also tried to alienate, but Shelley would have none of it. "What a pleasant surprise." She smiled, realizing how much she missed her friend.

"Don't you ever answer your phone or have an answering machine? I've been trying to get in touch with you for days."

"I've been busy." A little white lie, which Shelley would never know. "And my answering machine works when it wants to." One lie led to another. "How's everything?"

"Need you ask?"

Shelley's voice sounded deflated, which could only mean one thing. Office politics again. Her colleagues on the Concord PD had a problem with Shelley's homosexuality and heckled her mercilessly. Infantile thinking. What they could not understand, they feared. It seemed acceptance wasn't part of to protect and serve.

"Same old, huh?" Evie sympathized, but could only imagine the depth of Shelley's pain. "Things will get better, you'll see."

She sighed. "I keep telling myself that, but it isn't happening."

Since it became known Shelley danced to a female drummer, they had this talk often. "Give them time. They'll move on to something or someone else eventually."

"I can't take it anymore, Evie. I'm thinking about leaving, getting a job somewhere else, somewhere far from here."

"How does Bethany feel about that?"

"She said she'd come with me."

Evie didn't like to see anyone give up. There was a certain irony in that, she realized. She had given up, succumbed to guilt and despair. If it weren't for Simon and this murder, she'd still be in that black pit. "Maybe it is for the best, then. That you leave."

"If I do that, I'll be letting them win. I have a right to be who I am."

"True." Evie smiled.

"I have eight years with the CPD. I shouldn't throw that away."

"That's true, too." Evie smiled again.

"Someone wrote in red ink the word 'dyke' across my locker door last week. And yesterday, someone slashed my tires."

This worried Evie. The harassment had started with little things—wisecracks, taunts and jabs against Shelley's sexuality. This latest development meant the persecution had escalated. Maybe Shelley should pack up and leave. "So, besides that, things are good for you?"

She laughed. "Yes."

"How's the new partner working out?" In the nine months since Shelley's coming out, she had six different partners, not by her choice.

"I'm crossing my fingers. He's tantalizingly close to breaking the six-week barrier."

"Shelley Waters, forging new heights. You go, girl." Holding the cordless phone tightly against her ear, she walked into the living room, rethinking her friend's stand. "Shelley, maybe you should move."

"No, I'm not leaving. I won't let their small minds run me out of town."

Evie sighed. "I know we discussed this before, but maybe you should talk to Darius about it."

"I don't want to do that, either. It seems so first-grade-ish."

"It's not as though you'd be tattling, but I understand. You keep a close watch on your back, all right?"

"I will. Enough about me. How's everything with you?"

"Good." Two days ago Evie would have spouted the same retort, but with less conviction.

"Evie, it's me you're talking to. How are things really going?"

"Actually, they're getting better. Sometimes, though..."

"You remember, and it all comes crashing down on you again."

Shelley understood her so well. "Uh-huh."

"Forgive yourself. It's time."

A catch formed in Evie's throat. "I can't."

"Yes, you can. What happened wasn't completely your fault. You know it. If the bastard had been truthful, if he'd told you he was married from the git-go, you wouldn't have found yourself doing what you did."

Evie relented. "You're right, of course. I'm working a murder case with Simon."

"I don't know what surprises me more. That you had a murder in Honeydale or you working the case. Isn't it your job to round up Farmer Brown's cows?"

"It's Farmer Kelley, and it's not my job, specifically. I just happen to be on duty when his Guernseys decide to cut loose and go for a stroll down the highway."

She laughed. "I can only imagine that."

Evie told her about the murder. "And all we have for evidence is a candy wrapper and a partial footprint."

"Simon knows what he's doing, though?"

"Oh, yes. If anyone's going to catch the culprit, it's him. How's Bethany?"

"She's wonderful. Despite what I'm going through right now, I'm not sorry we moved in together."

Evie heard the smile in her friend's voice and smiled herself. Love was wonderful. "I'm so happy for you."

"If anyone but you said that to me, I'd think they were full of hooey. So, how's it going with the hunk Simon."

At the mention of his name, Evie's heart danced. "Fine."

"Fine? Just fine? Oh, no, you don't. You're falling for him all over again, aren't you? I can hear it in your voice."

"Yes."

"I knew it!"

The admission came as more of a surprise to her than to Shelley.

"Speaking of ex-beaux, I had the great pleasure of giving him a speeding ticket last week. He had the gall to ask how you were."

"What did you say?"

"I told him you were none of his fucking business."

The retort took Evie by surprise. She threw her head back and laughed.

"Oh, I got a call. Gotta go. See ya."

Evie stared at the phone and smiled. She hadn't felt this good in a long, long time.

Invigorated by a new outlook on her life, Evie sprinted into the police station, carrying a vase of flowers. Chrysanthemums that said 'wonderful friend', and Hyacinths that asked 'please forgive me'. She sang, "Good Morning" to Aubrey and Tallulah, and entered Simon's office with a bounce to her step.

With the telephone receiver cupped to his ear and the cord stretched taut, he waved her to a seat. "Thank you for calling. I'll be sure to make a note of that in the file." He set the receiver in its cradle, swung his legs off the desk and sighed. "It's going to be a long day, and it's only just begun." His telephone rang again. "Tallulah," he said, raising his voice, "hold my calls, please."

Tallulah, a middle-aged butterball who changed her hair color like she changed shoes and ruled the office like a general, stuck her head in the doorway. "You don't need to holler. I'm not deaf."

Simon jerked his head in her direction. "Sorry, darlin'."

With a huff and a muttering of indistinguishable words, she disappeared from the doorway.

Evie grinned.

Simon noticed. "What?"

"Nothing, honey."

The scowl that creased his face told her he understood the implication of the endearment. "A happy Tallulah makes a happy Simon." He shuffled files on his desk.

"Admit it. You're afraid of her."

"Am not."

She couldn't wipe the smile from her face. "If you say so." She took a seat. "Anything new to report?"

"Nothing travels faster than news of a murder in a small town. The wackos are coming out of the woodwork. This guy," he pointed at the phone, "said the Carp Diem Bee Quilters of Whipperdicks killed Miller. Said he saw little old ladies dump his body from a hot air balloon." He pointed to the flowers. "What you got there?"

She handed him the vase. "For you."

"For me? Why?"

"To thank you for being you." She studied his square jaw, blue eyes and warm-toned skin and wondered if it would be any different making love with him now that they were experienced.

He placed a hand over his heart. "You shouldn't have. They're lovely. Thank you." He grinned. "A woman's never brought me flowers before."

"No? Pity. Isn't it a beautiful morning?"

He cleared a spot on the corner of his desk and set the vase down. "You're in a chipper mood."

"I'm in a great mood." Because of you. When she looked at the photos of Miller on the evidence board, her mood quickly turned contemplative and melancholy, however. "He had so much to cherish, yet that didn't satisfy him, did it? His life was full, yet he had to have a little on the side." Some men were s.o.b's. She shook her head and looked at Simon, noticing the dark circles beneath his eyes. "Did you get any sleep at all last night?"

"A little. Harley called. Miller was castrated postmortem."

"That's some consolation, I suppose."

Simon nodded. "Miller consumed alcohol and had sex before he died. Harley found some pubic hairs that don't appear to be Miller's."

"The killer's, maybe?"

"Maybe."

"Anything else?" He tugged on his ear. "No prints on the body and the time of death is between eight and eight-thirty.

"Type of weapons used?"

"A twenty-two, just as we suspected, and from the cut marks in the castration, Harley was able to determine the tip of the blade had a second blade with a hook, the type used to prevent snagging in gutting." He bent and took the knife from the sheath strapped to his ankle. "Something like this one."

She stared at the lethal-looking weapon and a shiver swept through her. "God. The killer went prepared."

"That he did, and it might tell us 'premeditated', and it also might tell us something about the killer."

She nodded. "That he might be a hunter."

"Maybe. What can you tell me about Miller?"

"Not much." She shrugged. "He took great pains with his appearance and was always stylishly dressed and groomed in high school and from what I saw the other day, he hadn't changed." She stared off to a corner and smiled, recalling those times. "He used to strut the hallways like he owned the building and always had two or three girls on the line. He thought he was the coolest thing since ready-made whipped cream."

"Yet he never gave you the time of day. That's odd."

"Not when you consider I dated a gargantuan man who wore a Stetson and a ponytail and could shoot the wings off a fly at a thousand yards."

"True." He grinned. "Anything else?"

"He wasn't terribly bright, but he got along."

"Bright enough to score a job with the government."

"Not hard to pass those one-and-one-make-two ground floor tests, and if you have clout, it's even easier."

"Did he have any of that?"

"His father worked as a supervisor for the department of transportation, if memory serves."

"That explains that."

"Have you checked if there were other similar murders elsewhere?"

"Yep. Not lately and even those have different MO's." He stared into space. "People are going to start locking their doors, pulling shades and drawing drapes, thinking one of them is a murderer. No one will feel safe until we make an arrest." He massaged his face. "Let's pay a visit on those employees who put our tax dollars to good use, shall we?" His intercom buzzed. With the patience of Job, Simon answered the call. "Yes, Tallulah."

"Wallace O'Connell, Esquire, is here to see you."

"Whoop-tee-do. Have him cool his heels a minute, then send him in." He walked to the evidence board and flipped it to its blank side. "Some lawyer is here to see me."

"I'll leave you to deal with that."

"You're too generous."

Chapter Six

Simon propped his legs on the desk and laced his fingers behind his head, appearing totally relaxed for the attorney's impromptu visit.

Wallace O'Connell, a mustachioed, portly man in his late fifties entered, looking every bit the distinguished lawyer in a navy pinstriped three-piece suit, white shirt and red tie. He nodded. "Chief." He extended his hand and introduced himself.

"Coffee, counselor?"

"Don't mind if I do." He settled back in the chair Evie had vacated. "Two of each in the coffee. Deborah Miller was in to see me this morning. She's extremely agitated with you."

Simon nodded. "Because of what I had to ask. I understand why she would be. Questions are hard to take at a time like that."

"Doesn't get any tougher."

Simon handed him the coffee. "I can appreciate that."

"She doesn't want you to question her anymore without benefit of counsel."

"She have something to hide?" Simon sat and studied his coffee.

"Nope. Didn't like where your questions were headed."

"And where was that, sir?"

O'Connell looked at him over the rim of his 'Bookie' glasses. "Like you suspected her."

Simon stared at him as solemn as a vow. "People watch too much television today, get ideas and jump to conclusions they shouldn't. Where was she last night?"

"At home with the kids."

"Will Mrs. Miller agree to a DNA test?"

"I'd strongly oppose it." He studied his coffee.

"I could get —"

"Place my client in the time and place and a judge just might issue one."

Simon gave him that one. "Miller was castrated."

"I heard."

"A wife who found out about her husband's extramarital activities might do something like that." Simon studied him for a reaction. O'Connell gave away nothing. "Did Mrs. Miller know her husband ran around on her?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

"Because she still loves her husband and because she wants to find out who did this to him as much, I suspect, as you do." He touched the tip of his nose. "I'd know if it were an act."

"Did you know the Millers?"

He took a sip of coffee. "This is good."

"You were saying?"

"Represented them on their house purchase. Drew up their wills."

Simon studied him over the ridge of the cup. "How about Miller's DUI. Represent him on that, did you?"

He smiled, a smile that said he expected nothing less of the chief of police. "You're worthy of your reputation. I did. He was one point over the legal limit."

"Still against the law and like saying 'I almost didn't kill him'. How well did you know Miller?"

"Only as a client, and that's privileged."

"Of course."

In the silence that followed, O'Connell ran a hand over his balding pate and stared at the board. "That your evidence write-up on the other side? Can I have a look?"

On the one hand O'Connell gave him kudos for looking into something considered part of a thorough investigation and on the other he gave him the brain of an antelope. Weren't lawyers damn weird? "Nope. That's privileged. And it's 'may I'."

***

"Henry!" Simon waited a moment. "Tallulah, is Henry out there?"

"He's just coming in now. And you don't need to raise your voice. There's nothing wrong with my hearing."

"Sorry, darlin'," he said softly. "Would you tell him I want to see him, please?"

Two seconds later, Henry sprinted into Simon's office. "You wanted to see me?"

"We've got a little problem, Henry. I just got paid a visit from Deborah Miller's lawyer."

"Deb's lawyered-up?"

Simon nodded. "That complicates things. You're going to have to be my eyes and ears for the time being where she's concerned."

"Yes, sir!" He stood at attention.

"I want you to pay her a condolence visit and have a look around."

"W-what will I be looking for exactly?"

"Get a look at Miller's computer if he had one, e-mails and such, his desk—papers, memos, telephone messages. His cell phone wasn't on him or at the office. Everyone has one these days. Maybe he left it at home yesterday. If you find it, check the directory and messages and the calls he made and received."

"Okay." Henry frowned.

"What is it, Henry?"

"H-how am I su-supposed to d-do that, chief?"

"It's a bungalow. Ask to go to the bathroom and do a quick surveillance."

"Oh. Okay."

"Don't get caught."

"I-if I do?"

"Tell her you heard a noise and investigated."

Henry frowned again.

"What is it, Henry?"

"Why don't you ask Deb to see these things yourself?"

"I'll have to go through her lawyer first." Simon ran a hand over the top of his head. "I hate dealing with lawyers."

"What about a subpoena or a search warrant?"

"I don't have probable cause for a warrant and I want to keep this amiable. Get on that right away." Simon remembered one last detail. "Oh, and Henry, change into civvies. Remember this is a condolence visit."

"Yes, sir." Henry left in a rush.

"Evie?...Tallulah, where's Evie?" Simon remembered to keep his voice soft. He really didn't want to upset his dispatcher.

"She's on her way in."

He grabbed his coat and Stetson and met her in the hallway. "All set?"

"How'd it go with the lawyer?"

"Good."

She studied him a moment. "Good? You dislike lawyers."

"You just have to know how to talk to the white man."

She laughed. "What did he want?"

"It seems Deborah Miller hired him."

"Really? Why?"

Simon placed a hand on the small of her back and ushered her toward the rear exit. "Apparently, she didn't like my questions and won't answer any more without her lawyer present."

"That doesn't sound like an innocent wife. Maybe she does have something to hide."

"Maybe. Doesn't everyone know today cops look at the spouses as their first suspects?"

Simon and Evie entered the government building and took the elevator to the fourth floor. He led the way to the receptionist. "Ralph Watson is expecting us. Chief Wolfe and Officer Madison."

The receptionist, whose desk plate read Desiree Lewis, said with an outstretched hand, "Through that hall, turn left and continue to the back of the building. Mr. Watson's office is the one to the right."

Simon ushered Evie ahead of him.

Somber looking employees stood around talking in hushed voices.

Simon held their gazes and headed toward Miller's supervisor's office.

"Chief Wolfe?" Ralph Watson stood from behind his desk.

"Yes." Simon shook Watson's hand and indicated to Evie. "This is Officer Madison."

Watson nodded, offered them a seat and settled back in his chair. "Terrible thing what happened to Doug."

"How long did he work here, Mr. Watson?" Simon asked.

"I pulled his file after you called." He flipped through pages in Miller's employment record. "Let's see...his first day was May 1st, 1995, so that would make it eleven years and some."

"Was he a good employee? Any complaints, any problems?"

"No, none. I would know. Those employees we have problems with are the ones we remember. Douglas wasn't one of those."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"A gregarious sort, the type who wanted everyone to like him, flirty, but innocent, never caused any waves, married. Happily, I thought, but it seems that wasn't the case. Man, you just can't tell about some people. You think you know them, and then... castrated, my God..." He shook his head.

It didn't surprise Simon that word of Miller's castration had leaked. Things had a way of slipping out. He imagined how everyone would sensationalize the murder and hypothesize the reason behind the killing. "Was he into drugs?"

"Yesterday I would have said no, but today..."

"Did he have any enemies that you know of? Did he gamble?"

"Not that I'm aware."

"Did he have any romances going in the office?" Evie asked.

Watson turned to her. "Like I said, I thought he was happily married."

Simon closed his note pad. "Could we talk to your staff?"

"No problem. Follow me, and I'll introduce you."

In the work pool, Watson cleared his throat. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Chief Wolfe and Officer Madison, and they'd like to ask you a few questions about Douglas."

Employees emerged from their cubicles and joined their coworkers who stood in the hallway.

Simon stepped forward. "As I'm sure you're all aware, Douglas Miller was found murdered yesterday. Does anyone know anyone who would have reason to kill him? Did he have any enemies? Did he appear to be troubled lately?"

Everyone shook their heads.

Simon waited, hoping someone would speak up if they had something to say. No one did. "If you change your mind about that, let Mr. Watson know." He took a business card from his pocket and handed it Watson. "If anyone remembers anything, give me a call."

"I will." Watson turned to his employees. "Back to work."

"Did Miller have any friends here? Anyone he socialized with?"

"Douglas was a likable fellow, talked to everyone and anyone, but friends...I wouldn't say so."

"Uh-huh. I'd like a look at his desk."

"All of his files he'd been working on have been redistributed. You wouldn't have learned anything from them anyway, they're just government business, and the rest are personal items. Mrs. Miller is coming by later today to box them up. You can have a look at them if you'd like."

"Thank you. I will."

Outside on the street, Evie turned to Simon. "I've never seen such a clean and tidy desk."

"Was Miller always such a neat freak?"

She thought about that a moment. "I think so. At least, with his appearance. Mrs. Miller's not wasting any time."

"She's not, that's a fact. Maybe it's nothing, but it could also mean she knows her husband had something to hide." He watched the traffic whiz past. "We'll check out the local watering holes tonight. Maybe Miller stopped for a nightcap before heading home. Maybe we'll get lucky and someone will remember seeing him leave with someone."

***

Simon checked the time. 2:10 Where was Henry? How long did it take to pay condolences and snoop around a little? "Tallulah, would you get—" Henry swaggered into Simon's office. "Henry, you look like a peacock in a gaggle of peahens."

He came to a stop in front of the desk and crossed his arms against his chest. "Just got back from Deb's. I did like you said and asked to use the bathroom so that I could have a look around."

"Okay." Simon nodded, remarking on Henry's flawless speech.

"Only trouble was Miller's office was in the basement."

"Damn." Simon rolled his eyes. "Now I'm going to have to call her lawyer to arrange a look at Miller's things. Or get a warrant. I hoped it wouldn't become necessary."

"No need." Henry's lip curved upward on one side. "I got what you wanted."

"How'd you manage that?" Simon's brows arched.

"As luck would have it, after I'd been at Deb's for awhile, some pipes clanged in the furnace and she asked me to check it out."

Henry's Cheshire grin had Simon smiling. "What did you find?"

"I didn't find any note saying 'If I die from suspicious circumstances, my wife killed me because she found out I was screwing anything in a skirt' if that's what you mean."

His laugh sounded like a combination of the horse's whinny and the grunting of the wind-down of a bray—whineee, ending in aw ah aw. In the six months Henry worked for Simon, he never heard him laugh. In fact, he thought he never did. Now that he heard it, he wished he never had.

"What did you find?" A stash of porn, a stash of Mary Jane—"

"Marijuana." Which might explain Miller's happy outlook the morning he was killed. "Anything else?" Simon asked.

"Uh-huh. Miller left his cell phone on his desk, but there wasn't anything of interest in it. The last number called was a pizza place and the directory had the usual numbers stored: home, work, dentist, doctor, etc. It turned out Miller had his computer password-protected."

"Damn."

"Not to worry. I got in."

"You did?" Henry was full of surprises today.

"Uh-huh. He used 'Valentino' as his password." Another donkey's bray. "Valentino. Can you imagine? Comparing himself to a sex symbol. Arrogant s.o.b."

As much as Simon enjoyed this side of his deputy, he wanted him at home plate. He checked the time. "Henry, I have to be somewhere in five minutes."

"It seems Miller frequented porn sites and chat rooms." The words rushed from Henry's mouth. "Chat rooms where they discuss sex, sex toys and the many ways to use them. It didn't come as much of a surprise to me, given what I know about him. He kept all his e-mails. Arrogant s.o.b. Deb could have stumbled onto them anytime."

"Maybe she did."

"She didn't."

Simon recognized the depth of Henry's faith in Deborah Miller. He hoped it wasn't misplaced.

Henry unzipped his jacket and pulled out several sheets of paper tucked into his waistband. "I made copies of everything." He laid them on the desk.

"You go, Henry." Simon stood, walked around the desk and slapped him on the back. "Good job. Now write up a report and get cracking on getting the names and addresses of Miller's correspondents." He noticed a long, blond hair on Henry's shoulder. "What's this?"

Henry examined the grease stains on his hands, apparently misunderstanding Simon. "I had to make it look good, chief. Explain the reason for being in the basement so long and to cover up the noise the printer made."

"No, not that. This." Simon took the strand into his hand and examined it. He couldn't be sure without seeing it through a magnifying glass, but it seemed to have follicles.

Henry squinted. "It must be Deb's. Sure as hell ain't mine." He lifted a lock of black hair off his forehead.

Simon bagged the strand. "Sure it's Mrs. Miller's?"

"Can't be anyone else's."

"Did you fix it?"

Henry's brows furrowed. "Fix what?"

"The furnace."

"Chief, I know dick all about those contraptions. I called a serviceman for her."

"Well done, Henry. Everything." He held up the plastic bag. "And now we might have Mrs. Miller's DNA to compare with the epithelial cells found on our victim. If the comparison comes back a positive match, we'll make our move on her."

Henry turned rose red. "There's something I forgot to tell you."

"What's that?"

"Deb has an alibi. Her friend, Bridget Johnson, visited with her from seven to nine last night. I spoke with Bridget, and she confirmed it."

Simon threw his hands into the air. "Why in the name of Christ didn't Mrs. Miller just tell me that!"

Chapter Seven

At the end of his shift the following night Simon took a drive along the coast. The water, bathed in the silhouette of the crimson hues of a setting sun, gently lapped to the sandy shore. While a walk in a park, or a stroll down a favorite lane might serve to relax some, coming here to where in an earlier century his people had lived, loved and fought never failed to put things in perspective for him. He never forgot where he came from. Perhaps that made him a stronger, better man.

He stared at the lights on the mainland across the bay. From this view, the island seemed a misfit, like a piece of the state had broken off and drifted away. Turning onto Main Street, he pulled to the curb in front of Tony's Tavern, a dive where his snitch, Rodney "The Roach" Adams, and lowlifes like him, hung out. He hopped from his truck, walked into the bar and looked around.

Simon noticed Adams spotting him. With a glance toward the rear door, Adams put the pool cue in held in one hand and the beer he held in the other on the pool table. In no mood for a foot chase, Simon sprinted to him before he had a chance to make a quick exit.

Adams held up his hands. "I'm clean, man. I swear."

Simon reached into the inside breast pocket of Adams baseball jacket and pulled out a bag of marijuana so swiftly he didn't have time to object. "What's this, then?"

"Aw, come on, man. Give me a break."

Simon measured the weight of the bag in his hand. "This's a lot of weed. Might get you sent up this time."

Adams eyed the door again.

"I might be willing to look the other way in return for a little information."

"Can we do this somewhere else?" Adams cast furtive glances around the bar, obviously uncomfortable with the attention they drew.

Simon shoved the marijuana in his coat pocket, grabbed The Roach by the arm and led him outside, not releasing his grip until they stood on the sidewalk. "What can you tell me about Douglas Miller?"

Adams rubbed his jaw, looking up and down the street. "He's the guy got offed by some psycho chick last Thursday night, eh? Poor slob."

"Who was he with that night?"

"Him and me, we didn't travel in the same circles, if you get my drift."

Simon grabbed him by the lapels and hauled him within an inch of his face. "Don't fuck with me, Rodney. I'm not in the mood."

"Okay, okay. Trixie might know something." Adams wriggled. "You're hurting me, man."

Simon relaxed his hold, but kept him in a firm grip. "Theresa Fellows?" A secretary by day, hooker by night. She was raising two children on her own and without assistance from the state.

"Yeah. They sometimes hook up. She's got a place on the corner of King and St. Andrew Streets."

"If this is bogus, I'm coming back to see you." Simon let him go.

Adams rubbed his neck. "It's not, I swear, man."

Simon saw her leaning against a lamppost long before she took notice of him. He hit the siren. Two tones of _blee-bleep_ echoed in the street.

She straightened, looked at her friends standing beside her, shook her head as though disgusted and walked to his Jeep.

He opened the passenger door. "Get in."

She threw her cigarette in the gutter and climbed in beside him. "What can I do for you, chief?"

"How's everything? How're the kids?"

"Business is slow. The kids need winter boots." She lifted her bottom and yanked her short skirt down on her legs as far as it would go. "It's just one thing after another."

Simon reached into his pocket for his money clip. He peeled off five twenties and handed them to her. "Get the kids what they need."

She tucked the money in her bra. "You're a good man, Simon."

"Did you know Douglas Miller?" In the light from the street lamps, Simon saw her facial expression change from elation to sadness.

She nodded. "Why someone would want to do that to him..." She pulled a tissue from her beaded bag and dabbed her eyes.

"You knew him well?"

She cleared her throat. "Doug and I went way back. Since high school. I always had a thing for him. Sometimes we'd do it for old times sake. I had no expectations. He had his wife on a pedestal. Couldn't do the things he did with me with her, though." She shrugged, then her dark, thick brows rose an inch. She leaned in closer as though about to divulge some great secret. "The ink wasn't dry on his marriage certificate when he came to me to scratch the itch."

"Were you with him the night he was murdered?"

She shook her head, sending brunette curls bouncing around her face. "No. I can't help thinking if I had been, he might still be alive."

"Who were you with that night?"

"With...my boyfriend."

"Does your boyfriend have a name?"

She nodded. "He also has a wife. If it comes down to it, I'll give you his name. He won't like it, but he'll verify my whereabouts."

"Do you know or have any idea who Miller might have been with?"

"None." At his skeptical expression, she said, "I'd tell you if I knew."

"If you're lying—"

"I'm not. I swear. I'll even agree to a DNA test if that's what it'll take. The truth is he could have been with anyone. Doug was indiscriminate in his taste for women." She gave a little laugh. "Obviously, right? If he came to see me." She shrugged. "I'll check around, see if I can find out anything for you. I want the bitch who did this to Doug to pay."

He peeled off four fifties from his money clip and handed them to her. "Take the rest of the week off and spend some time with your kids."

Twenty minutes later, Simon turned onto Eekem-Seekem Street and pulled to a stop in front of a dilapidated three-story apartment building that had seen its better days twenty years ago. On the up side, the roof didn't leak and the rent was cheap. He placed the two boxes of groceries he'd picked up at Minion Grocery on the floor before apartment 2A, wedging the bag of weed and the rolling papers between the cans. He rang the bell, darted to the shadows behind the stairwell and waited.

Sylvie Noble answered the door. She looked at the box on the floor, then to her right. "God bless you, whoever you are."

Not that she could see him, Simon nodded. Sylvie recently had surgery for breast cancer and now underwent chemotherapy. She suffered greatly from nausea, which made it difficult for her to care for her three small children. Smoking weed helped with the side effect of the treatment. To make her life even harder, her old man skipped out on them six months before and one month later, her employer decided to downsize and layoff those entry level employees of which Sylvie was one. They subsisted on employment insurance.

What Simon provided every month took up some of the slack.

Simon found himself winding down the drive to Evie's cottage. It seemed only natural he would come to her, yet when she opened the door, he felt the need to explain his presence. "I know it's late, but—"

"Nonsense. Come in."

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he followed behind her through the kitchen and into the living room. He noted thriving potted plants, the neatness and the scent of pine cleaner. The skunk sitting next to the wood stove, eyeing him warily, momentarily surprised Simon until he remembered Evie's love for all animals.

"How're you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine." She smiled.

She looked pale and sickly to him. "Day surgery went okay?" He hadn't asked what the problem was, but suspected it was one of those female things.

She nodded. "I'll be ready to go back to work on Tuesday."

"The surgeon must have been really backed up to perform surgeries on a Saturday, or was it something serious which needed to be treated right away?"

"He's going away on vacation until the first of the year and wanted to clear his roster."

Her explanation seemed plausible. Still, though, he worried. "I wish you would have let me drive you and pick you up from the hospital. There really wasn't any reason to take a taxi."

"Actually, I didn't take a taxi."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"By some strange coincidence, your mother showed up here just as I was getting ready to leave. Imagine my surprise. You didn't have a hand in that, did you?"

"I may have mentioned to her you were having surgery this morning, but I didn't suggest she bring you." He noticed how gingerly she sat which made him wonder again if the ailment wasn't more serious than she let on. "Maybe I should leave and let you rest."

She waved him to the chair across from her. "You came here to discuss something. What is it?"

He could never hide anything from her. "It's this case. It has me stymied." He told her about his night and massaged his neck.

"It's a real pain in the neck, isn't it?"

She could always make him laugh.

"Here, let me." She stood with the same degree of caution as she had sat and walked to him.

He clasped her hand. "I'm fine. You're not feeling well."

Ignoring his concern, she worked her fingers into the muscles of his neck, kneading, prying and smoothing.

He lost himself to the touch of her hands against his skin, remembering the time when her fingers had trailed his body, teasingly, tantalizingly, making him feel things no other woman had.

"What have we got on Miller's murder so far, Simon?"

Not needing to dig deep in his memory to recover the information, he rhymed off what they had. "It pretty much amounts to zip."

She rotated her thumbs in a circular motion on the cords of his neck.

"That feels good." He closed his eyes.

"You're knotted like a pine tree." She applied more pressure. "Well, someone was with him the night he was killed."

"About the only thing we know for certain. If we had one clue, something ... anything ...." He grimaced and massaged his face. "The case is going cold."

"It's only been two days, and "if" never held you back before. What's changed?"

The telephone rang.

Simon looked at her over his shoulder and watched her stare at the phone through another ring, then another. "Aren't you going to answer?"

"The machine'll get it."

On the sixth ring, the answering machine clicked on and he listened to Evie say, "I can't come to the phone right now. Leave a message at the sound of the beep." A second passed. "Beep." Then came the sound of a disconnected line.

She said, "Probably a wrong number." She took her hands from his neck and moved to the sofa.

He looked at her. Something about the way she carried herself told him she didn't think that at all. Who was it? A lover? The idea angered him. The thought that another man had held her in his arms, made love to her, incensed him. He had to leave before he said something he didn't want to.

He got into his vehicle, feeling he and Evie would never share again the closeness they once had.

Simon wound his way onto the highway toward Shampers Bluff. The first raindrops hit the windshield in dime-sized splats. He flicked on the wipers. Within a minute it rained without pity and the wipers labored against gusts of wind battering the windshield.

When he reached Raven's farm, he donned a slicker, grabbed his Maglite from the glove box and walked toward the culvert. Water rushed the gravel and burrowed a deep trench down the road. The brim of his Stetson caught the rain like an eaves trough and traveled down his back.

Slowly, he made his way up the incline, remembering the crime scene vividly. By coming here he thought he might feel the killer, connect with him...or her, maybe learn a clue to his or her identity. He closed his eyes, stood rigidly still and envisioned a woman hauling Miller's body up the slope. She had a difficult time of it. Miller was a big man, five-eleven and one hundred and ninety pounds. She stopped often to catch her breath and readjust her hold under his armpits. Inch by inch, she trudged along, her breath frosting before her face.

"I come here a lot."

Christ! Simon looked over his shoulder. "Wills."

"Sneaking up on an Injun, imagine that." Wills shone a flashlight on him.

Simon was sure his surprise registered on his face, but he mustered a smile despite his embarrassment. "Imagine that."

"What were you doing just now?"

"Trying to get a feel for the killer. How about you? Why do you come here?"

"To say a prayer. I know it's not his final resting place, but ..." Wills looked around. "Since that night I keep a closer watch on my property. I never had to before. I saw your truck drive up. Decided to say howdy."

Simon would like to tell him his fears were unfounded. "Did you remember anything more about that night?"

Wills turned his head downward, scratched his white-whiskered chin and squinted. "I wish I had more to tell you. People are getting a mite antsy because this murder hasn't been solved."

Simon appreciated that Wills didn't lay blame on the chief of police. To say an arrest would be made soon would be a lie.

"I don't think I'll sow this land again. Been talking to the missus about it. Think I'll till the soil next to my house. Got an acre and some there." He splayed his hand toward the land they stood on. "I've been working this soil for thirty-seven years." His tone turned wistful. "It's done right by me." He massaged his jaw again and looked at Simon. "What do you think I should do?"

Simon slapped a hand on the farmer's shoulder and squeezed. "You should do what is right for you."

"Funny thing, but I just got the strong impression it was a woman dragging Miller's body up here."

"A woman?"

"Well, I ain't one hundred percent sure, but..."

"Did anything else come to you?"

The old farmer thought a moment, then shook his head. "No, just that. I'm not a religious man. Haven't been to church since the missus and I was married, some forty years now, but I've been doing a lot of praying lately, asking the Lord what He thought I should do about this lot of land. Strangest thing, that. Me asking what I should do with farmland."

Thunder boomed and lightning lit the now star-filled sky. Wills looked upward. "Strangest thing, that."

Simon had to agree. "Damn strange."

Chapter Eight

At seven o'clock Sunday night, Evie pulled into the driveway of Simon's parents home. Coming here was not troublesome for her, not like she had feared. Keertana driving her to the hospital yesterday morning helped her overcome her anxiety about seeing her.

Evie's gaze strayed to the house next door—her childhood home. She wondered, as she had so many times in the past, what had caused her parents to drift apart. For the first years of her childhood that she could remember, they had seemed happy and in love, then one day it changed. Something had happened, but she didn't know what and she never had the courage to ask her mother. Not that Felicia would give her a straight answer.

She turned and looked at Dan and Keertana's six-bedroom farmhouse. A light shone in every room and white priscilla curtains graced every window. Keertana once told her the outside of a house spoke to its inside. If the windows sparkled and the grounds were well maintained, chances were the interior would be the same. She believed that, knowing the spotless home Keertana kept.

As children, neither Simon nor she could put anything over on Keertana. When Evie had accidentally squashed Keertana's prized blooms in her flower garden, she knew who was responsible. Evie still didn't understand it. She'd covered her footprints and was on the opposite side of the house when Keertana returned home. When she splayed her hand toward the desecration, Evie put on her innocent face. Instead of accusing or demanding a confession, Keertana simply said in that melodious voice of hers: Flowers sing to our hearts. If their voices are stilled, who will sing to us?

She raised her hand to knock. The door swung open.

"I hope you weren't going to knock." Dan Wolfe had a booming voice and a build that matched his son's. Unlike Simon, though, he kept his hair short and it silvered at the temples. He hugged her to his chest, lifting her off the floor. Setting her down, he gave her a once over. "You're as beautiful as ever."

"My eyes are too light, my nose is too small and my lips are too big." The retort came as easily as it had when he would tell her the same thing as a child.

"It's so good to have you back. It hasn't been the same without you." He hugged her again. "You look tired and you've lost weight. Are you eating properly?"

The concern in his voice watered her eyes. "Lots of veggies and fruit and nutritious meals."

He led her inside. "Keertana, look who's come to dinner."

Keertana, wearing her waist-length black hair free and flowing, a black silk skirt and blouse, stepped from the kitchen and took her in her arms for a motherly hug. "Welcome, Piloqutinnguaq. How are you feeling?" Just as Dan had, she stepped back and looked her over.

"I'm fine. Little leaf. I haven't been called that in awhile." Evie smiled to cover up the guilt she felt for not coming to see them before this. If Keertana knew what she'd done, would she look at her with love in her heart like she did? She thought not.

While her own mother had been too busy with charities and her job as a nurse, Keertana gave her the nurturing and love she needed. Oh, she wanted for nothing as a child, nothing that money couldn't buy, that was. What she craved, her mother was incapable of giving. Evie had no cherished memories of their times together as mother and daughter. They didn't bake cookies together like she had with Keertana. As an orthodontist, her father hadn't time for her, either. It took complaints of a toothache to get his attention. She had the nicest, straightest and healthiest teeth and gums in all of Honeydale, though.

Evie looked around. "Simon isn't here yet?"

"He called and said he'll be along shortly," Dan said. The scent of roasted beef, carrots and potatoes made her realize her hunger. "Dinner smells wonderful." Evie loved Keertana's cooking. She was a fabulous cook, unlike her own mother who patted herself on the back for warming store-bought lasagna and remembering to stop at the bakery for garlic bread.

"I made your favorite. Pot roast."

"I haven't had pot roast since...well, since the last time I had it here." For the first time in months she felt the desire to eat.

"That is way too long, honey." Keertana ushered her into the living room.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Evie asked.

"Yes, keep Dan out of the kitchen until dinner is served."

"That I can do."

Dan sat in his well-worn recliner and she sank back against the sofa cushions and relaxed. Though moving back home seemed her only recourse at the time, it seemed right to her now.

"You haven't changed one bit," Dan said.

She met his gaze. "I'm wiser now."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?"

If she had come upon this wisdom without regret, it would be. "I hear you're retired. How's that going?"

"I'm loving it. I enlarged the garden and took up fishing. There's good money in seafood, you know."

Not that they needed it. Dan worked as hospital administrator for years and would be getting a healthy pension. She chuckled. "Somehow, I can't see you as a fisherman."

"I'm not much of one, to tell you the truth." He leaned in closer as though to divulge a dark secret. "They call me the cod father."

She laughed out loud. It felt so good to be home, which was how she thought of the Wolfe house.

"How're your parents? We haven't seen much of them lately."

"Good." She guessed. "You know them, busy as ever."

Dan nodded. "Yes, not too much stops Felicia and Harrison." His tone turned wistful. "You broke our hearts when you left. We thought you and Simon..."

Yes, everyone thought they would marry one day, herself included. She turned toward the doorway at the sound of Simon's voice.

"Pa, are you matchmaking again?"

"I never give up on a worthwhile cause."

Simon sat beside her and draped his arm across the sofa back. "Where were you last night? I called after getting home, but there was no answer."

She squinted, puzzled. "I didn't hear ..." Then she remembered. "Oh, maybe I was outside with Bear."

"Who's Bear?" Dan asked.

"My pet skunk."

"Skunk?" He chuckled. "Descented, I hope."

Evie laughed. "Of course. I found her wandering around in the back yard, looking lost and alone. Her mother must have abandoned her."

"You were always taking in wounded birds and stray animals as a youngster."

Simon played with the ends of her hair.

Dan grinned at them. "You two were meant to be together."

The man was incorrigible. Evie knew he would never let up on them. He wanted his son with her.

In the silence that followed Evie relived the night of her graduation from the police academy. She would never forget the hurt in Simon's eyes when she told him she accepted a position with the Concord Police Department. Just for the experience, she had said, promising to visit often and return to Honeydale and him in a year or two. She never kept either promise.

"Dinner is ready," Keertana sang from the doorway.

They filed into the dining room.

Evie took her usual seat across from Simon. Dan said grace, thanking the Lord for the food on the table and for returning Evie to them. A lump formed in her throat. Why had she wanted to leave this family who thought so much of her?

She ate with a ravenous appetite. Throughout dinner they swapped stories. It soon became a game of one-upmanship. After dinner, they went into the living room. Evie rummaged through her purse for a stick of gum. Coming up empty, she looked up. All eyes were on her. She smiled. "I gave up smoking. I was looking for something to nibble on."

"How long has it been?" Keertana asked.

"Six months."

She patted her hand. "Good for you, dear." She looked at Dan. "Smoking is a disgusting habit."

Dan held his arms wide at his sides. "What? I don't smoke. I gave them up, remember?"

"I suppose next you'll be telling me the package hidden under the blankets in the barn belongs to one of the horses?"

"It's not mine."

"And how about the pint of whiskey laying next to the cigarettes?" She turned to Evie. "Men think women are deaf and blind with no sense of smell."

Evie smiled at their animated faces. They hadn't changed. The playful teasing, the open admiration, the love and respect they held for each other was as apparent to her today as when she was a child. She wished her parents were as loving. Why couldn't they be more like them? Maybe her life would be different today.

Simon crossed his legs. "I thought I smelled whiskey and tobacco off Nightwing's breath the other day when I took him out to the south pasture to check the fence. That solves that mystery."

Keertana turned to Evie. "See what I have to put up with? It is a travesty, is it not?"

Evie grinned. "It certainly is."

Dan cleared his throat. "Speaking of mysteries, son, how's the murder investigation going? What have you got so far?"

"Not too much." Simon told him what he learned from Miller's boss. "Which almost amounts to nada."

Keertana stood. "I will leave you to your shop talk and clean up the kitchen."

Evie made a move to stand but Keertana waved her back down. "It will only take me a couple of minutes."

Dan watched her leave, then turned to Simon. "Miller was a real pillar of the community, huh?"

"Appears so."

"Sounds too good to be true."

Simon uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. "You're right there. Miller had sex before he died, and since his wife's alibi checks out, it wasn't with her."

Dan shook his head. "Hell of a way for her to find out she wasn't the only woman in her husband's life. Where was he murdered?"

"In the back seat of his Honda Accord. We found it abandoned behind the old warehouse on Pine Street."

Dan stared into space for a moment. "Fingerprints?"

"None. The car was wiped clean."

"Strange, considering the DNA evidence left behind."

"That's assuming the woman he had sex with and the killer are the same," Evie said.

Dan frowned. "You think they're not?"

Simon shook his head. "We don't know what to think at this point."

"How about his family? Any help there?"

"None."

Evie smiled, remembering how Simon always talked cases over with his father. She wanted to be a part of this family again, but she was unworthy of them now. They would be disappointed in her if they knew what she had done.

The regret and the sorrow built slowly. Within a minute, her vision blurred and she sobbed. Jumping up, she cupped a hand over her mouth, and ran from the house.

Simon caught up to her in the driveway. "Evie, what is it? What's the matter?"

She shook her head, avoided his eyes and continued toward her car.

"I'm sorry about how Pa carried on tonight. He means well. It's just that he's had certain expectations where we're concerned."

"I...I know." She wanted to tell him he misinterpreted the reason why she left, but couldn't.

He stepped closer to her. "Want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"About what happened in Concord that makes you so sad."

She'd suspected Simon knew she hid something from him, but this was the first time he questioned her about it. "It's nothing. I'll get over it."

"Talking about it will help."

Why did everyone think that? Nothing could ease her guilt or shame. She forced a smile. "I'll be fine." At his skeptical expression, she added, "I will, really. I just need some time." Discomfited by the intensity of his gaze, she looked away.

"It was like old times tonight, wasn't it?"

Her smile came naturally. "Yes, it was." Though she hadn't thought so, she'd needed it, needed to feel loved, needed to feel a part of a family again. She experienced all of those things tonight. He opened the car door for her and she slipped behind the wheel.

"If you need anything, Evie, anything at all, call." He leaned in and kissed her cheek.

A sob escaped her throat. He was too wonderful. Never once since her return had he criticized her for leaving him practically standing at the altar, for breaking his heart, for smashing his dreams of a life with her. Instead, he treated her with kindness, respect and love and wanted to help her. He was too good for her. She didn't deserve him or his love. She started the car, yanked the gear shift into reverse and sped backward down the driveway.

Chapter Nine

Staci Gardner loved changed and especially loved to spice up life. Tonight she wore a red wig and green tinted contact lenses. She clasped the railing of the ferry and looked back at the island with loathing. A gust of wind swept her long, withering sigh into the darkness. Being without her own transportation sucked, but she couldn't afford a car right now. Her roommate would have loaned hers, but she wouldn't give her the satisfaction of asking. Besides, she already felt indebted enough to her, giving her a place to crash and meals until she got on her feet.

One step at a time, Staci. You have to break the cord that keeps you dependent on your roommate slowly, otherwise you might end up making a decision you'll regret.

She turned her back to the wind, cupped her hand around the lighter and lit her third cigarette of the last thirty minutes. Inhaling a lungful of smoke, she checked her watch. The lights on the mainland drew nearer. She wished the old tugboat would pick up speed. A night away from her prissy roommate was just what she needed. Maybe she'd get lucky tonight, hopefully luckier than the other night. A bitter disappointment, he was. A real dud. Not smiling anymore, are you, big guy?

Chapter Ten

Dan woke the following morning in an empty bed. "Keertana?" He looked around the room, then at the clock. 5:45. She often rose early, but he knew the reason for it this particular morning. Evie'd worried her last night.

"Do you not feel it?" she'd asked as they retired last evening. "Do you not see how she suffers? Heartache and guilt consume her. Like the seasons, she changes. We must do something about it before our daughter is lost to us forever."

Concern for Evie's well-being and state of mind awakened her twice through the night.

Like Keertana, he wanted Simon and Evie together, but unlike his wife, the relationship worried him. If it didn't work out for them again, Simon might not recover this time.

Dan hopped out of bed and donned jeans, a flannel shirt and moccasins.

In the pre-dawn light, he peered through the kitchen window and spied his wife sitting cross-legged in the clearing surrounded by oak and spruce trees. She wore a two-piece dress crafted from buckskin embroidered with beads and decorated with porcupine quills and ribbons in reds and yellows. A beaded band encircled her head. Her ebony hair flowed straight to her waist. A fire burned in a rock pit before her.

He took enormous pride in her commitment to her culture and her gift of foretelling, prophecy and healing. In the first years of their marriage, he hadn't fully understood or appreciated the nuances of her heritage. With a tender and loving patience, she helped him understand. Even still, her chants and methodical manner of rituals never failed to fascinate him.

The air, resplendent with the scent of late fall and smoldering timber, rushed at him when he stepped onto the deck. The brook at the end of their property, filled with autumn rain, gurgled its way past.

"Iptjilaasi, {Welcome}. Have you come to pray with me, husband?" Keertana fed the fire birch bark and sage, sacred offerings to the Great Spirit.

"I have."

"Join me, then. Together we will pray for the cleansing of our daughter."

Dan sat cross-legged and recited the Lord's Prayer with her: "Noochenen' tan wasõk à umun, ukwesoonum nikskamawadastch. Uktelegawitawoodim egaach ...ijapchoo. Amen."

A breeze shuffled the branches of the trees and rustled fallen leaves.

"Evil spirits fight for her soul, husband. Wju'sniktuk wet-nutmann {I hear them from the wind}."

He nodded, letting his gaze drift around the familiar surroundings. "I hear them, also."

She looked up at the crow circling above them. "Ka 'qaquj. It is not a good sign."

In spite of his faith in Keertana's gift to make all things right with their loved ones and to keep them safe, his skin prickled. He knew the superstition regarding crows and did not care to associate them with his darling daughter.

The crow cawed, announcing death.

No, his heart cried. Evie could not die. He looked at Keertana's face. Color bled from her cheeks, leaving her skin a pale shade of tan, yet her expression seemed determined. She raised her hands into the air and prayed. Suddenly, she shrieked, "No." The word more deadly than a spear through his heart echoed in the stillness, coming back to Dan like a ghostly lament. Keertana had seen the darkness of Evie's heart. At that moment, he became aware of the depth of their daughter's anguish and sufferings. The realization pierced his soul. He squeezed his eyes closed from the feeling, but the image of Evie experiencing pain at someone's hand remained clear. Opening his eyes, he forced his heart to an even rhythm, but said nothing.

"Her torment must be stopped. Her soul must be purged. If it is not, it means certain death for our daughter." Keertana placed a hand over Dan's heart. "Take from your strength, husband, and send it to her. We must pray that what is slowly destroying her dies. Look to the east and will the rising sun to protect her."

He turned and stared. Perhaps it was her hypnotic voice or a trick of light, but the horizon seemed to burn brighter, more brilliant than usual. An eternity seemed to pass. The wind lessened and the crimson sun rose higher, spreading its warmth and light across the hills and in that instant, sunrise became day.

Keertana closed her eyes and murmured indistinguishable words under her breath. Her eyes fluttered beneath closed lids. She sank into a trance. Several minutes passed before she opened her eyes and turned to him. "Ta'njiw na 'kuset ne 'a 'sij kmtnikuk, aqwela 'ku a 'sikikwej kejkwapniaq {When the sun appears from the mountain, and the night meets the sunrise}, our daughter will begin her long journey home." She raised her hands heavenward and chanted, "Giil elmjln, Piloqutinnguaq. {You are coming home, Little Leaf}.

"The Gji-nisgam, the Great Spirit, will protect our daughter, husband."

Chapter Eleven

In the darkness of her dream, Evie squinted, attempting to see through the pitch-black. Where was she? How did she get here? Her heart beat erratic, like an out-of-sync windup toy. She didn't want to be here, wherever this was, and fought the covers on her bed, her legs punting, her arms slashing the air.

"You don't deserve to live! You don't deserve Simon! Happiness will never be yours!" She recognized the voice as her own.

Dozens of crows emerged from the darkness. They descended upon her, pecking at her eyes and tugging at her body. She fell backward. "Get away from me! Get away!" Her body wracked with pain. She cried out, kicking and swatting.

The dream twinkled and someone formed at her side. The birds lifted their heads, their beady eyes staring intently at the interloper. They cawed and flapped their wings, a sound so loud she covered her ears. After a moment, they flew off. Fingers caressed her cheek. The light, tender, loving touch of a woman who loved her. Evie looked beyond the hand and had a glimpse, a second of clear vision, of a smiling face, one she thought she should recognize but couldn't place.

"Shh," the woman said. "Light and goodness will come. You will see."

Warmth, such as Evie had never before experienced, settled over her. She relaxed against the pillows and dreamed of a lush meadow filled with wildflowers. The sun warmed her face, a gentle breeze mussed her hair. She strolled through the tall grass and came upon a towering oak tree. Simon sprang from behind the trunk and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her off the ground. Laughing, she insisted he put her down that instant! He found her mouth instead and kissed her. They tumbled onto the ground. He kissed her neck, her face, her fingers...

She woke, smiling. Throwing off the covers, she shivered in the cool temperature of the cottage and climbed out of bed. After building a fire in the wood stove in the living room, she put water to boil for tea. Early morning sun streamed through the window. She rubbed her eyes. Her head and body ached. Images of the nightmare barged into her consciousness like an unwelcome visitor. Gaston said the nightmares would stop once she forgave herself. If she had been forgiven, would forgiveness come more easily?

Some nights, sleep didn't come to her at all. Sleeplessness was not uncommon with depression Gaston told her. A sleep aid? he asked. No. No, drugs. No, dependency. She needed to feel. Remorse was her penance for what she'd done. People did things they regretted, but that didn't make them bad people, did it? Perhaps it did. The possibility that this could be true disheartened her. Within a moment, she sobbed for her mistakes, for the choices she made, for hurting the people she loved. Her collapse into self-pity shattered what little resolve she'd mustered and the few forward steps she'd managed toward putting the pieces of her life back together.

The following morning, as Evie drove past Stella Maris church on her way for coffee, she stared at the stone structure and the stained glass windows, remembering how much the building had always fascinated her. As a child, her parents brought her to this very church every Sunday for as many years as she could remember. Then one day, they stopped, as though Felicia and Harrison had suddenly become atheists.

On impulse, she pulled into a parking space, hopped out of her car and ran into the church. A calmness settled over her. Welcoming the feeling, she took a pew and prayed with reverence and humility, the words slipping from her lips as easily as they had as a child. She steepled her fingers beneath her chin, bowed her head and closed her eyes.

God, I know you can hear me. Constance's lost her way and desperately needs your help. Please make her understand I didn't know he was married. Help her before she does something she won't be able to live with.

The liturgy heartened her and imparted a sense of security—a commodity of minute proportions for her lately. She left the church, feeling like God's child reborn. Maybe she was. Maybe from this moment on her life would begin anew. If that were the case, she promised to make the most of this one.

She became aware of birds chirping, of the early morning sun, of the clean, fresh scent in the air, the song of the wind through the trees. Despite the chilly weather, she took a walk, wandering past boutiques, restaurants and offices on Main Street still as familiar to her as her name. For the moment, she didn't want to think about her troubles or the past. Instead, she'd think about what she had to be thankful for—her freedom, her parents support, her job she loved so much, and Simon. She still loved him, really she had never stopped. He was the greatest love of her life. Funny it took a brush with her dark side to make her realize it. However she came about this revelation, she was thankful for it. In Simon's eyes, she was a star, and he was still the man who pledged his life and his love to her. Warmed by the knowledge, she felt able to face whatever life threw her way. Eventually, the harassment would stop. Constance, her tormentor, would tire of it. Her only wish was that it would happen soon.

She shivered, still not acclimated to the wet, cold weather on the island. Burrowing deeper into the folds of her jacket, she turned and sprinted toward the church parking lot. The thought of a cup of hot tea, a fire in the wood stove and Bear in her arms motivated her into a jog.

Ten minutes later, she stepped into her cottage. She tossed her keys on the kitchen counter, plopped her purse on the peg on the wall behind the door, slipped out of her coat and draped it over a chair at the table. Bear greeted her with a nudge to her leg. She plucked her from the floor. "How's my girl? Did you miss me?" The normally silent skunk answered her with a soft birdlike whistle. "You did? I missed you too!" She kissed the top of her head and scratched her ears.

"Are you hungry?"

Bear stared up at her with eyes a mixture of curiosity and love.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'."

She opened the refrigerator and took out the plastic container marked 'Apples and pears for Bear'.

"Your favorite." She set the bowl on the floor.

The skunk devoured the fruit in one minute flat.

While waiting for water to boil, she threw logs over the still hot coals in the wood stove, then checked her answering machine. The machine blinked sixteen messages. She hit the play button. The sound of heavy breathing spilled from the speaker, then a thud as though the receiver slammed against a hard surface. Why are you doing this to me, Constance? When would it end? Why couldn't Constance forgive and forget? Hadn't the woman punished her enough? All sixteen calls were the same and all from a private number. No way to trace them without involving Simon, so she saw no way to legally put an end to the torment.

She sank to her bottom on the floor and sobbed into her hands.

Thirty minutes later, her tears all cried, she decided to take a shower. When she stood, fatigue overcame her. Gaston said to dismiss it. Depression caused the body to feel sensations. Easy for him to say when he wasn't the one walking with cement blocks attached to his legs.

Why did she come into the bedroom? She frowned and looked around for something to jog her memory. After a moment, the answer came.

She disrobed on the way to the bathroom and stepped into the shower, letting the door close itself. She turned on the water and relaxed as the steaming water beat against the aches in her muscles. The sound of a door closing interrupted the pitter of shower spray. She turned off the faucet and listened. The cottage sat silent. Was her imagination running away on her? Was she hearing sounds when none existed?

She wrapped herself in a terry cloth robe and cautiously made her way into the bedroom. Nothing appeared out of place. She shrugged it off, opened her lingerie drawer and gasped. Her usually neat and orderly undergarments lay in disarray, like someone rifled through it. It wasn't like this last night, was it? Was she alone? She grabbed her gun from the bedside table and tiptoed through the cottage, checking the closets and the pantry. Relief washed through her when she found no one. Her purse sat open on the kitchen counter. What was it doing there? She checked her billfold. The cash was gone, but the charge cards remained. Swinging the door open and breathing hard, she ran into the yard, looked down the driveway and through the trees bordering the property, but there wasn't anyone anywhere. Satisfied the intruder already left, she breathed a sigh of relief and went back into the cottage where fear gripped her in a chilling embrace. She needed someone with her and called the one person she could always rely on.

"Simon, someone broke into my house. I think the intruder's gone, but..."

"I'll be right there."

She paced the length of the kitchen, worrying Constance had learned where she lived. Bear, curled on her blanket next to the door, watched her walk back and forth across the floor. She stopped to peer out the window. The sun had disappeared behind clouds and darkness settled in. It would rain soon. Shadows shifted or was it a trick of light fading to dark? Living alone never bothered her until lately. Now she wanted someone big and strong at her side. Simon's face flashed before her eyes.

Footsteps sounded on the porch and the door opened.

Evie ran to Simon and threw herself against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her. "You're trembling."

"I'm...fine. Just a little shaken." She told him what happened. Normally, she was not a woman who needed rescuing. But someone in her home, invading her privacy, rifling through her undergarments, rattled her. Knowing who the someone might be, rattled her even more. Simon was here now. He would protect her from Constance. Thankful for his prompt response, she...prompt response. Too prompt. Where had he been that he arrived so quickly? Maybe Constance wasn't the culprit. Maybe Simon's concern was an act. Maybe he wanted retribution for leaving him the way she had all those years ago and terrorizing her was his way of punishing her.

"How'd you get here so fast?" She jerked out of his arms and backed away. Her hand trembled against her lips.

"I was on the highway just before your turnoff when you called."

Convenient. Maybe too much so. She stepped farther back, needing time to think.

"Evie, why are you looking at me like that?" He frowned. "Surely, you don't think it was me."

"Leave, Simon." She lunged out of his reach when he made a move toward her.

"Evie, what's the matter with you?"

Yes, what was the matter with her? She would never suspect him of wanting to harm her, but that was before life gave her a lesson in mistrust. "Leave."

"I don't need your money. Why would I steal from you?"

"To throw me off. To cast suspicion from yourself." She took another step backward and set her chin. "Please, Simon, leave. I need to be alone."

After he left, she roamed from room to room. The Simon she knew wasn't revengeful, but people changed. She had.

Chapter Twelve

Tuesday morning, Detective Joshua Gormley, a balding man, average in every way except intelligence with an uncanny knack for solving crimes, sat at his desk flipping through the morning newspaper. Around him keyboards clacked, telephones rang, fax machines whirred and uniformed officers traveled the hallways. The scent of stale coffee and body odor permeated the air. After his divorce four years ago, his best friend became the bottle. For awhile, it provided him relief, but it almost cost him his job, the one thing he took great pride in. When he realized the consequences of liquor, he fought hard to keep his position with the Sibbett police department and to regain his reputation. To his credit and much to the jealousy of his colleagues, he'd solved every case assigned to him throughout his twenty years of service. He always worked alone and preferred it that way.

He sipped his coffee and looked across the desks at his colleague, Phillip Payne. "Did you catch the game last night?" he asked, referring to a hockey game at the local civic center.

"No, I missed it. My wife wanted to see some chick flick."

"Too bad. It was a good game. In the last period—"

"Josh, a 911 just came in," the dispatcher said from the doorway to the squad room. "There's been a murder at the Lakeview Motel on Dorchester."

Gormley set his cup on the desk and stood. "I'm on it."

Ten minutes later, he walked through the hallway on the first floor leading to Richard Coulton's room. A uniformed officer who Gormley recognized as Rufus Smith spoke to a man off to one side. "What've we got?" Gormley asked.

Smith checked his note pad. "Richard Coulton, age thirty-six, address 332 Erica Crescent, Sibbett." He pointed to the man standing next to him. "This is the manager, Kevin King. The vic's in the bedroom."

Gormley slipped on paper booties, walked into the room and halted. At first glance, he thought the victim was laying naked on a crimson bedspread. He stepped closer and realized blood saturated the white sheets. "Jesus. This is one sick fuck," he said, staring at the castrated Coulton and the bullet hole in his chest. He scrutinized the room. There was no sign of a weapon and no sign of a struggle. He went back into the hallway.

"Did you know the victim, Mr. King?" Gormley asked, taking a note pad from his jacket pocket.

"Just as a guest of the hotel. He checked in here often."

"How often?"

The manager looked off to a corner. "Maybe two or three times a month."

"Why?"

He shifted his feet. "You know."

"No, I don't know. Why don't you spell it out for me?"

"He brought his lady friends here, women he didn't want his wife finding out about. He paid the staff for their silence."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"He liked it rough."

With a twist of his head Gormley indicated Coulton's room. "I don't think that's what he had in mind. Who found the body?"

"A maid."

"What's her name?"

"Anita Daley."

Gormley jotted her name down. "I'd like to talk to her."

King walked off to a corner and spoke into a walkie-talkie, then returned to Gormley. "She's on her way."

A few minutes later, the day maid, an overweight, middle-aged woman with a pug nose, wide mouth and mottled skin, walked hesitantly through the corridor toward them.

Gormley introduced himself and asked, "You found the body, Ms. Daley?"

"Yes."

"Tell me what you did—"

"I didn' do nothing. He was already dead when I came in. Do I need a lawyer?"

"No, you don't need a lawyer. From the time you entered the room to clean it," he enunciated each word, "what did you do?"

"I vacuumed the carpet, dusted and emptied the ashtray and the waste paper basket."

Damn. "Where did you empty them?"

"In a garbage bag." She pointed to the trolley in the hall.

He motioned to Smith to grab the bag. "And get the contents from the vacuum cleaner too." He turned back to the maid. "Then what did you do?"

"I walked in there." She pointed. "That's when I saw him."

"Did you see anyone leave the room after you came on shift?"

"No." Her voice faltered.

He sensed she held something back. "Are you sure you didn't see anyone or know who he was here with?"

She stared down at her feet. "I didn' see anyone."

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Daley." He flipped his note pad closed. "Mr. King, could you give me a list of the staff on duty last night?"

The coroner and the fingerprint team arrived. Gormley ushered King out of the way.

The following morning, when Gormley entered the back area of Beats & Bytes, the smell of ink and cleaning solvents greeted him. Dismantled computers and printers, mother boards and sticks of ram cluttered the floor and workstations. Sober-faced employees stood around talking in hushed voices. He headed toward the manager's office.

"Detective Gormley?" Bill Owens stood from behind his desk.

"Yes."

"Have a seat, Detective." Gormley sat.

Owens settled back in his chair. "Terrible tragedy what happened to Richard."

"How long did he work here, Mr. Owens?"

"Since we opened about five years ago. He was my top man, our computer guru. There wasn't anything he couldn't fix. Someone has big shoes to fill."

"What can you tell me about his personal life?"

"He was quiet, kept to himself mostly, married. It seems not happily, though, doesn't it? Boy, you just can't tell about some people. You think you know them, and then... Was he really castrated like people are saying?"

"Was he into drugs?"

"I didn't think so."

"Did he have any enemies? Did he gamble?"

"Not that I'm aware."

Gormley flipped his note pad closed. "Can I talk to your staff?"

"No problem. Follow me and I'll introduce you."

In the workroom, Owens cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, this is Detective Joshua Gormley, and he'd like to ask you a few questions about Rick."

Gormley stepped forward. "Does anyone know why or who would have reason to kill Mr. Coulton? Did he have any enemies?"

Everyone answered negatively. He let a moment pass before taking a business card from his pocket and placing it on a desk. "Give me a call if any of you remembers anything." He moved toward the door and turned to Owens. "Did Coulton have any friends here? Anyone he socialized with?"

"Richard and his wife weren't social butterflies, if you know what I mean. They didn't attend any Christmas party or summer picnics the company puts on. Like I said, he kept to himself."

Great. Gormley was where he started—without a lead.

When he arrived back at the station an hour later, his captain, Andrew Withers, called him into his office. "Any leads?"

"None." Gormley sat and ran his fingers through his hair. "Coulton worked as a computer service technician at a small outfit called Beats and Bytes and no one knows anything about him. I talked to all the night staff at the motel, but they didn't know anything or see anyone with Coulton when he checked in, which was around eight o'clock last night. No one heard any unusual noises. We've got cigarette butts with lipstick and that's about all."

"What about the wife?"

"I got zip from her."

"Keep on it. Wrap this up quickly."

A feeling came over Gormley that this murder would be his first unsolved case.

Chapter Thirteen

Simon leaned closer to his desk and reread the article in the morning paper: Richard Coulton was found mutilated and shot to death in his room at a local downtown motel in Sibbett yesterday. Homicide detective Joshua Gormley is urging anyone who saw Coulton Saturday night or has any information concerning the murder to contact him.

If mutilated meant castrated..."Tallulah, get Joshua Gormley of the Sibbett PD on the phone for me, please."

"I'm busy right now."

"When you have a free moment then, darlin'."

His thoughts wandered to Evie and her accusation the day before. It worried him. In fact, she worried him. He stared into space and thought over the past two months. Her reactions sometimes bordered on irrational. She was not the confident, witty and personable woman who left him and Honeydale six years ago. Quite the opposite, in fact. For such a radical shift, something terrible had to have happened to her, something so bad she couldn't tell even him. Needing to know whether she was a threat to herself or the welfare of her colleagues, he had called her commanding officer at the Concord PD. Captain Darius Brown was no help. Unblemished file. No warnings. No complaints. No reprimands. An exemplary employee. What Simon had wanted to know was what wasn't in her file, but Brown remained adamant there wasn't anything to tell. Though he sounded sincere, Simon doubted the attestation. There was always something to tell. Even he had little somethings to hide.

He remembered the first time he said he loved her. It was her prom night. Over a decade ago, but the moment focused vividly. The dewy look of her face, her dazzling blue eyes, her quirky smile, the shimmering blue satin dress, she'd never looked so beautiful. There had been other women since she left, but none compared to her, none with whom he wanted to spend his life.

Sometimes when she looked at him, he thought the love she felt for him was still there. Other times she looked like a scared little girl, but before he could delve into it, she put up a wall, an impenetrable wall. Not for the first time he wished she'd let him in. Maybe he could help. He wanted to help.

Tallulah stuck her frizzy-haired head in the doorway. "Simon, Gormley's out. I left a message for him to call you."

"Thanks."

He turned to the window and watched maple leaves skitter into the November wind. If he weren't careful and handled her with diplomacy, what Evie and he had shared would only be a pleasant memory for him to cherish. He wanted so much more.

"Ahem," a voice said at his back.

Simon looked over his shoulder. "Well, hey there." He swiveled his chair and stared into the freckled face of a flaxen haired little girl wearing a black watch jumper and red turtleneck sweater. Thick, dark eyebrows framed energetic blue eyes.

"You have pigtails just like me," she said, taking one in her hand and pointing it at him to demonstrate.

"I guess I do." He never thought of his braids in that manner, but he supposed she was right. "What can the chief of police do for you today?" He smiled.

"You can tell me why you haven't arrested the man who shot my Daddy."

"Who's your Daddy?"

"Douglas Theodore Miller."

"And you are?"

"Kira Annabelle Miller." Pigtails bobbed on her shoulders with each nod of her head.

"Well, Ms. Miller, you have my word the Honeydale police department is doing everything in its power to make an arrest."

She nodded. One quick jerk of her head, then another. "Will that be soon?"

"Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

"Technically." She ran her fingers along the edge of the desk as though inspecting for dust.

"Technically?"

"Yes." She squinted. "It means by the letter of the law."

"How old are you, ma'am?"

"A whole decade old."

"I see. That is old. Maybe we should get you back to school before they discover you're missing and call the police."

She giggled into her hand. "I'm with the police. Besides, no one will miss me. It's gym class and I'm excused."

"Why?"

"I have a heart condition." She placed a hand against her chest. "Con...genital heart defect."

"I'm sorry," he said.

She shrugged. "It's no big deal. The doctor said I'd outgrow it."

"How's your Mommy?" Simon hated himself for the question, but loathed himself for the question he wanted to ask: Has Mommy had any men friends in for a sleepover?

"She's really sad. She cries all the time and says she'll only be happy again when the police catch the killer and the bastard fries for what he did to Daddy." Silver dangling earrings danced on her pierced ears.

"I see." Simon smothered a laugh by coughing into his hand. "Tallulah, darlin', can you come to my office?"

"Why do you call your secretary 'darlin'?"

"Oh, Tallulah is more than a secretary. She's my—"

"Are you married to her? My Daddy used to call Mommy 'darling' all the time."

"What is it? I'm busy." Tallulah entered his office like a bucking bronco, stopping short when she saw Kira. "How'd you get in here, little missy?"

Kira looked up at her. "You were knitting. I didn't want to disturb you and make you lose stitches."

Simon chuckled at the thought of someone getting past checkpoint Charlie. "You've been busted, Tallulah. Would you show Ms. Miller where we keep our doughnuts? I have a call to make."

***

Evie had a great deal of time to think about her behavior yesterday and her accusation and came to the only conclusion possible. Simon deserved an apology.

Paying little attention to anyone in the squad room, she rushed toward Simon's office. "Knock, knock."

Simon, looking unofficial in blue jeans, blue chambray shirt and braided hair, turned from the window.

"Is this the bureau of pardons?" she asked.

"Why do you need forgiveness, ma'am?"

"For acting like a horse's ass yesterday and for accusing you of something you would never do."

He stared at her, his eyebrows drawing together. "I— "

"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me." She paced the length of his office.

"Apol—"

She halted and held up a hand. "I overreacted."

"It's—"

"How could I possibly think you'd do something like that?" She smacked her forehead and stared at him. "Sometimes I think I'm possessed." A moment passed, then another. She placed her hands on her hips. "Well, don't you have anything to say?"

"If you'll let me." He grinned.

She snapped her mouth closed.

"Apology accepted. Don't beat yourself up over it. You were upset. Someone broke into your home. Your reaction was understandable."

"Yeah, but I'm a cop."

"A cop who was victimized. It's different. Your objectivity flies out the window when the shoe's on the other foot."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Forgiven and forgotten?"

He propped his booted feet on the desk and leaned back in the chair. "Like it never happened."

"Thanks." She smiled.

"Where's my flowers and chocolates?"

"Whaat?"

"Isn't it customary after an apology?"

Grinning, she said, "Not always."

"Oh. Too bad. Getting back to the break-in. Any idea who it was?"

"Probably kids looking for a cheap thrill." Telling him the truth, that she suspected it was Constance, the wife of the man she'd had affair with, would lead to more questions, questions she was not prepared to answer, at least not at the moment. Only when she built up courage, could she tell him.

"Want me to dust the place for prints?"

"I'd just rather forget about it. I'll remember to keep my doors and windows locked and my handbag out of view from now on."

"Okay, but if you need anything..."

"Thanks." He swung his feet from the desk, rested his forearms on the paper-littered top and shook his head. "I'm getting heat on the Miller murder from everywhere except Mother Nature. The mayor's on my back, the widow's on the phone to her lawyer, her lawyer's on the phone to me and the media is having a field day with it and now this." He tossed the Times across the desk. "Lower right hand corner."

She read the article, then looked at him. "Do you think 'mutilated' means 'castrated'?"

"It might. I've got a call in to Gormley." He looked at the evidence board. "If it's the same MO, I wonder if he got luckier than us and got a print."

"Since he's asking for the public's help this early in the investigation, he can't have too much, and if that's the case, it would confirm the killer knows something about forensics." She thought about that a moment. "He...or she left behind DNA but wore gloves. Maybe the killer's fingerprints are on file."

"That's what I'm thinking, too."

That evening Simon and Evie checked out the local taverns and nightclubs again. They'd bar hopped for two hours, asking the same bartenders and many of the same patrons the same questions they had asked before, but no one had seen Miller the night of his death. They needed a lead and they needed it fast. The more time that passed made solving a murder more difficult.

Peter P. Piper's Pub, a downscale bar on Main Street, was filled to capacity. Around them, men and women danced to country music blaring from the juke box and those who weren't, either sat drinking and talking or traveling from one table to the next. The heavy smells of malt and inexpensive whiskey hung in the air.

Simon massaged his face, sighed and looked at Evie standing beside him. Studying her made him realize how much he wanted some time alone with her. Years ago, she had made him feel alive, like life was worth living. He wanted to feel that again. Aside from work and dinner with his folks last Saturday, he never saw anything of her.

"What do you say we call it a night after here?"

She rested her boot on the foot rail and nodded. "No one's seen him, or if they have, they're not talking."

His gaze met hers, her close proximity drawing him in. "How about dinner Friday night? Just you and me." He shrugged, pretending like it didn't matter how she answered.

"Where?"

"Oh, I don't know. How about The Pier?"

"Okay."

He grinned. That was easy, maybe too easy. Why the sudden shift? Maybe she finally realized he wouldn't give up on her.

The bartender, a stubby man with a goatee and a ponytail, and a man Simon didn't recognize, walked over to them.

"What's your pleasure?"

"We were in last Friday night, but there was a different bartender."

"Yeah, that would be AJ. I took the night off. I'm Gus."

Simon displayed his badge, identified himself and held out a picture of Douglas Miller. "Gus, has this man ever been in here?"

He picked up a glass, ran a cloth over it and looked at the photo. "Yeah, I seen him here before."

Simon straightened. "When?"

"Last week sometime."

"Can you be more specific?"

He skewered his face in thought. "Last Thursday night...yeah, that was it. I remember because I had a root canal the next day which was the reason AJ filled in for me." He massaged his jaw.

"Did he leave with anyone?"

"Yeah, he left with someone all right. A cute number, sexy as hell. She was all over him." He turned his attention to Evie and pointed. "She kind of looked like her. Only she was taller and had long black hair."

"Do you know her name?"

He shook his head and placed the polished glass on the shelf below the counter. "Never seen her before."

"Is anyone in here tonight who was here last Thursday?" Out of the corner of his eye, Simon saw someone slip out the back door. "Alley," he said and ran toward the exit.

Outside, Evie held back a little to cover Simon.

Simon looked in both directions, but saw no one. The guy had something to hide, otherwise he wouldn't have run. Moving through the dimly lit alley, he noticed something stir beside a dumpster. He pulled out his flashlight and turned the beam toward the movement. A man, wearing an orange T-shirt stained with food and drink and jeans two sizes too large for his emaciated frame, shielded his eyes.

"What the fuck you doin', man? I'm trying to sleep here." The wino splayed his arms wide. "See them chalk lines?"

Simon looked at the ground and nodded.

"Them's my property lines and this," he indicated to the cardboard box, "is my home. You just can't barge in."

Simon showed his badge. "I'm a police officer."

"That still don't give you no right to come into a person's home without an invite." He paused a moment and massaged his whiskered face. "Unless ya got a warrant." He frowned. Deep lines in his face drew together. "You got a warrant?"

"No, no warrant." Simon stepped back behind the chalk lines. "I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted."

"Did you see someone running through here in the last two or three minutes?"

The wino shook his head.

Evie joined them. "All clear."

"Let's go back inside and ask Gus if he knows who that guy was."

Chapter Fourteen

Simon reviewed the autopsy report on Miller and learned nothing he didn't already know. Seven days had passed since the murder, and he was no closer to making an arrest than he was a week ago. Hell's bells. When would he get a break?

"Simon, domestic disturbance at Frank Murdock's, 1119 Pine Street in Oak Heights," Tallulah said from the doorway to his office.

He ran a hand over his head and looked at the clock. 8:10. "It's too early in the morning for this."

"Crime stops for no man."

Simon remembered Miller had lived in Oak Heights. Afterward he'd swing by the house. See all what was going on.

The clear, blue sky of early dawn had been taken over by snow clouds when Simon pulled to the curb in front of Murdock's house. A barrel-chested man wearing jeans, a flannel shirt and boots opened the door.

"It's about damn time!"

Simon stepped across the threshold into a narrow entryway. "Got a report of a domestic disturbance."

"Damn straight!" Murdock shot into the living room.

Simon followed.

A woman wearing a tattered robe and well-worn work socks sat on a brown and orange flowered sofa, holding a wadded tissue in her hands. In the corner to her right stood a stocky man wearing black and white striped boxer shorts, a black eye and a bloodied lip. His hands hung limply at his sides and his eyes roamed aimlessly around the room.

"I want you to arrest this man." Murdock pointed a beefy arm at boxer shorts. "He raped my wife."

"Ma'am. Sir." Simon tipped his hat.

The woman looked at Simon. "It wasn't like that—"

"Shut up, woman. I'll tell this story."

Simon took his note pad from his pocket, placed pen to paper and turned to Murdock. "Can I have your full name, sir?"

He huffed a breath and rolled his eyes. "Frank Allen Murdock."

"Tell me what happened, Mr. Murdock."

"I'm a trucker and I came home after doing an all-nighter and found this man...this scum bag raping my wife." He indicated the woman on the sofa.

"It...it wasn't like that," boxer shorts said, taking a step forward.

Murdock pointed a stubby finger at him. "Shut up. Should've shot your hairy ass when I had the chance."

"Then you'd be the one carted off to jail." Simon turned to Mrs. Murdock. "Ma'am, tell me what happened."

She dabbed at tears on her cheeks. "I was sleeping and woke to someone kissing me. I thought it was Frank. We had sex." She covered her eyes with her hand. "That's when Frank came in."

Murdock threw his hands in the air. "How could you think he was me, Vera? For Christ's sake, woman! He has a dick of a tom cat."

"I ...I was half-asleep...I didn't realize."

Simon turned to boxer shorts. "Your full name and address, sir."

"Trevor Edward Hines. 1117 Pine Street. I live next door."

"How did you end up here?"

"I was drunk and wandered into the wrong house."

Simon could understand how it might happen. The houses all looked alike and to an inebriated person in the darkness of night..."How'd you get in?"

"The door was unlocked."

"Ma'am, did you realize at any time Mr. Hines was not your husband? Did you try to stop him? Did you say 'no'?"

She shook her head and stared at the floor.

He flipped his note pad closed. "No crime's been committed here."

Murdock got in Simon's face. "No crime? He fuckin' raped my wife. I want him arrested."

"You want me to arrest Mr. Hines because he had consensual sex with your wife? That's what it was, Mr. Murdock. Consensual sex." Simon jingled loose change in his pockets and rocked on his heels and waited a moment for Murdock to mull that over. "What's it going to be? Suck it up, or make an ass of yourself and embarrass your wife." He looked at Mrs. Murdock. "More than she's already embarrassed."

Murdock readied a baseball mitt-sized hand.

On the alert, Simon straightened to his full six-six height. "Think about what you're doing. Don't be foolish." He sympathized. It wasn't unusual for a person who felt they had been wronged to want to take out his frustration on the officials who prevented him from getting justice. Put in Murdock's place, he might feel the same way, also.

Murdock clenched and unclenched his hands and planted his feet firmly against the floor.

Simon anticipated what might come next and there was only so much sympathy he could extend. "Take your best shot. You'll only get one." He watched the blush drain from Murdock's face and the chords of his neck recede.

"Should've shot him." Murdock heaved a frustrated breath.

"Then you'd be in jail." Simon turned to Hines. "How'd you come about those injuries, sir?"

Hines glanced quickly at Murdock.

Murdock stomped his steel-toed boots on the floor and narrowed his eyes at boxer shorts.

Hines looked away. "I had an accident."

"Walk into a door, did you?"

"Something like that."

"Well, if you change your mind about that, let me know."

***

Evie turned off the highway onto the long, winding drive leading to Dr. Gaston Goldfeather's house in Davenport, twenty miles outside Concord. The scent of freshly cut grass wafted in through the open window. Fallen leaves brushed the sides of the car then scattered to rest in the protection of the massive oak trees lining the road. High above, puffs of white clouds scurried past as though hurrying to free the sun.

Last night, before she'd fallen asleep, she reflected on her life and the decision she'd made. Therapy or jail? It seemed a no-brainer. At first, she played the game, talking, discussing and answering questions. Now, she enjoyed her time with Gaston, even looked forward to the appointments. Still, though, she'd like it to end. The biweekly trips tired her. Her captain on the Concord PD was instrumental in making what she'd done disappear and took a huge chance when he defended her actions. She would always be grateful for his understanding and help. Had it not been for him and her unblemished record and commendations, she'd probably be serving a long jail sentence.

Gaston was not what she expected in a psychiatrist. His blond, blue-eyed poster ad handsomeness stopped her short the first time she saw him. After the surprise wore off, they talked for an hour and a half, not that she confessed anything to him. Not even Simon could be that to her again. Gaston made her visits seem natural, like everyone came to psychiatrists simply to chat. "Therapy is not a bad word," he'd said when they first met. "It's not a bad thing, either, but if you want, we can call it a gab fest. We'll gab about what happened, but only when you're ready."

"What if I don't want to keep these appointments, Dr. Goldfeather? What happens then?"

"Do I need to remind you about the conditions of your freedom?"

"No."

"And please call me Gaston, otherwise I'd feel bound to call you Miss Madison and that sounds...well, stuffy. Besides, I love the name 'Evie'."

She had always been a sap for a good story, but he seemed sincere, and more importantly, he made her feel comfortable, like he said he would.

The five-bedroom house with its Olympic-sized swimming pool, tennis court and barn where he stabled his horses came into view. A couple of minutes later she was parking the car and climbing from behind the wheel.

She took a moment to appreciate the Chrisma Pink Reiger Begonias, the Tango Red Geraniums, the Purple Pinata Impatiens and the Suncatcher Sapphire Petunias and giant clusters of dark green foliage of the Buttonbush and Hydrangea shrubs in the flower garden bordering the walk leading to his office.

"Well, hello, Evie." Gaston stood from behind his desk and walked over to her. The pendulum clock chimed on the half-hour. "Eleven-thirty on the dot. Punctual as usual."

"Hello, Gaston." She smiled and took her usual seat, a brown Naugahyde wing back chair next to the fireplace. She splayed her hands toward the heat from the fire.

"Nippy weather, isn't it?"

She sat back. "A little." Truthfully, she felt cold to the core.

He took a seat opposite her and depressed the record button on the tape player sitting on the table between them. "How are you?"

She stared into his eyes as he studied her. Not an overt study, but certainly practiced, one she came to recognize. "Fine."

"Sleeping all right?"

Nightmares plagued what sleep she managed. "Fine."

"Any anxiety?"

A few minor attacks, but nothing to complain about. She shook her head and looked around at the pine-paneled walls, the bookshelves and his desk where a banker's lamp cast a greenish glow on the polished top. "None."

"Still keeping a journal?"

"Yes." On Thursdays.

"Is it helping?"

"Tremendously." Not. "I have a date with Simon tomorrow night." The words rushed out of her mouth.

"How do you feel about that?"

"I don't know. Happy, I guess. Scared, mostly. I'm afraid I'll blurt out everything and what his reaction will be." She folded her hands in her lap.

"We talked about this."

"I know."

"You can't keep it from him forever. Secrets have a way of coming out."

What would Simon think of her when he learned she drew her gun on her lover in a crowded restaurant before his wife and two little daughters? She couldn't believe that Simon, or anyone else would think her sane for reacting like she had to the discovery that the man she dated was a married man. "I had murder in my heart that day."

"But you didn't follow through."

"No." Only because of his children's cries and the terrified looks on their faces.

"Are you afraid when Simon sees you're human and make mistakes like the rest of us, he'll think less of you?"

How could Gaston call what she'd done a mistake? "Simon has me on a pedestal. It'll hurt him when he finds out what I did and that'll hurt me." She fingered a button on her blazer. "I don't want to hurt anyone ever again." I don't want to hurt anymore, either.

"Wouldn't he understand?"

"Perhaps. Maybe you're right. Maybe it's time he knows." She ran a shaky hand through her hair. "It scares me, though. What if he thinks I'm a terrible person and wants nothing more to do with me? I need his friendship. I need to know he's there for me."

"Do you?"

"Yes...no." She looked at him. "I thought going home would make it easier to forget—"

"Forget?" Remembering Gaston's phrasing, she shook her head. "Accept the consequences of my actions and forgive myself."

He smiled. "Hasn't it?"

"In some ways. Simon's a complication I didn't anticipate. My feelings for him haven't changed. I still love him, and it terrifies me."

"Why?"

"What if we get together and something happens between us and I flip out again?"

"You're not that person now."

She wondered about that sometimes. "No. I'm stronger now." And still unworthy of anyone's respect.

He crossed his legs. "How's work?"

"Good." She sighed. "I'm taking it slow like you suggested and only working twenty hours a week, doing paperwork when I'm not rounding up stray cows for a local farmer."

"Getting mundane?"

She folded her legs at the ankles. "We had a murder in Honeydale."

"Really?" He adjusted his oval-framed glasses.

"The victim was castrated, then shot. There was a similar killing in Sibbett last weekend. You may have read it in the paper."

He shook his head.

"Simon thinks the killer might be a scorned lover."

"What do you think?"

"I always trusted his instincts. That hasn't changed." She cocked her head. "Though it could be a homosexual or residual anger from a dominating mother."

"Interesting observation."

She thought so, too. "There's no connection between the victims other than they were both married and ran around on their spouses. We know it's the same killer. Bullets from the victims confirmed that."

"We?"

"I'm working the case with Simon." She looked at him through lowered lashes. "I didn't ask to be involved. He assigned me."

"How are you with that?"

"A little scared."

"It's natural to feel some apprehension."

She studied the floor. "Sometimes I feel I'm not ready to do field work yet."

"You have to learn to trust yourself again. Everything else will fall in place."

"I know." She wished for as much faith in herself. "I have to admit, though, it is exciting to work a case again. We don't have much to go on—a partial boot print, a candy wrapper and a sight-impaired witness who saw someone drag something into his field. We have DNA and a bullet, but no suspect and no gun." She reached over, plucked a mint from the dish, unwrapped it slowly and put the wafer in her mouth.

"How's the not smoking going?"

"Sometimes it feels like I haven't stopped at all."

"Be patient. That, too, takes time."

She swung her leg back and forth and stopped when his eyes followed the movement. "Someone came into my cottage, stole money from my purse and rifled through the dresser drawers in my bedroom."

He brought himself forward in the chair, his curiosity seemingly piqued. "Someone? You didn't catch the intruder?"

"No. Simon wanted to investigate, but I didn't want him to."

"Why not?"

She shrugged. "I didn't want to make a big deal about it." She felt Gaston had seen through the lie.

"Anyone else would."

"I can do without the attention. Besides, it was probably a one-time thing, most likely kids looking for a cheap thrill." Why did she insist on protecting Brad's wife? She checked her watch and inhaled deeply, scolding herself for how easily the lies came. "Gaston, do I need to see you anymore?"

"Are these visits becoming a financial burden?"

"No, my dad is paying for everything. He's been great and very supportive. But I'm fine now, aren't I?"

He stood, walked to his desk and flipped the pages of his calendar. "Why don't we keep the appointments scheduled for November and take it from there?"

She masked her displeasure with a smile. "Whatever you say."

Chapter Fifteen

Sitting on the sofa in her living room, Evie picked up her pen and wrote: Journal Entry – Evie Madison – Thursday

Geez Louise. Gaston wants to continue with the therapy, oh, excuse me, gab fests. It upsets me, partly because I only have two more to go then the terms of my freedom will be fulfilled, but mostly because I don't feel the need to go anymore. Not that I felt the need or wanted to go in the first place. I only attended because they forced me to. I agreed to continue. Like he gave me any choice. I wish I could have been assertive and demanded future visits were unnecessary.

Snowbirds dance from branch to branch on the towering limbs of the pine trees outside, their beady eyes scanning for human presence before they scrounge the pieces of bread I threw on the ground for them. I see them well in the light of the security lamps attached to the eaves. Usually, they aren't on. Simon must have turned them when he left the other night.

Quick as a blink, one swooped, snatched the food and flew off to the safety of the tree to eat its treasure. Others followed. The crumbs are gone.

Gaston worries me. Wasn't I always careful what I said, how I sat and forcing a twinkle in my eyes? Does he think I'm crazy or on the verge of a nervous breakdown, oh, excuse me again, a manic depressive episode? Maybe he sees I'm not one hundred percent, yet. If so, he must be really good at what he does. Though if he were, he'd see how much better I am and almost my old self. If he knew me before, he'd know that.

Simon is responsible for the change in me. What Gaston tried to do for me, Simon accomplished. His love is like the North Star, constant, unchanging, guiding. I look forward to tomorrows now. When tomorrow comes, I look back on yesterday and smile. Something I haven't been able to do in a long, long while. I think back to the time when I left the island for Concord and wonder whether the want to experience life had been my only reason for leaving. Maybe I looked for someone better than Simon, though why I would puzzles me. Maybe on a subliminal level, I did. My mother often told me not to give all my love to one man. She also said Simon wasn't good enough for me. Why? Because of his mixed heritage? Maybe subconsciously I thought that, too. No, that can't be true. His heritage is one of the things which draws me to him and what I love about him. He's not ashamed of what he is or where he came from. If anything, he's proud of it. I admire his courage.

When I'm with him, those familiar feelings return, the feeling of knowing I'm alive, the fear that something will happen to him, the fear of being left behind and the fear of leaving him behind. Imagining my life without him, terrifies me. The thought of loving someone as much as I do Simon frightens me, too, but not a fright that makes me want to cower in a dark corner, but the kind that tells me how fortunate I am, how lucky I am to be given a second chance.

Simon thinks I'm beautiful. I'm not, not really, but he is. He's beautiful in soul and so very, very handsome. I love everything about him, his smell, his touch, his kindness, his generosity...the list could go on. I especially like his humanness and his ability to keep the peace. What other man in his position would allow Tallulah to get away with what she does? Not that he couldn't lay down the law with her if need be.

I don't want to look inside me anymore, or to think long, sad thoughts. I want to live.

Six months ago, I would never have believed in my wildest imagination I'd make it here, here to this place where my smile comes freely and easily, where my heart dances with delight for the little things in life. Now that I am here, I never want to leave. I haven't had a nightmare in days. Darkness doesn't scare me like it did before. I wake to it in the morning and close my eyes to it at bedtime. In those hours in between, my heart still throbs like a wound sometimes, but I replay my thoughts and sure enough, they'd drifted to six months ago. A short while ago, I would have fallen into that mine pit of self-pity, but I don't allow myself to do that now. Simon's love for me and my love for him bubbles inside me, making me know I am where I should be, where I was destined to be. It lulls me onto a hallowed dais, to a place where a peaceful sleep will capture me in a soothing embrace.

I am loved.

Chapter Sixteen

Staci fought for a comfortable position on the saggy mattress and shivered beneath the thin covers. Damn old mattress. Damn cold. Fuck! She should be grateful she wasn't locked up and no longer trapped. In her mind she could still hear her chant, "I will never let you get out again. Never. Never. Never." The words thumped inside her skull. It was a wonder she managed to sleep at all with that bitch droning on like that. Who did she think she was? Her keeper? The woman should be thankful. Without her, her life would be a catastrophe. She kept her calm and cleaned up her messes. Why couldn't she appreciate that?

Throwing back the blankets, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and peered around her small bedroom. A bed, a dresser, a table, a lamp, a clock, probably the best of Goodwill. Her roommate was a lot of things, but a decorator wasn't one of them. She wanted another place to live and had applied for dozens of jobs. No one would hire her. What was she doing wrong? Granted, she had no references or a social insurance number. It was as though she'd just been born. In a way that was true, but that shouldn't stop employers from hiring her. She needed a job. Money would let her do the things she wanted to do. Her roommate would help her out. Before that, though, she'd face an inquisition: What do you need the money for? Why do you want to leave? Aren't you happy here? Of course, the bitch would put up a fuss and not want her to leave. Why would she? She had built-in maid service. She remembered the time she went to a bar on the waterfront and her roommate found out. How she did, was still a mystery. After that, she'd been more careful. The woman shouldn't expect her to stay cooped up day and night.

Staci thrived on excitement and attention. Without that, she might just as well shrivel up and die. No way she'd let that happen. Her couch-potato-don't-bite-the-hand-that-feeds-you days were over. She sprinted to the closet and jerked clothes from hangars.

Chapter Seventeen

Police matters were slow. Evie had filed everything that needed filing, dusted furniture, emptied waste paper baskets and straightened books, refilled paper clip holders and restocked pens and pencils. She flicked her cuff and checked her watch: 11:00. Would this day never end?

Simon was off God knew where and Aubrey was on patrol. If this were any other precinct, she'd be on patrol with him, chasing bad guys, running license plates and making arrests.

She ran her hand across the polished desktop and sighed.

Tallulah looked at her over her glasses. "Why don't you go for coffee? I can handle things here."

Evie jumped at the chance. "Are you sure?" She was already on her feet.

"Sure, I'm sure."

"I've got a two-way if you need me." She raised the radio in the air for Tallulah to see.

Outside in the crisp air, she donned leather gloves, zipped her bomber jacket and strode down St. Andrew Street. Snow birds perched on the lifeless branches of Maple trees scattered in different directions on her approach, their cries and the flap of wings hanging in the air. Cars and trucks traveled the street, but she had the sidewalk to herself. The smell of exhaust fumes mingled with the scent of sea salt from the Atlantic filled the air. She just needed a few moments alone in a wide open space and it didn't get any more open than this. She glanced up and marveled at the unblemished sky. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

"Eve," a voice said from behind her.

God, no. This wasn't what she had in mind to break up the monotony of a dull day. She stopped, pasted a smile and turned. "Mom."

Felicia Madison, wearing a full length mink coat and high-heeled boots walked toward her, using the sidewalk as a model's runway. Sunglasses covered her eyes and every blond hair on her head was meticulously held in place in a tight chignon.

"Shouldn't you be at work?" Evie asked.

"I had some business at the bank. I hoped to run into you."

There was such a thing as a telephone, but Evie suspected what her mother had to say required a face to face, which meant tears. Evie's tears. She'd grown to despise Felicia's for-her-own-good little talks.

"You could have come to the station." Evie wanted so much to capture Felicia's expression on film. Imagine Felicia Madison setting her leather-clad feet in a police station.

"Why don't we go for coffee?"

Evie glanced at her watch. "I really should get back. Tallulah's alone." Please, God, someone beep her. Please, God, someone need a cop.

Felicia pursed her lips. "Honestly, Eve, I don't know why you insist on being a police officer. It's so ..." she grimaced, "menial."

Her own mother didn't understand her. No matter what she did, Felicia thought she could have done better. What choices she made, could have been better, wiser choices.

"Coffee sounds good." Evie followed along beside her mother, a woman who she was no more alike than a cousin two times removed. Long ago she realized she would never have her mother's approval, yet she yearned for it. Why was that?

Without conversation, they walked to the corner and entered Rosa's Café. Customers stopped in mid-conversation and stared at them. Felicia noticed. She looked at Evie's uniform. "Brown is not your color."

"I know, Mom, and they're not staring at me."

Immediately, her hand went to her hair. "They're staring at me? Why?"

Evie shrugged. "Maybe it's because you look like you stepped off the front page of a fashion magazine."

She shook her head. "No. It's definitely that disgusting color. You really should ask your boss to change your uniforms to a color becoming to you. Blue, for instance."

"Yes, Mom."

Taking charge, Felicia led her to a booth at a window where a Christmas candelabra burned brightly. She whipped off her calfskin gloves, brushed off the seat and sat. She looked around, plucked napkins from the dispenser and wiped the table. "This is cozy."

Recognizing the sarcasm, Evie said with a smile, "I think so, too." Sometimes she wondered if they were biologically related at all. They shared nothing in common. Other than a slight physical resemblance, they had different interests, different likes and dislikes and couldn't be farther apart in their opinions and tastes.

She looked Evie over. "How have you been?"

"Fine." Evie became wary. Felicia never asked a question without an agenda. She vowed not to let herself be intimidated or fall into one of Felicia's traps. "I heard you're working this murder case with Simon."

Evie nodded, not surprised she knew. News traveled fast in Honeydale.

"Is that wise?"

There it was. The reason behind the question. Despite her promise to herself, her legs shook. "Why?"

Felicia looked at Rosa behind the counter, serving customers. "What do you have to do to get service in here?"

Evie caught Rosa's attention. "Two coffees, please, Rosa, when you get a moment."

"You shouldn't have to ask why working a case isn't wise, Evie, when you know very well why it isn't."

"I'm fine, Mom, and it's not as though it's dangerous. I'm merely a sounding board for Simon. Someone for him to discuss the case with." Evie looked her mother in the eyes and read her true concern. "Or are you worried I might be a danger to someone?"

She scoffed. "No, of course not."

"I'm better now and in control of my emotions." She thought about Simon and the depth of his faith in her. She wished her mother had as much trust in her.

"Have you told Simon yet about ... you know?"

Evie bowed her head. "No."

"Good. We don't want our dirty laundry aired to the whole island."

"God, Mom. He wouldn't broadcast it. Besides, it's not that big a deal. People make mistakes all the time." Funny she would think that. For months now, she never once considered what she'd done a mistake. Perhaps saying it out loud made her recognize the truth.

"A mistake? Is that what you call it?"

Evie heaved a huge sigh, refusing to fuel Felicia's fire. "Simon would understand."

"Would he?"

"Yes." Evie's certainty wavered when Felicia raised a perfectly arched brow.

"You're not falling in love with him again, are you?"

"No." Not true. She couldn't tell her mother, though. It would only open the door for her to tell Evie again what a mistake it would be. If they ever got back together in that way, Evie would probably feel the need to keep their relationship a secret, like a teenager whose parents defied her to see a certain boy. She wished her mother would see the perfect fit she and Simon made and how happy he made her. "We've been over for a long time."

Rosa brought their coffee and placed a blueberry muffin in front of Evie. "You're favorite. On the house."

Evie smiled. "Thanks, Rosa. That's so sweet of you."

When Rosa walked away, Felicia turned to Evie. "Since when do you like blueberries?"

See? Her own mother knew nothing about her. She looked across the street at Stella Maris church. "Why did you and Dad stop going to church all those years ago?"

Felicia dumped milk in her coffee and flapped a package of sugar substitute in the air like her life depended on moving every speck of the crystals to the bottom. "Where'd that come from?" She ripped open the packet and poured the contents into her cup.

Evie raised her shoulders. "Seeing the church reminded me how we used to attend mass there every Sunday when I was a kid. Then all of a sudden we stopped. I just wondered why."

"We couldn't find the time anymore."

Something in her eyes told Evie differently. What was it? Guilt? Felicia wanted to know all Evie's secrets and the whys, hows and whats of everything concerning Evie, but it didn't work both ways. She picked at her muffin. "As simple as that, huh?"

Felicia's pink, glossy lips turned down at the corners. "Yes." She looked at her watch. "I need to get back to the hospital. "How're you feeling? I stopped by Recovery on Saturday but you'd already been discharged."

"It was just a cyst, Mom. No big deal."

"Yes, well, see you don't overdo it," Felicia said, standing.

"I love you, Mom."

Felicia nodded and pranced out of the cafe.

Evie placed a five dollar bill under her cup, smiled at Rosa and walked to the door, trying to forgive her mother for disliking Simon and for her prejudices and wondering what she hid from her.

She recalled the Easter Sunday morning twenty-four years ago. Felicia had seemed preoccupied. With thoughts, or worries? Evie couldn't be sure. Her father had dressed her for church. "Where's Mommy, Daddy? She always dresses me for church. "We're running a little late this morning and Mommy's getting ready."

So, they had planned on going. Later, while she had waited in the foyer, dressed in her black patented leather shoes, new pink, frilly frock and her long hair hanging in wild curls down her back, a door slammed over her head, then her father, wearing a suit and tie, came down the staircase. She remembered his solemn expression and slumped shoulders vividly.

"What's the matter, Daddy?"

"Nothing, sweetheart, Mommy's not feeling well. We won't be going to church today."

"Why can't you take me?" Her father knelt on one knee in front her. "Then Mommy will be all alone. You don't want that, do you?"

"Did I do something wrong, Daddy? Is Mommy mad at me?"

From that night on for awhile, Harrison had tucked her in at night, chased the bogeyman from beneath her bed, listened to her prayers and kissed her forehead, like her mother used to do. "God, bless Mommy and Daddy, Simon, Dan and Keertana and my pony. And, Jesus, don't make Mommy mad at me anymore.

Evie turned up the collar of her jacket, feeling cold suddenly. So what if her mother wouldn't tell her the truth. She should be used to it by now.

Cars passed, but other than that, she was alone on the street. Like blinks, thoughts and questions traveled through her mind as images of Felicia's tear-stained face and her father's sad-looking face flashed in her eyes. Dear God, what had happened? What had she done?

"Officer, can you tell me where the shoe store for one legged men is located?"

She recognized the voice. This one made her smile. Turning, she said, "It's the straw building at the corner of Flushed with Pride Avenue and Send in the Clowns Street."

Simon threw back his head and laughed. "Want a lift?"

She was across the street and in the jeep in a flash. He drove toward the station.

"Where were you just now? You seemed lost in thought."

"I had coffee with my mother."

"Say no more. I understand."

If anyone understood how Felicia affected her, he did. "Where've you been?"

Turning into the parking lot, he pulled into the space reserved for the Chief of Police. He shut off the engine, reached inside his jacket and pulled out a neatly wrapped present.

"I planned on giving you this tonight, but since you asked ... happy birthday, Evie." He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

She took the gift in her hand, tears filling her eyes. "You remembered." Her mother hadn't. How could Felicia think so little of him? How could she think he wouldn't make her happy? How could she think he was unworthy of her?

Tugging on the pink ribbon, she undid the bow, lifted the lid and moved the cotton wadding aside. Gold glinted in the light streaming through the window. She took the delicate gold chain in her hand and admired the medal, not recognizing the saint. "Who is it?"

"Our Lady of Lourdes and inside is water drawn from the spring of Our Lady of Apparitions Grotto in Lourdes, France."

She remembered now. "The water is supposed to be miraculous. I don't remember the story behind it. Do you?"

Simon read from the bottom of the box. "Somewhere in the late eighteen hundreds, in the grotto of Massabielle, near Lourdes, Our Lady appeared eighteen times to a young peasant girl, Bernadette Soubirous, revealing herself as the Immaculate Conception. She asked that a chapel be built on the site of the vision, and told the girl to drink from a fountain in the grotto."

She nodded. "Yes, yes. There was no fountain, but when Bernadette dug at a spot indicated by the apparition, a spring flowed. If memory serves, it still flows today and the water is said to have healing power, though it contains no curative property that science can identify." She looked at him. "You think I need a miracle?"

He returned her smile. "Everyone needs a miracle now and then."

"What would be your miracle?"

"That you'll love me again."

She blinked back tears. A sob caught in her throat. I do love you, Simon. I never stopped loving you. Until she told him everything about her past, she couldn't tell him that, though. Tonight, after they returned from their date, she would tell him what she had done.

Chapter Eighteen

Evie took great care choosing her clothes for her date with Simon and finally settled on a pleated navy dress and navy slingbacks. Simon's birthday gift encircled her neck. She fingered the medal and asked God to give her to courage to tell Simon what she had done and said a prayer that everything would work out well tonight.

Please, God. Hear my prayers.

The sun moved slowly below the horizon when he pulled into the drive. She met him on the stoop. Simon whistled. His reaction pleased her tremendously. "And look at you! All gussied up in a suit and tie." He ran a finger around the inside of the collar, clearly feeling restrained. "Only for you, Evie." That pleased her, too.

"All set?"

"Like gelatin."

Settled in his Mustang, she laid her head against the headrest and turned to him. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

She groaned.

He glanced her way and smiled. "Anything."

"Why did you ask me out? I've treated you like a stranger since I got back."

"Truthfully?"

"Of course." She reinforced her answer with a nod.

"I'm worried about you. I thought you needed a night out."

That saddened her. She was not the little girl anymore who needed looking after. "I'm fine." Disappointment edged her voice.

The car bottomed out in a pothole.

"You should have some gravel hauled in."

"I don't own the cottage, remember? I'll ask Dad. I hate to bother him, though. He's done too much for me as it is."

He looked at her. "What do you mean? You've only seen your parents once or twice since you got back."

This was exactly what she feared would happen. Unaccustomed to keeping secrets, the truth slipped out in little ways. "You know, letting me stay in the cottage rent free, helping me out money-wise." How easily the lie came. She hated herself for it and for the need to do so. The time had come for her to purge herself. She hoped when the time came, she had enough courage to tell him. What if she lost his love? How would she bear life, then?

"I wish I could hire you full-time, but we're already over-staffed as it is."

She put her hand on his arm. "It wasn't meant as a complaint, only as an explanation. You asked."

"I'm sorry. I sounded defensive."

"No need to apologize."

They fell silent and she rested her eyes as exhaustion overwhelmed her. Why did she feel so tired? She slept well last night. Maybe she needed more iron in her blood. She should make an appointment with her family doctor. He'd want to run a barrage of tests that would keep her running back and forth to the hospital. The thought tired her even more. For now, she'd eat more iron-enriched foods. She opened her eyes and realized they headed in the opposite direction from town. "Where're we going?"

"My parents. Mom wants to see you."

Oh, God. How could she face Keertana? She'd called her and apologized for running out Sunday night without thanking her for the wonderful meal or saying goodbye, but meeting Keertana's eyes was an entirely different matter. She sighed.

"I didn't think you'd mind. Our reservations are only for eight."

"It's fine, Simon. Don't worry about it." Oh God, how will she get through Keertana's interrogation?

"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" He pointed to the starlit sky through the windshield.

"Yes, it is." She grinned. "You don't have to tiptoe around me."

"I'm not."

"Are too."

"Well, maybe a little."

She laughed. "You were always the first to fold."

"Was not."

"Were too."

He cocked his head. "Okay, maybe I was."

"See?" She elbowed him in the ribs. They reached his parents' house. He stopped and cut the engine. "We might as well get this over with. You know my mother. She wants to see for herself you're fine."

"I feel embarrassed already."

"Nonsense."

She squirmed in her seat. He noticed.

"We don't have to go in if you don't want to. I'll call Mom and make her understand."

"Make her understand?" She giggled. "I'll love to see you try. Your mother's like a bullet train when she's got a bee in her headband." She opened the door and looked over at him sitting rigidly still. "Aren't you coming?"

Ten minutes later, Simon and Evie turned onto the highway toward town.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Simon asked.

"Your mom surprised me, too. I expected incense, chants and Holy water thrown in my face."

"She uses whips, handcuffs and a hammer these days to keep us in line," he said deadpan, massaging the back of his head.

Music, laughter and whispered words mingling with the delicious aroma of French cuisine greeted them when they entered The Pier. The restaurant was just as she remembered. High-ceilinged walls, waiters in uniforms of black dress pants, red cropped jackets, white shirts and black bow ties, linen covered tables and crystal vases of freshly cut flowers. Couples clung together on the dance floor, waltzing to Frank Sinatra tunes.

Simon placed his hand at the pit of her back as they followed the maitre'd to their table.

"Next to the window, as you requested, Chief Wolfe."

"Thank you, Gilles." Simon held the back of her chair as she sat.

He always treated her with such respect. "Thanks."

He sat across from her and took the menus from the maitre'd's hand.

"Ryan will be serving you tonight. Bon appetit."

She gazed out the window under the light of a full moon. The pond seemed larger than she recalled and the pine trees surrounding it had grown full and tall in her absence. She turned and recognized faces she hadn't seen in a long while. It felt great to get out. It also felt wrong. They shouldn't be enjoying themselves, not with a killer on the loose. For all they knew, the murderer could be seated next to them.

"Why are you frowning?"

She turned and stared into Simon's face, her mind drawing a blank.

"Are you all right?"

"A little tired."

The waiter appeared at their sides. "Would you like something to drink?"

Evie opened her mouth, then closed it when Simon answered for her.

"The lady will have a glass of red wine, and I'll have a martini."

"Right away, sir."

"You have a good memory." She smiled.

He reached for her hand and squeezed it. "When it comes to you, I remember everything."

"Anything knew to report on the murder?"

"Let's not talk shop tonight."

She fingered the cutlery and looked into his eyes. "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

"Oh, it's not what I want to say, it's what I want to do."

Her heart somersaulted as images of their naked bodies flashed in her mind. "Do?"

"Dance with me." He held out his hand.

"I thought you'd never ask." He led her to the dance floor and took her in his arms. "I've been waiting all day to do this," he whispered in her ear.

"To dance with me?"

"To hold you in my arms."

They moved in tune to a waltz.

She looked at him. "You've been taking lessons, haven't you? You were never so Fred Astaire on your feet."

"There's a lot you — " Simon turned and looked at the man tapping him on the shoulder.

He was a stranger to Evie and as much as she would rather be in Simon's arms, she accepted the man's invitation to dance. Simon stepped back, irked, she noticed. "Keep my place," she said to his retreating back. The man took her hand and hauled her against his chest.

"Ooof," rushed out of her mouth. She frowned and put space between them.

"What's the matter, darling? You didn't mind being close to me the other night."

She freed her hand from his grasp and stared at him. "You have me mistaken for someone else. I don't know you."

He put his hand against his heart. "Now that hurts. I thought I was the best lover you ever had, at least that's what you told me."

She took a step back. "No, no, you're mistaken." Not wanting to create a scene, she kept her voice soft.

"Is there a problem?" Simon stepped between them and faced the stranger.

Not wanting an altercation, she moved to stand in front of Simon and laid a hand on his chest. "Everything's fine. He thought I was someone else."

The man drew his eyebrows together and nodded. "Yes, your lady friend is right. The woman I mistook your girlfriend for was a lot friendlier."

She watched him leave, something familiar about him tugging at her memory.

"Do you know the jerk, Evie?"

"I...no, I don't know him from Adam. Did the waiter bring our drinks?" The confrontation rattled her. Her hands shook and moisture formed on her upper lip. She needed alcohol and something stronger than wine.

"Chilled and waiting." He walked her back to their table.

"That was strange," Simon said.

"I guess."

"He seemed positive he knew you."

"Didn't he." Goose bumps broke out on her forearms. She gulped her wine.

"Don't let it bother you. It was a simple misunderstanding."

How could he read her feelings so easily after all these years? Did he still know her so well? She inhaled a deep breath and forced the incident from her mind. "Let's not let it ruin our night."

He raised his glass. "May we forget what is best forgotten."

"Amen." If only she could do that, her life would be a lot simpler and easier.

"Speaking of memories, do you remember the last time we came here?"

She smiled. "On my nineteenth birthday, just before I left for police college."

"And later?"

"How could I forget getting caught by Honeydale's finest while we made out in the bed of your old pickup?" Her smile turned melancholy. "We were so young and naive back then."

"And in love."

"So in love." She recognized the look of lust in his eyes and sighed, wishing what-ifs. Her mouth went dry. He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them lightly. She melted. A want like none other to make love with him flooded through her, but insofar as the want seduced her, she couldn't give in to the temptation without first being totally honest with him. Only when she told him the horrible secret of her past could she hope to have that closeness with him again. He might run as far from her as possible when he knew what she did. Though when had Simon ever run from anything? He always stood by her before. Why should this time be different? "We had some great times, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did."

"Is it too late for us, Evie?"

She squeezed his hand and smiled. "It's not too late, Simon."

Evie unlocked the door to her cottage and turned to Simon. "Care for a nightcap or a coffee?"

He nuzzled her ear. "Anything else to offer?"

Though she had anticipated he would want to end the evening in her arms and making love, she stiffened. She'd prepped herself insufficiently for this moment.

"We're adults now, and there's no one watching," he said, misinterpreting her reaction. When she didn't answer, he looked at her. "Evie, what's the matter. Did I say something wrong?"

A catch formed in her throat at the softness of his voice and the look of concern in his eyes. She could only shake her head.

"Evie, please tell me what's wrong."

The time had come to tell him. She nodded, inhaled a long breath and drew strength from somewhere deep inside her. "I will. I'll tell you everything. Let's get comfortable first." She flicked on the light and shrieked. "My God, what happened here?" Chairs were overturned. Copper canisters lie on their sides on the counter. Flour and sugar powdered the table, chairs and floor. The cabinet doors hung open and everything in the cabinets was scattered around the room.

Simon stepped in front of her. "Stay put." He edged his way to the living room.

No, she would not stay put. He might need her help. Opening the drawer next to the sink, she breathed relief when her hand closed around her Beretta. "Here, Simon." She shoved the gun in his hand.

Inch by inch, she moved with him through the cottage, checking closets and under beds and keeping a close watch on his back.

"Whoever did this is long gone," Simon said after a thorough search.

She expected him to hug and console her. It surprised her when he folded his arms across his chest and stared at her with a steely look in his eyes. "Tell me what's going on, Evie, and I don't want to hear it's nothing."

Chapter Nineteen

"Bear. Where's Bear, Simon? I didn't see her anywhere. I have to find her."

Frantic that something happened to her pet, Evie made a move to leave the kitchen.

Simon grabbed her arm. "The skunk is fine. She's holed up under the bed in the spare room."

She trusted him, his word, but she still needed to see for herself. She had to find her and make sure no harm had come to her. Besides, holding Bear would calm her.

"She's probably scared, Simon. Let me get her, then we'll talk." He didn't relax his hold. "I'll tell you everything." She looked into his eyes. "I promise." He released her.

When she came out of the bedroom with Bear cradled in her arms, Simon had already built a fire in the wood stove. The crackle of softwood and the scent of cedar wafting through the room soothed her. She set the overturned coffee table on its legs, picked sofa cushions from the floor and put them back in place.

Simon walked over to her. In one deft move, it seemed, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his dress shirt. He stood with his legs apart and his hands in his pockets. "Talk."

She plunked down on the sofa, thinking she never saw this side of him before—this impatience, this firmness; at least not with her. Earlier, she had decided to tell him everything, but being forced into it this way made her feel contrary. Petulance and denial were not options, though.

For a moment, she considered downplaying her mistake to extricate herself. It seemed an impossible task, like flying without wings. To get caught in a lie, or a lie of omission would only make matters worse between them. She didn't want that. If they were to have any kind of relationship, everything had to be out in the open. Her insides felt like they'd turned to mush. Feeling at odds with herself and the situation, she sighed, mindlessly running her hand down the white stripe on Bear's back.

"It all started when I was on a weekend getaway and my car was rear-ended. Brad Hanson, the insurance adjuster who handled my claim, asked me out. We dated for six months. With my hours and his long hours and sixty miles separating us, it was stolen moments late in the evenings and an occasional Saturday or Sunday." She wiped moisture from her brow.

"Go on."

She noticed a muscle throbbing in his jaw and knew how much it hurt him to hear she had been intimate with another man. While he waited for her to find her way back to him, she looked for other possibilities, maybe someone better, he might think.

Exhaling loudly, she gathered more courage. "One day, on my way home from work, I stopped at Vito's for take-out. When I paid for the order, I noticed Brad sitting at a table with a woman and two little girls. I didn't think anything of it until I saw the hand holding the woman's hand wore a wedding ring. I sneaked closer, hid behind a half-wall and listened to their conversation. 'Whatdaya say, girls, doesn't Mommy look beautiful tonight?' I heard him say."

She blinked back tears. "It was like a switch was thrown in my mind, Simon. I hated him. I hated him for lying to me, hated him for wasting six months of my life. He never told me he was married. I wanted him to pay. The next thing I knew, my gun was drawn on him." She cast a sideways glance at Simon. His expression gave away nothing. "As you can imagine, pandemonium broke out in the restaurant. Screams came from everywhere, chairs and tables were overturned as people ran toward the exit. I remember screaming at him, calling him names while my finger settled over the trigger." She took a deep breath, staring aimlessly at the floor. "I almost shot him."

"What stopped you?"

She scowled. "The cries of his daughters." If it weren't for that...No, she wasn't capable of killing anyone in cold blood.

"What happened then?"

"The police arrived. I was handcuffed and hauled to the station." Being handcuffed like some thug embarrassed her, even now. She wanted to cover her face to hide her shame. Instead, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I was incoherent for awhile and a lot of what happened next is a blur."

"Were you arrested?"

She shook her head. "No. My captain was called in, and—"

"Darius Brown."

She frowned. "You know him?"

"No. I called him."

She didn't need to ask why, nor did it surprise her he had made inquiries about her. Since her first day on the Honeydale police force, Simon sensed something bothered her and had tried to get her to open up to him. The first place he would look to learn the answers she had been unwilling to give him would be her past.

"What did he tell you?"

"Only that you have an exemplary record and were a decorated officer." He gave her a steady look. "The whole thing was covered up."

She nodded.

"Why?"

"Brad's wife, Constance, didn't want the negative publicity. Her children would suffer, she said. Darius jumped at the opportunity. He didn't want the negative publicity for the department, either. It was a win-win situation for everyone involved that he could see."

"You didn't just get away with it, though, did you?"

She shook her head. "There were conditions. Psychiatric counseling for six months and my resignation from the force."

He stared into space a moment, obviously ruminating.

She found herself thinking about the past, how being in the wrong place at the wrong time that weekend set off a string of events that changed her life forever. Images of her in a shooting stance before Brad, his wife and his daughters quivered her insides. She swallowed. Her throat felt thick, like her saliva had turned to sand.

Jumping from the sofa, she went to the kitchen and came back with two bottles of beer. She set one on the table for Simon. He ignored it. She opened hers, took a long swig and enjoyed the nip of the ice cold brew blazing a trail down her throat.

"You think it's his wife who's doing this to you," he said.

"I don't have any proof, but I know it's her. This same type of thing happened in my apartment in Halifax, too, so who else could it be? It would be too much of a coincidence for it to be anyone else."

"Since you're not doing anything about it, you must feel you deserve it."

"I do, Simon. Don't you see?"

"No, I don't see, Evie. You reacted to a situation that took you by surprise. Granted, it wasn't the most prudent method of handling it, but whether or not you were incarcerated, you still paid for it."

"I have my freedom."

"You may not be behind bars, but you're not free."

He was right; she wasn't. She stared out the window at the blackness, feeling so very, very tired. A wind had picked up and cried against the windowpanes, begging for entry.

"What about the man tonight at the restaurant? Does he tie in to any of this?"

Surprised by the question, she looked at him. "I can't see how." She watched him pace, feeling regretful she told him. Now he would feel obligated to help her put an end to the harassment. True, Constance showed no signs of stopping with the vendetta. If anything, her agenda had escalated, but truthfully she hadn't wanted Simon to become embroiled in her troubles or to help her out of the situation. Constance needed to be stopped, though, before she did something that couldn't be taken back. How would Evie put an end to the harassment without Simon's assistance?

"Does Brad's wife look anything like you?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Just answer the question."

She didn't know where the question led or what he was thinking, but answered honestly. "We're about the same height and weight, but she has brown eyes and brown hair, her nose is a little on the patrician side and her lips are not as full as mine. Why?"

"Eye and hair color can be changed, and with cleverly applied makeup so can a nose and lips."

"What are you saying? That she's going around Honeydale pretending to be me?"

He shrugged. "It's possible, don't you think?"

"Why would she?"

"For the same reason she's breaking into your home. Getting payback for what you did to her and punishing you for having an affair with her husband."

"Oh, I don't think she'd do something like that."

"Do you know her so well?"

She could only shake her head.

"If someone had said you would draw your gun on your lover in a crowded restaurant when you found out he was married, would you have believed it?"

"Probably not." She let out a withering sigh.

He paced the length of the room and over his shoulder he said, "This is the second time someone has mistaken you for someone else."

"The second time?"

"In Piper's Pub when we were looking for someone who might have seen Miller the night he was killed. The bartender Gus thought you resembled the woman who left with him that night."

"I forgot about that." Could Constance be...She put a finger to her lips. "You're not thinking Brad's wife is our killer?"

He stopped inches away from her. "Right now, she's as good a suspect as we have."

It couldn't be possible. It seemed too extreme, too bizarre.

"What story did the department give to cover up your lapse in better judgment?"

"Fortunately, a corner store on the same street as Vito's was robbed only moments before and the official statement was that I mistook Brad for one of the robbers."

"Convenient, but the story would have holes."

"They were talked around." She stared into his eyes. "You know how it's done. Politicians at work."

Simon fell silent.

After what seemed an unearthly amount of time and unable to wait out the inscrutable silence no longer, she asked, "What should I do?"

In three long strides, he stood in front of her. "You're not going to do anything. I am."

"What are you going to do?" Her insides pulsated. Bear wiggled in her arms as though feeling her unrest. "Oh God, please don't tell me you're going to do something stupid. Not for me. I couldn't live with myself if you ruined your reputation because of me." Tears filled her eyes.

"I won't do anything stupid. I'm just going to have a look at Constance and see if my suspicions are warranted."

"That's it? Just a look?"

"Yep." She needed to make sure Simon wouldn't do anything foolish. Where she was concerned, he might. "Okay, I'm going with you."

"It's better if I go alone."

"I'm going with you, Simon. Don't argue with me." Determined to have her way, she followed him into the kitchen, stooped beside him and stared at the partial boot print in the flour on the floor next to the table. "I am going with you."

"We'll get a cast made and compare it to the one we found next to Miller's body. How much do you want to bet it'll be a match?"

For once in the last thirty minutes, her spirits soared. This would all come to an end soon.

Chapter Twenty

Evie clasped the right edge of the seat as Simon sped around a turn on Hallowell Drive that would take them to where Brad and Constance lived. Conversation had been almost nonexistent during the drive to Concord. She knew why. "You're upset with me, aren't you?"

"For insisting you come along?"

"That, too, but mainly for not telling you sooner about...you know." It still shamed her to put into words what she'd done.

"I'm getting over it."

"We're in a better place, though, than we were Friday night, aren't we?" She appreciated how handsome he looked in an ecru Fisherman's knit turtleneck, jeans, scuffed cowboy boots and tan suede jacket.

"Uh-huh."

His response sounded unenthusiastic. "That's good."

She shifted positions and admired the glorious array of colors of the changing leaves in the copse of woods on either side of the road. The smell of pine and spruce and the sound of tires whirring, motors cranking from passing vehicles and crows squawking their displeasure to the interruption from the tree tops wafted in through the open windows. "Thank you for believing in me."

"Here it is," he said, flicking on the left blinker signal and turning into Sherwood Forest onto Robin Hood Lane.

Dread roiled in her gut liked indigestion. She longed for her small cottage and Bear.

No children played in the street and no cats or dogs wandered the neighborhood. Except for the occasional sound of laughter or music coming from a back yard, the subdivision seemed almost surreal.

The Hansons lived in an area where many of the elite lived. No doubt it was Constance's choosing, though, it might be both their choosing given she didn't know Brad quite like she had thought.

They past houses, mansions really, sitting on perfectly manicured one acre lots amidst towering oak and maple trees, surrounded by flower gardens, rock gardens and the miniature waterfalls so popular these days. Back yards boasted ponds or swimming pools and tennis courts, guest cottages and changing houses. No fences separated the properties, but hedges of either honeysuckle or evergreens provided privacy. Cobblestone or paving bricks blanketed driveways leading to double car garages with lofts.

"My God, what do these people do for a living?" Simon asked.

"Doctors, lawyers, judges. Most of them work in Concord and commute back and forth every day. This is the in-spot for the affluent to live." She shrugged. "Their homes, their cars and where they live define who they are, I suppose."

They passed a huge two-story house with a three-car garage. She pointed at a bumper sticker on the Corvette sitting in the driveway bragging: No Job Too Big. "For instance, that fella's a proctologist."

He read the sticker and grinned. "A proctologist with a sense of humor."

Being this close to Brad and Constance gave her the creeps. "What do you think you'll learn by this drive-by?"

"It's like I said. I want to see what she looks like."

"How are you planning to do that? Are you going to ring her doorbell and ask for directions?"

"If I have to." He paused. "What I'd really like is a look in her shoe closet."

She laughed. "Like that will happen without a search warrant and you won't get one without sufficient cause." A sudden thought struck her. "Oh God, Simon, you aren't planning on breaking in if no one's home, are you?"

He gave her that do-you-think-I'm-an-idiot look.

"Good." She let out the breath she didn't know she held.

They crept along at a slow, steady pace. Anyone taking notice of them might think they took a Sunday afternoon drive.

As they approached the address in the telephone directory for the Hansons, she crouched low in the seat.

He slowed to a crawl and stared at the brick ranch house and Porsche sitting in front of the garage doors. "I chose the wrong profession. I should have been an insurance adjuster."

She was about to tell him Brad owned his own company, but thought better of it. The less said about him, the better. "Constance has a trust fund, so I heard. She comes from old money and her father's a governor and a former judge."

"That explains the clout to cover up what happened. Though..."

She looked at him. "I can see the wheels turning. What are you thinking?"

He chewed the inside of his bottom lip. "You'd think her father would have convinced Constance to do things differently."

"Daddy's little girl gets what she wants, so Darius said."

"It's too pat. What happened to a woman scorned?"

She winced. "It's not dead. My actions are proof."

"Exactly. You reacted from shock, hurt and anger. Wouldn't a lot of women react the same way?" She shrugged. "Instead, she smiles and says she just wants to forget the whole thing." He shook his head. "It doesn't add up."

"At the time, I was just so happy and relieved my roommate for the next five years wouldn't be a three hundred pound lesbian with a rings through her nipples I didn't think anything about it. You may be right."

Just as they approached the house, the front door opened. Constance stepped out and walked toward the driveway.

Evie crouched even lower in the seat.

"Afternoon, Ma'am," Simon said through the open window. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"My God, Simon, what are you doing? You're bringing attention to us." Evie sunk to the floor.

"Not even a small smile," he muttered, watching her in the rearview mirror and tapping a finger on the steering wheel. "I wonder where's she's off to on a Sunday afternoon without her hubby and kids?" He turned into a driveway and backed out.

"What are you doing now, Simon?"

"What do you think? I'm going to follow her."

"Is that a good idea? She might recognize me."

He issued her another of his looks. "I won't get close, and she won't expect a tail."

"I don't know. Maybe we should head back to Concord."

He stopped at the entrance to the subdivision. "Oh look. She's going in the same direction as us. Isn't that a coincidence?"

She turned and burrowed under the dash.

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "There's a baseball cap in the back seat. Put it on."

She slithered across the seat, grabbed the hat, shoved it on her head and donned the sunglasses he held in his hand for her.

"The woman drives like Andretti." He speeded up. "I hope there're no cops around."

She sat low in the seat. "Ha! She probably has political immunity."

"I was thinking about me."

"Your legs are hairy, but I'm sure if you flash your badge and pearly whites you'll be able to sweet talk yourself out of a ticket. What cop will be able to resist your braids?"

"Harrumph."

They traveled at a safe distance behind her, trees and hydro poles whizzing past. A few miles up the road, the right blinker light on the Porsche came on and turned down a tree-lined street. Three minutes later they traced her path. A sign in a field welcomed them to Upham. They followed her down a barren Main Street, passing a barbershop, a clothing store, and a bakery on their right. Offices of dentists and doctors, a diner and a bank with apartments on the upper levels occupied the buildings on the opposite side.

"Where's she going?" he asked. "Nothing's open."

Just then she pulled to a stop at the curb in front Bubba's Tattoo Parlor and got out of her car. Simon drove into a parking spot four buildings away behind a beat-up pickup truck and watched as she rapped on the door.

"Do you think she's getting a tat?" he asked, raising a camera to his eyes and taking several pictures of her with a camera Evie didn't know he had until now.

"How would I know?" This close proximity to Constance made her antsy. "Can we go now?"

After a moment, he made a U-turn in the street.

She looked at the clock on the dash. "Why don't we check into a motel and have some dinner. I'm starving."

"Good idea."

A sigh of relief rushed from her lips. Images of her needing to shoot Constance as she rushed at Simon with a switchblade were sent back where they came from.

"On our way in I noticed a bed and breakfast just outside of Concord. Interested?"

"Sure." Anything, just so long as they put distance between her and Constance.

"They must have rooms available at this time of year."

Rooms? "They must," she said, feeling sad Simon didn't want to spend the night with her.

One hour and a half later, after acquiring overnight lodging at Sunny Acres Bed & Breakfast, they sat on stools at the counter in Red's Seafood Restaurant, nursing beers while waiting for a table.

Simon looked around at the pine-paneled walls, the faux artwork, the fishing trophies of stuffed bass and salmon and the fishing nets suspended from overhead beams and the tables made from slabs of tree trunks.

"This is nice."

"Are you being facetious?" She raised her voice against the din of clashing utensils and laughter.

"Not at all."

His smile told her otherwise. "The food won't disappoint you."

"Did you come here with him?"

She shook her head. "With friends from work."

He looked at her and frowned. "How are you doing?"

"Fine." She stared at him. He didn't say it, but that's why- I-didn't-want-you-here was written all over his face.

"Sure?"

She nodded.

The smell of steamed clams and boiled lobster made her mouth water and Kenny Rogers singing Islands in the Sun from the jukebox relaxed her somewhat.

"I know this has been upsetting for you. Why did you insist on coming along?"

Because I wanted to make sure you didn't do anything stupid, like get in trouble because of me. She shrugged. "I thought I could handle seeing her again, but it brought up memories I'd rather not have." She looked at him. His blue eyes narrowed and the inch long scar at the corner of his mouth whitened.

He gave her a half-smile, meant to be encouraging. "Defy your fears, Evie, and hold your head high in the face of shame."

"It's not easy."

He squeezed her hand. "It's only as difficult as you make it."

She wanted to change the subject. "So, first thing tomorrow morning, we see Darius and tell him what we suspect is going on, that Constance might be responsible for two deaths and pump him for info?"

"Something like that."

"Then?"

"Then we leave. We'll make a stop in Sibbett on our way back home and talk to Gormley, if he's available, and see if he's come up with anything on the Coulton murder."

"Well, hello there," a voice said over her shoulder. She turned and nodded at the man standing beside her. "Hello."

"Can I get you another?" He stared at her half-glass of beer.

"No, thank you. One's my limit."

"The name's Ted. What's yours?"

"Evie. Now if you don't mind, Ted, I'm here with some—"

"Evie. I love the name."

She felt a little unsteady on the stool, not from the booze but from being hit on, especially with Simon standing next to her.

Ted wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

Simon took a step backward, looked around Evie and said, "Look, bud, she's—"

"It's okay, Simon." She patted his hand, noticing he looked like he wanted to wrap the man's arm around his neck. She turned to Ted and smiled. "It looks like you've had one too many. Why don't you take a taxi home and sleep it off?" She took his wrist and placed his arm gently at his side.

"Don't wanna go home. Wife's there."

"Wife?" She shook her head. "Doesn't anybody honor the seventh Commandment, Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery?"

"I'm an atheist."

"So that makes cheating on your wife all right? What about your wedding vows?"

He shrugged. "Promises get broken all the time."

"Get lost before I haul you downtown on a drunk and disorderly." She shoved her badge in his face.

Sobering quickly, he held up both hands. "Okay, okay. I was only joking."

"Yeah, right." She stared at his retreating back. "Jerk."

"You were a little hard on him, weren't you?"

"Not hard enough." She took a sip of beer, thinking maybe she had been. "I'm a little touchy when it comes to adulterous husbands."

"I noticed."

Evie and Simon entered the police station in Concord at eight o'clock the following morning. Even at this early hour it hopped with activity. Phones rang insistently, and officers and civilians carrying mugs or paper cups either huddled in conversation or dragged suspects to desks for statements. Stale coffee and body odor hung thickly in the air. She looked around, hoping to see Shelley, but didn't.

Simon sniffed the air. "The place smells like a men's locker. Haven't they heard about air fresheners, ventilation and air purifiers?"

"Shush." She couldn't hold back a smile, happy he was finally his old self. "His office is through the pen against the back wall, Simon," Evie said over her shoulder. She nodded at the duty officer. "Morning, Lou. We have an appointment with Darius."

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

Evie unlocked the half-door in the counter and strode through the work area.

Simon leaned close to her. "Do you know that guy?"

"Uh-huh. He's one of the ones who thought I got off too easy."

"Cops don't stick up for one another around here?"

She felt dozens of pairs of eyes on her and remembered Simon's advice. She held her head high, looked her former colleagues in the eyes and returned nods, smiles and narrowed looks.

Darius, a robust man of medium height with a balding pate, eyes of a hawk and a winning personality stood when they entered his office. "Evie. It's good to see you. You're looking well."

She returned his smile. "Thank you. It's nice to see you, too." She turned to Simon. "Captain, this is Simon Wolfe, Honeydale's chief of police."

"We spoke on the phone." Darius extended his hand. "It's nice to put a face to the voice."

Simon shook Darius's hand. "Likewise."

"Have a seat." Darius indicated the two black vinyl and metal chairs in front of his desk. He sat, folded his hands on the desktop and looked at Evie. "How's everything? Gas working out all right for you?"

"Fine, and thanks for the referral. I didn't have a chance to thank you before."

He waved a hand in the air, as though brushing off the favor. "He owed me one. I understand you're on the Honeydale PD now. How's it going?"

"Good. Mostly, I sit at a desk all day doing paperwork and routing the few calls we get. I'm taking it one step at a time, like Gaston suggested."

"You're keeping all your scheduled appointments?"

"Always." Like he didn't know. Darius would keep an observant eye on her, mainly because his reputation would suffer if she didn't follow through on the conditions of her freedom. "I'm only seeing him every second week now, and I expect after the end of this month, he'll give me a clean bill of mental health."

"Good. Good." He stared at the blotter a moment, then looked from Evie to Simon. "Not to rush you, but what was so urgent you had to see me today? Evie was secretive on the phone."

Simon cleared his throat and crossed his legs. "I don't know if you're aware, but there was a man castrated and shot to death in Honeydale recently."

Darius drew his brows together. "A couple of weeks ago, right?"

"Yes."

"There was a similar murder in Sibbett, also."

Simon nodded. "That's correct."

"How does the CPD fit in?"

"Twice in the last two weeks, the cottage where Evie lives has been broken into. The first time, money was stolen, and there was evidence of someone rifling through dresser drawers. The second time, the place was ransacked."

Darius looked from Evie back to Simon. "Kids?"

"That was my first inclination too, but twice now Evie has been mistaken for someone else. A bartender in a joint downtown in Honeydale thought he recognized her as the woman our victim left with the night he was murdered."

"I'm not following. What do the break-ins have to do with your murder?" Darius looked at Evie, then at Simon.

"Evie told me about the incident with Brad and his wife. It's possible Constance Hanson is going around town impersonating Evie and trying to frighten her. She may even be our killer."

Darius blew out a fierce breath and leaned back in his chair.

"How well do you know her, Captain?"

"Not well." Darius shrugged. "We sometimes attend the same functions."

"Do you think she's capable of murder?"

"It's possible, I guess. Given the right motivation, anyone is capable of killing." Darius looked at Simon. "You think she's setting up Evie?"

"Yes."

"She had a chance to put Evie behind bars and didn't."

Simon uncrossed his legs. "Maybe it's true she didn't want to see her good name trashed in the headlines, but on second thought, after she had a chance to think it over, she wanted something more than Evie's resignation from the police force."

"Any evidence to back up your suspicion?"

"None," Evie said. We have a partial shoe print from the murder scene and another partial from the cottage. Casts were sent off for analysis."

"Not that I'm agreeing Constance could be responsible, but have you put her in the time and place?"

"I'm working on it," Simon said.

Darius checked his watch and stood. "I don't mean to be abrupt, but I have a meeting in two minutes." He extended his hand to Simon. "I'm sorry I couldn't be more help, but I'll keep an ear to the ground and let you know if I come up with anything."

"I'd appreciate it." Simon shook Darius's hand.

"Thank you, Captain," Evie said. "Is Shelley on duty today? I tried to reach her at home, but there was no answer."

He checked the duty roster. "No, she's off until Tuesday."

"How is she doing?"

Darius squinted. "You're referring to the harassment?"

"I wasn't sure you knew."

"Things are settling down a little for her."

This news heartened Evie. "I'm glad to hear it. No one deserves to go through what Shelley has just because— "

A uniformed officer stuck his head into the room. "Captain, we got a dead body at the Delkeith on Barrington.

Chapter Twenty-One

After Simon dropped Evie off at her cottage, he spent the following three hours in his office reviewing the case file on Miller's murder. He ran down some leads, talked to some people who knew some people, but learned nothing new. A break in the case needed to come soon if he would solve it at all. The thought that the murder might go unsolved ate at him like heartburn. On an impulse, he had contacted Jeffrey Barrows, an old friend and a professor in the Faculty of Social Sciences at the SNHU. He hoped Jeff would tell him something he didn't already know.

This wouldn't be the first unsolved murder case, but it would be a first for him and for Detective Gormley, too, as it turned out. The Sibbett homicide detective felt as much at a loss as Simon. More so, really, since he had nothing whatsoever to link the murderer to the victim should he have a suspect. At least, Simon had trace evidence.

In his mind, the two murders had serial killer marked over them, and it wouldn't be long before the public thought that way. Miller's friends, if he could call them that, thought he wasn't going anywhere but home when he left work that day. The alibis of each of his coworkers checked out. Did Miller know his murderer? For someone to get that close to him, odds were he did, but his gut told him no.

Simon peered through his window into the night. Where had Miller met his killer? He read through the evidence and Harley's report one more time. Nothing surprised him. Nothing jumped out at him. Constance Hanson seemed less and less a likely suspect. Would a scorned woman go to such lengths for payback? Though it made a certain amount of sense, it didn't fit. Not completely. If it wasn't Constance, who was it? Right back to square one, he was.

He leaned back in his chair, clicked his pen and stared at his notes spread out across the desk, but his mind focused on Evie. He wondered if she ever saw Brad. By chance? By arrangement? The thought made him jealous. A muscle throbbed in his jaw. His stomach burned like lava. He pulled open his top desk drawer for the bottle of antacids. The photograph of the two of them taken a couple of days before her high school graduation stared up at him. He took it in his hand and ran his finger over her face. Her eyes, alight with her love for him was clearly evident. Never in his strangest imagination would he have thought what they shared would be lost. He had told himself he did the right thing letting her go. He knew what a mistake that had been. Years lost, never to be regained. Could they find that closeness again? Feeling sullen, he put the picture back, popped two antacid tablets in his mouth and chewed. He closed the drawer and decided not to wait for Jeff to call him.

Jeff picked up on the sixth ring. "Jeffers, it's Simon. What have you got for me?"

"It's more like what you got."

"What's that?"

"A problem."

"Tell me something I don't know." Simon let out a breath.

"I want to make this clear, this is only a rough analysis."

"I hear you."

"Okay, given what you told me, you're looking for someone, probably a woman, who has some background in law enforcement and knows how the system works, or at least some insight into the legal profession. For the sake of argument, I'll refer to her as she."

"Understood."

"She's on a mission and is extremely careful about leaving clues behind and is meticulous about what she does. The lack of physical evidence tells you that. She probably holds down, or once did, a job exacting details. Unless she slips, she'll be difficult to catch. She takes incalculable risks. Being seen with the victim and dumping his castrated body in a field in a populated area was downright ballsy. No pun intended."

"Some planning has to go into the killings, though, right?"

"To a certain degree. She may not start out with murder on her mind, but it ends that way. It could be as innocent as her stopping at a bar for a beer. If a married man propositions her, it'll set her off."

"That's the trigger."

"Uh-huh."

"It fits with my thoughts. Initially, I thought it might be the wife. Notwithstanding her alibi, DNA confirms she wasn't the woman her husband had sex with before he was murdered."

"One more thing. Serial killers, and I'm not saying you have one here, usually begin slow. They relive the murder, savoring the thrill and satisfaction for weeks, maybe months sometimes, before they kill again. Sometimes there's a pattern to when the murders happen. It's not the case here, which takes us back to the trigger. I think it's safe to assume she can be set off at any time anywhere with the right stimulus."

"The right stimulus being any man who runs around on his wife." Simon inhaled deeply. "Unfortunately, there's an abundance of those."

"Do you have someone who looks good for these murders?"

"No. No one."

"You've got your work cut out for you, bud."

"Well, thanks, Jeff, for your help."

"I owed you one."

"Consider the debt repaid." Simon disconnected the call, feeling no more informed and no less weary.

You're looking for someone, probably a woman, who has some background in law enforcement and knows how the system works, or at least some insight into the legal profession. Constance had insight into the legal profession with her father being a former judge. She would know enough not to leave prints and trace evidence. What about the DNA left behind? The right stimulus being any man who runs around on his wife. Constance, a woman scorned, might want to seek retribution against all men who cheated on their wives. Her husband cheating on her could have sent her over the edge. It fit. Women sometimes did crazy things for crazy reasons, not that he would voice that wisdom. If it wasn't her, who was it? The right stimulus. The right stimulus. Something in the back of his mind crept to the forefront and shone like a marquee on the backs of his eyelids. Oh God, no. It couldn't be, not her. Oh, please, God, no. Evie wouldn't...couldn't kill. The part of him in love with her argued with the cop in him. Just because men who ran around on their wives disgusted her didn't mean she'd go to such horrendous lengths to show her contempt. He stood, walked to the window and leaned a shoulder against the frame. With one hand jammed in a pant pocket, the other hanging limply at his side, he stared into the darkness, thinking. What did the two murder victims have in common? Both were married and womanizers. What did that tell him? What it always told him. That the murderer had something against adulterous men. He clamped his jaw, not liking where his mind led him. No. It wasn't possible. He straightened, placed a hand on the back of his head, turned and stared at the legal pad on his desk, refusing to admit to the possibility. Mentally reviewing the facts, he had to admit everything pointed to her. She had the means. Her repugnance for men who cheated on their wives set the motive. Opportunity would not pose a problem for her, not a beautiful woman like Evie. Means, motive and opportunity. Goddamnit.

He sat, slammed his hand on the top of his desk, huffed a sigh and thought back to when it all began. The night of Miller's murder, he reached her at home, but Miller had been killed two hours earlier, giving her time to return home to answer her telephone, should he call. She would expect him to call. On the other hand, he had not been able to reach her the entire weekend of Coulton's murder in Sibbett. When he asked her whereabouts that weekend, she answered evasively. The odor of cigarettes clung to both victims clothing. Neither men had smoked, nor did their wives. All public establishments prohibited smoking, which meant both victims were in the company of a smoker sometime prior to their deaths. That didn't mean, though, the killer was a smoker, but it seemed a sensible conclusion to draw. Evie stopped smoking six months ago—a flimsy argument at best. If she had taken up the habit again, the smell would linger on her clothes, on her and in her cottage. A nonsmoker himself, he would have noticed the odor. The night someone ransacked her place he didn't remember seeing any pointed-toed boots in her closets, but that didn't mean anything. She knew enough to dispose of them and the prudent Evie would have. The report hadn't come back yet, but he'd bet the boot prints found at the scene of Miller's murder matched the prints found in the flour on Evie's kitchen floor. Who was responsible for the break-ins and the vandalism? Constance? Maybe, in reflection, she thought Evie got off too easy. He could see that. If that was the case, then he would have his murderer, as well. On the other hand, Evie could have staged the break-ins to set up Constance. Why? For retribution for being forced to resign her position on the Concord PD, the psychiatric counseling and the humiliation she suffered as a result? Constance questioned by the police would give Evie some satisfaction for what she had done to her. He could believe that scenario, as well. Her reaction to seeing Constance seemed plausible. In fact, all of her reactions appeared characteristic of someone who suffered embarrassment and guilt for their mistakes. If she held a grudge or hated Constance, he would have seen it.

He remembered his reaction to Constance. The resemblance between the two women was uncanny.

Darius seemed genuine in his fondness and respect for Evie. He had little time to spare, yet he agreed to see them at a moment's notice. That should account for something. He thought back to their trip to Concord. Her pressing need to come with him caused him to think she was afraid he might uncover something about her, something she hadn't told him, something she didn't want him to know. That was not the case at all. Her only motivation, he believed, was to ensure he didn't do anything stupid and get into trouble on her account. That sounded more like Evie than considering her a suspect.

Maybe he should step down and appoint someone to take over the investigation. Who would he appoint? Aubrey, who not too long ago tried to ticket someone for speeding down his driveway? No, no one on his staff had the experience or capability to handle a murder investigation. Calling in assistance from the mainland would tell the town folk he couldn't do his job. How could he uphold the law after that? If it wasn't Constance, that left Evie. He brooded the conclusion. He had to be wrong. Thinking back to the moment when the cop told Darius about the dead body at the Delkeith, a chill swept his body. Thank God it turned out to be a natural death, otherwise...

This was getting him nowhere. He massaged his face. Goddamnit. Needing to talk to someone about this, only one person came to mind.

It neared ten o'clock when Simon stood on the stoop at his parents' house. Before he had a chance to grab the knob, the door opened. He stared into his father's face. "I know it's late, Pa, but can we talk?" He breathed a half-breath. "I really need your advice."

"It's never too late in the day for you, son." Dan placed a hand on Simon's shoulder and ushered him into the living room."

"Where's Mom?"

"Upstairs."

Good. What he had to say, he didn't want his mother to hear. Simon nodded and sat on the couch next to Dan in the recliner. His father's eyes narrowed, and Simon saw the wheels turning in his mind.

"Judging by the look on your face, I'd guess someone's got your balls in a wringer."

"Funny you should say that. You remember me telling you I had no leads in Miller's murder."

"I may be old, son, but I'm not senile."

Deep grooves appeared at the corners of his eyes, reminding Simon how much his father had aged since his retirement. "I have a suspect." He exhaled a long breath. "It's Evie." Dan jerked to an upright position so fast, it startled Simon.

"Are you out of your mind? Evie wouldn't kill anyone."

"I'm having a hard time believing it myself, but that's what the facts tell me." Simon related what he knew, how he arrived at the conclusion and his talk with Jeff. Dan hung on every word, listening intently and obviously curtailing questions and arguments for later. "Everything points to Evie as the killer."

A gasp came from the doorway.

Both men turned.

"No!" Keertana said, moving toward them. "Evie did not kill anyone."

"Mother, I'm sorry. I know how much she means to you. She means a lot to me, too, but—"

"Evie did not kill anyone. I am sure." She jutted her chin.

"You're sure?" When his mother took a stand like this, it could only mean one thing. "You had a vision."

"Yes. Tonight. The Great Spirit came to me."

"What did you see?"

"I saw a naked woman ..." she looked at him directly in his eyes, "a woman who I have never seen before, holding a hunter's knife dripping with blood. Evie does not have a tattoo on her buttocks."

"None we know of anyway."

"Evie. Does. Not. Have. A. Tattoo."

Simon wouldn't argue. Once his mother made up her mind, there was no changing it. Constance Hanson entering Bubba's Tattoo Parlor flashed before his eyes just as his cell phone rang. "Wolfe."

"Simon, it's Evie. Someone's outside my cottage!"

"Stay inside. I'll be there in a few minutes." Remembering how she questioned his prompt response when her cottage had been ransacked, he said, "I'm at my parents." He disconnected the call. "I've got to go," he said over his shoulder. "Evie has a prowler."

"Be careful, son, and God speed," Dan said.

Simon was out the door two seconds later.

The highway was deserted this time of night. The leafless birch and maple trees stood like sentinels on either side of the road. Ground fog separated in his approach. Overhead, clouds shrouded the moon. He blew past the marker for the town limits and took the sharp turn one mile before her cottage, tires screaming.

Two things played over and over in his mind: Evie was innocent and he needed to keep her safe. Could he get so lucky to catch Constance Hanson in action?

The jeep shuddered when he took the turn to the lane too fast. Leaves scattered to the safety of the ditches as the truck flew over the gravel. He braced himself for the impact from larger potholes, while seemingly grazing the smaller ones. Braking hard, he came to a thundering stop at the rear of the cottage.

The door burst open and Evie stepped onto the porch. His heart jolted at the sight of her standing there in a fluffy pink robe, bare feet and cradling Bear in her arms. He was out of the truck and standing next to her in an instant. "I...I heard scratching at my bedroom window. When I looked out, a face stared back at me."

"Go back inside and lock the door. Whoever it was is probably long gone, but I'll have a look around." He waited for her to bolt the door, then stepped onto the grass, shining his flashlight into the trees. Except for the song of a Bicknell's Thrush, "Ch-ch-zree p-zreew pp-zreeee", the area was still. He walked around the cottage. Satisfied no one lurked on the premises, he retraced his steps. Something glinted on the ground near the steps in the beam of the flashlight. It looked like a gold figure. He gathered it in his hankie, walked onto the porch, expecting the door to swing open at any moment. It didn't. He knocked. "Evie, it's Simon. Evie?" He experienced a moment of apprehension. A moment later, the sound of rapid footsteps came from within. He breathed relief when she stood before him. "Where were you?"

"The bathroom."

"The bathroom?" He moved into the kitchen and shut the door.

"I would have wet myself if I hadn't."

That was more than he needed to know.

"Don't look at me like that. You asked." She pointed to his hand. "What you got there?"

"I found this outside." He parted the cloth and showed her.

Careful not to touch it, she turned it over in his hand with the edge of the hankie. "It looks like an astrological sign. A bull. Taurus, I think."

"It's not yours?"

"I don't own anything like it. Besides my sign is Scorpio. A scorpion. Passionate, sensitive, anxious." She looked at him. "Do you think it belongs to the prowler?"

"It's possible. Maybe we'll get lucky enough to get a print. Can you describe who you saw?"

She shook her head. "It happened so fast, and I didn't expect anyone to be staring back at me. I thought it was branches of a tree or something."

For the first time since he arrived there, he spotted droplets of tears on her cheeks. He noticed her hands shook and pulled her to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Instinctively, his arms went around her. Her hair smelled of vanilla and peaches. Her breasts crushed against his chest. He heard a sob, then felt her tense.

She came out of his arms and ran a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry. I'm not usually a damsel in distress, as you know."

True. The Evie he knew wouldn't frazzle in any situation. "I know."

She waved her hand in the air. "My life's been hell lately. It's getting to be too much." She hurtled against him and sobbed into his shirt. The sound of her cries tugged at his heart.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I'll keep you safe. I promise."

She turned her face upward and stared at him, her eyes sad, her lashes damp with tears. "You will?"

"Of course, I will. Your blood flows with mine and mine with yours. Remember?"

She opened her palm and looked at the scar—an Indian ritual as old as time. "Together forever, we promised."

"Together forever." He lost all composure and kissed her.

She sighed, opened her mouth and responded, kissing him with such desire his head pounded. Jesus, Simon, what are you doing? Evie is still a suspect. Your mother might be wrong. His hands strayed to the pit of her back. He pressed her closer. His breath came in ragged gasps. He wanted her like he never wanted any woman before. A groan passed his lips. Give your head a mental shake, Simon. Evie virtually left you standing at the altar. She trampled your heart, then asked you to understand. Remember? Why did that enter his thoughts? He didn't harbor grudges, but did he unconsciously want to get even? No. Maybe not always never, but definitely never where it concerned Evie.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and nuzzled her neck, his mind consumed with memories of making love with her the first time, sweat slickening his body, her blue eyes mirroring his love. It isn't too late, Simon. You can still stop. He opened the belt holding her robe closed, slid his hand around her waist and walked her backward to her bedroom.

They fell onto the mattress, touching, kissing, tugging at clothes. Her skin rubbed like silk against his. Her lips tasted of kiwi. Barely breathing, he kissed the hollow of her throat, her breasts. Think about what you're doing, Simon. It's a mistake. A mistake you won't be able to undo. Do you want to risk your career and everything you worked hard for? We're back to that again, are we? Yes. Evie was worth it. There's still time. You can still stop. He didn't want to. God help him. He wanted this moment with her. The desire to make her his pounded through him. He ran his hand down her thighs. Unable to think, barely able to breathe, he kissed her. The room swayed. Sweat rolled down his back and his heart beat like a jackhammer. Now, he wanted more than this night. He wanted a lifetime of these nights.

"I love you, Evie. Love me like today is your last."

She parted her legs.

He slid inside her. She felt hot and wet against him.

She captured his face between his hands and looked deeply into his eyes. "Welcome home, Simon."

He grinned. She said the damndest things at the damndest times. This was the Evie he knew.

"I love you. I have always loved you."

Her whisper soft voice caressed him, making him feel helpless. Dear God in Heaven, if she was guilty, how could he ever turn her in? He forced the thought to the attic of his mind, there but momentarily inaccessible. He kissed her like he might never have another opportunity. This night belonged to him ... to them.

***

Evie raised her hips and moved to his rhythm. The world seemed a distant place, merely a reflection on the horizon of her mind. No troubles. No regrets. No guilt. Whatever the future brought for her didn't matter. All that mattered was this moment, this wonderful, wonderful moment. If tomorrow brought heartache and pain for her, the memory of this night would get her through it.

She cried out. "Simon, my God." Her body pulsated with desire. She gasped for a whole breath and stared at him looking at her. Tears rolled from his eyes. Words failed her. She felt such sadness that his love for her affected him so deeply. She clung to him, wanting never to let go. Calling his name, she jolted with the orgasm. "Sweet God in Heaven."

He kissed her, a tender kiss filled with monumental love.

She melted inside. "I love you, Simon. No one has ever made me feel the way you do. You make me feel so loved, so appreciated, so special."

"I'll never stop loving you." He hugged her close.

If this was the start of a second chance for her, she'd embrace it. What they felt for one another was special and came about rarely. She wouldn't let anyone or anything come between them again. Their hearts and souls were bound for eternity. She nestled in the crook of his arm, wishing to remain there forever. Her breathing slowed and she drifted off to sleep, knowing there would be no bad dreams. Not tonight. Not ever again.

***

The morning sun filtered through the lace curtains. Simon opened his eyes and turned to Evie, surprised to find her staring at him. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long. What's this about a tattoo?"

"What?"

"In your sleep, you smiled and muttered, 'No tattoo. She has no tattoo.'"

He shrugged. "I must have been dreaming."

The night before ran through his mind and the cop in him and his oath to uphold the law took him over. He'd slept with a possible suspect in a murder investigation. What had he been thinking? He couldn't change last night, but he could make certain it never happened again, at least until he proved her innocence. How possible a suspect was she? An innocent one, if he relied on his mother's vision. Wasn't his mother always right? What about the someone outside Evie's cottage last night? Had she staged that, too? What about the charm? It could belong to anyone. A salesman, for instance. Or Evie could have planted it for him to find, knowing it would support her prowler story.

He watched her prop herself on her elbows and look at him. Her love for him shone in her eyes. Were those the eyes of a serial killer?

She sighed. "I love you so much my heart aches."

Was that the talk of a woman who castrated two men? Would a serial killer sound so sincere? "I love you, Evie. I never stopped loving you. Last night was something I wanted for a very long time." It would be difficult for him to say 'no' to her in the future.

"Simon, what is it? You look so serious."

"I was thinking about the murder investigation." He managed a smile.

"Just what every girl wants to hear after she declares her love for a man."

"I'm sorry."

"Show me how sorry you are, then." She lifted the covers and kissed his chest and trailed a line down the center with her tongue.

All rational thought left him. What did he promise himself wouldn't happen again? His body responded to her touch. Traitor. He shouldn't. It wasn't right. He grabbed her by the wrists.

She grimaced. "Simon, you're hurting me."

He released his hold. "I'm sorry. I...I..."

"It's okay." She ran her fingers along the curve of his cheek. "Sometimes we don't know our own strength." She kissed him lightly on the lips. "It's forgotten. Would you like a coffee?"

"I'd love a coffee." Feeling like a complete despot for hurting her, it took some effort for him to smile.

When she left the bedroom, he threw back the covers and went around the room picking up his clothes. The face of a man ridden with guilt and fear stared back at him in the dresser mirror. He scowled. Suck it up, Simon. You can't do anything about it now. What's done is done.

A fire burned in the wood stove and coffee perked in the maker when he entered the kitchen. Bear, curled in a ball, slept on her blanket in the corner. A squeaker toy shaped like a hamburger, sat at her paws. Evie rinsed dishes at the sink. She turned to him. "Coffee's on."

He saw the hurt in her eyes and felt like scum. "Evie—"

She silenced him with a kiss. "Shh. I know you didn't mean to hurt me. Forget about it, okay? I have."

Wanting to take her in his arms and tell her no one would ever hurt her again, he couldn't. "Evie, what happened last night can't happen again."

She frowned. "Why not?"

"We work together. It wouldn't appear—"

She laughed, that goofy giggle he loved so much.

"What's so funny?"

"You're going to have to do better than that, chief."

This amused her. Why?

She tossed the dishcloth in the sink.

He stood there, still as a statue and feeling like an idiot. Did she suspect, did she know he thought she killed those men? He never could hide anything from her, and she had always been intuitive. "It's not you, it's me."

"Oh, puhleese." She shook her head, but clearly enjoyed his discomfort.

What in hell was going on?

"Okay, okay, I'll say what you obviously can't. You're still hurting because I left you practically standing at the altar all those years ago. You don't want to be hurt like that again. You need to take it slow. Right?"

"Yes!" Thank you, God.

"You don't have any regrets about last night, though?"

He smiled and fingered the curls of blond hair around her ear. "No regrets." That was the whole truth, too, he realized. "Do you?"

She wrapped her arms around him. "Does it look like I do?"

He laughed. "I'd say no."

"You'd be right."

"Now that we got that settled, you really should have a security system installed. In fact, I should have suggested it before."

She walked to the counter and poured two cups of coffee. "I already spoke to Dad about it."

"You did?" He took a cup from her hand. Would someone who fabricated break-ins, vandalism and prowlers want a security system?

"He said he'd look after it." She brought her eyebrows together and looked at him suspiciously. "Why are you surprised?"

"I prepared for battle and won the war without a fight." There was a certain wily abandon about Evie he never saw before. As though she found what she was looking for, as though the past was finally behind her. He moved with her to the kitchen table and sat.

"What are your plans for today?" she asked.

"The usual." Proving your innocence or guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt. He looked around the room unable to look into her face.

"Why is this so uncomfortable for you?"

Staring at a crumb on the floor, he said, "It's not."

"Then why can't you look me in the eyes, Simon? Is there something going on?"

Pull yourself together, Simon. He managed a smile and forced himself to look in her eyes. "Nothing's going on. I'm just upset we haven't solved this case yet."

She squeezed his hand. "You'll make an arrest soon. I'm sure of it."

That's what feared him the most. "Thanks for the confidence." He checked the time. "I've got to get to the station before the boys start hypothesizing where I am."

"I'm sure it's all over town already you spent the night in my bed. Old Mrs. Nicholson will be so jealous."

"She'd better get used to it."

She kissed him. "Now go before I tarnish your reputation beyond repair."

He stood. "I'll call you later."

"You'd better."

Chapter Twenty-Two

At six o'clock on Friday evening Simon picked up Evie in his Mustang and headed for the Earle of Leinster, a bed and breakfast set among oak and maple trees and bordering the ocean. A thirty minute drive from Honeydale.

In the silence, he obsessed his reason for wanting this weekend getaway. The comparison test on the hair sample he pilfered from Evie's comb would be in this week. If it confirmed his suspicion that Evie—despite Keertana's adamant denial to the contrary and her vision— killed those men, God help him, he wanted this weekend with her. If it proved her guilt, would he possess the courage to do his job? If it proved her innocence, then he was going straight to Hell for believing her capable of such an atrocity and for having the test done without her consent.

He thought about Constance Hanson, his only other suspect, and how he would obtain a sample of her DNA if Evie's test came back negative. All he had was suspicion, and he couldn't very well go to a judge for a warrant with that. Given her father's area of expertise and connections, the evidence to support a warrant would have to be irrefutable.

The drive took longer than he anticipated, partly due to his slow driving—totally uncharacteristic of him— and to road construction. At one point, Evie had turned to him and said, "You're awfully quiet. Is something the matter?"

He squeezed her hand. "Everything's fine." Remembering the test and what the results might be, tears blurred his vision. "Just fine." Without taking his eyes from the road, he forced a smile, raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips, then continued driving without further conversation.

Flicking on the right blinker, he pulled onto a long, very narrow winding road through woods. They came to the inn, a large, rambling farmhouse constructed of cedar clapboard shellacked to a glossy finish. Shutters the color of maize adorned the eight double-hung windows at the front of the structure.

They hopped from the car.

The air was chilly and fragrant with pine needles and spruce trees and the smoky scent of a wood fire. A Bald Eagle perched high on a towering spruce at the far edge of the property, cried, "Kik, kik, kik" in tune with a Black-backed Woodpecker, issuing a challenge by pecking the trunk of a charred conifer. Even the usually silent Puffin, had something to say. Squirrels chirped and danced from one tree branch to another, clearly showing their displeasure with their presence.

She removed her sunglasses and looked at the inn. "I hear they have the best blueberry pancakes here."

"They do."

"Have you been here before?"

He squinted against the glare of the setting sun and wished he had the foresight to bring his sunglasses. "Not as a guest, but I've had Betsy's pancakes before."

"Uh-huh." She eyed him. "Is that all you've had?"

He grabbed her around the waist and kissed her. "The woman is seventy-nine years old."

"So? Young men are hooking up with older woman these days."

"She's not my type. Besides, my heart belongs to you. It always has."

She kissed him deeply. "Why don't we check in and continue this in our room?"

The inside of the inn smelled of oil soap, apple pie and baked bread.

Betsy Leinster greeted Simon like an old friend, hugging and kissing him.

"I did a favor for her a few years back when Earl died," he said, climbing the stairs to the second floor behind Evie. "She's never forgotten."

She hummed and hawed. "I don't know. She seems quite smitten with you."

"I'll tell her I'm taken."

White priscilla curtains and pull shades hung on the windows on either side of the canopied four-poster bed. A cedar chest took up little space at the foot. Braided throw rugs in colors of red, navy and green were scattered haphazardly across the gleaming hardwood floors. A fire roared in the hearth, filling the room with a welcome heat. A claw foot tub sat to one side of the spacious bathroom. The walls above the white-painted wainscoting were painted red, blending nicely with the black and white tiled floor. White curtains decorated with tiny red roses adorned the window and red towels were laid out on a corner white wicker shelf.

"Betsy really likes you. She gave us the presidential suite." Evie plopped unto the bed. It squeaked and groaned under her weight. "This bed is going to give us away."

"It's late in the season for B & B's. I think we'll be the only guests."

"What about Betsy?"

"What about her?" He laid down beside her.

"This was a great idea, Simon." She slipped her hand under his shirt, trailed her fingers over his stomach, then moved down. "Since no one's around to hear..."

Simon and Evie stepped into a dining room filled to capacity. Ten couples sat at the mahogany rectangular table in the middle of the room and every one of them turned to stare at them. "I guess we aren't the only guests, after all," Simon said in her ear.

Evie looked up at the ceiling. "Oh God, our room is right above. Do you think they heard us?"

"Naw."

Stuffed with roasted turkey and gravy, baked beans, homemade bread, string beans and carrots and strawberry shortcake with real whipped cream and a little unsteady from dandelion wine, Simon and Evie stumbled upstairs, giggling like children and burping like adolescents.

She fell onto the bed, her arms outstretched as though embracing the air. "Did you see the look on the old lady's face, what's-her-name...Melvina...when you said how comfortable our bed was?"

He laughed. "I thought she'd pop an artery her face turned so red." He threw himself next to her. The bed creaked and moaned and moved a few inches across the floor.

"You are so bad." She slapped his chest playfully.

"What?"

"You're incorrigible."

The room grew quiet.

He folded his arm beneath his head and stared at the stucco ceiling, his thoughts nowhere in particular.

"What are you thinking about? The murder?"

He groaned. "You had to mention it, didn't you?"

"Why can't you admit you hate an unsolved case?"

"I'll solve it." More than ever, that truth worried him.

"I had one once, you know. A man was murdered in the rumpus room in his home. A nine millimeter between the eyes. My partner and I suspected the wife, but we couldn't prove it. What a cold bitch she was.

"The husband was a high-profile criminal lawyer, defending the scum bags we try to put behind bars. He was good at it, too. You know the type—arrogant, manipulate the law, cry-foul-technique-and-violation-of-rights type. No evidence of forced entry and the murder weapon was never found."

He had no desire to talk about crimes, criminals or the law. This was his time with her, and he wanted to fill these couple of days with memories, memories which might have to last him a lifetime. Who knew what the coming week might bring.

"Hey, you're awfully solemn all of a sudden."

He turned on his side and rested his head in the palm of his hand, thinking how he once knew everything about her and now, nothing at all. While the island and the idea of settling into the life of his parents contented him, she had wanted to experience something different. He still couldn't understand it.

"Want to go for a walk? There's this path through the woods that opens onto a pond." Trailing his finger along the curve of her jaw, he said, "We'll have it all to ourselves. A bed of pine needles, a full moon watching over us, the sound of the water in the strait lapping to shore...What do you say?"

"It's freezing outside."

"Simon sez we'll dress warmly."

"Do you remember when I used to tease you with that when we were kids?"

"How can I forget? You were relentless."

She nuzzled his neck and snuggled closer.

They talked.

He made a special effort not to talk about work or anything work related.

She talked about their future together and, though the thought his future might not include her kept creeping into his mind, he talked about it, too.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Evie studied Gaston sitting across from her. For the last forty-five minutes, she answered his questions honestly and without hesitation. Now the time had come to broach the subject.

"Do I need to see you anymore? You said you'd see how things went at the end of the month. It's the end of the month and I think things went well. What about you?" He shifted in his chair. Never a good sign. Just as he noticed her nervous habits—chewing on her thumbnail, swinging her leg back and forth, averting his eyes when answering difficult questions—she noticed his.

"I'd like to try something different with you today, Evie."

"Different? What do you mean?"

"How do you feel about hypnosis?"

"Isn't hypnosis, hypnotherapy, used for patients who repressed something in their lives?" She didn't like this idea at all, not that she had something buried in her subconscious, but that she would lose control.

"Usually."

"Usually, but not in my case?" A niggle of apprehension forced its way through her body.

"No."

"Why then?"

"I'm hoping to return you to an earlier ego-state so you can regain qualities you once had but were lost after the incident. It would increase your strength and confidence."

"There's nothing wrong with my confidence or strength." She clamped her jaw.

"You don't think so?"

The answers to questions with questions tired her. She had to admit, though, he had a point. "Maybe I'm not as confident and strong as I once was, but I'm getting better and I will be that person again one day...soon."

He smiled.

"But you're still not convinced." Damn. She wanted these sessions to end. "I'm in a good place right now. I've finally been able to put the past behind me. Simon and I are getting closer. In fact, I think he's going to ask me to marry him. Things have never been so good for me."

"What are you afraid of?"

She looked at him long and steady. "I'm not afraid."

"Then why won't you do it?"

Why shouldn't she? There were no repressed memories for him to find and she trusted him. "Okay, I'll do it."

"Good."

Evie sat back and at the sound of Gaston's soothing voice, she relaxed. Within five minutes everything blanked out in her mind.

"Evie, can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"You've been through a terrible ordeal, but it's behind you now. Your future will be bright and peaceful."

"Okay."

"How do you feel?"

"Happy and relaxed."

"Good. You can wake now."

She opened her eyes and asked, "When do we start?"

"We already have. You've been under for the past fifteen minutes."

"Really?"

"How do you feel?"

"Wonderful." She hugged herself.

"Shall we continue with the sessions, then?"

"Absolutely."

Chapter Twenty-Four

Simon propped his feet on his desk, laced his fingers behind his head and smiled. The weekend getaway with Evie was everything he hoped it would be. He hadn't wanted it to end, had even tried to slow time down by focusing on every second. The following week had been wonderful, as well. Like old times with her, and he treasured every moment.

Guilt crept into his mind. With a grimace, he shoved the emotion aside.

The view through his office window looked like a Currier & Ives lithograph. A light snow had fallen overnight coating the spruce trees flanking the sides of Town Hall. Smoke puffed from chimneys of houses at the rear of the property.

Tallulah stuck her foxy red head in the doorway, her chestnut eyes dancing in merriment. "Chief, Two Feathers is dancing naked on Main Street. Full moon madness at work."

He fingered the amulet around his neck. "Darlin', there's no scientific proof to support the theory."

"Tell it to Two Feathers. Want me to dispatch Henry?"

"I'll handle it." He took one last look out his window implanting the serene sight in his memory.

Donning his coat and Stetson, he walked through the hallway toward the rear of the building. He came to a halt when Aubrey, escorting a prisoner, pushed through the double doors. Simon recognized the man as Carson Kneeland, a high school history teacher. Kneeland glared at him. "Chief, will you tell this imbecile it isn't a crime for me to break into my car." Aubrey yanked on Kneeland's cuffed hands. "Vandalism, destroying public property, resisting arrest—"

"Tell me what happened." Simon took a step back and leaned against the counter.

"I left some papers in my car and went out to the parking lot and realized my keys were locked in the car. The latch on the hatchback is broken, so I hit on it a bit to open it. That's when Honeydale's finest appeared." Carson hooked a thumb over his shoulder at Aubrey.

Aubrey placed his hand on his holstered sidearm and puffed his chest. "I was on patrol when I noticed a suspicious person banging on the trunk of a car with a 'Keep Off the Grass' sign in the parking lot of the school."

"Suspicious person?" Kneeland's eyebrows reached his hairline. "You're unbelievable." He shook his head.

"You were. All hunched over like that trying to break into a car."

"I was hunched over, you idiot, because it's twenty-eight degrees outside, and I don't have a coat on." He turned to Simon. "Tell him to uncuff me."

"This will have to wait. I have a Native on his way to frostbite. Aubrey make Mr. Kneeland comfortable and get him a coffee. We'll sort this out when I get back."

"Yes, sir." Kneeland stomped his feet. "You can't hold me. I didn't do—"

"Chief."

Simon turned to Tallulah who stepped from foot to foot. "What is it?"

"Just got a report of a deer ramming the chain link fence along the highway just before the turnoff for Durham."

"Why don't they call Forestry?"

"The woman said she did, but there was no answer."

Cutbacks. The department of forestry was a one-man show now on the island.

Simon walked to the gun cabinet and took out the shotgun loaded with number four birdshot. He didn't want to put the deer down, and the birdshot had only a maximum penetration depth potential of about three inches. Deer weren't known to charge, but given how this day was progressing, anything could happen. Better inclined than penitent.

"Chief, you can't keep me here. I didn't do anything wrong and I have a class to teach." Kneeland said.

Simon pumped the shotgun. "Aubrey, uncuff him, and let him go."

"Chief?"

Simon glared at his deputy. "We'll discuss it later."

"I need a ride back to school."

"Aubrey, give Mr. Kneeland a ride."

"Oh, all right."

"Tallulah, darlin', would you call Evie, see if she wants to pull an extra shift? I have a feeling we'll need the extra help."

"I'm on it."

Outside, Simon gulped in the frosty air, clearing his mind.

He heard the sound of car horns tooting long before he saw Two Feathers two-stepping in the street. A crowd had gathered, shouting encouragement, whooping catcalls and whistling. He double-parked, got out of the four-by-four and pushed through the onlookers.

"Hey, Two Feathers, how's it going?"

Without breaking step, the old Indian chanted, "Noochenen' tan wasõk à umun, ukwesoonum nikskamawadastch." He raised his arms into the air and waved his hands. "Blood on the moon."

"Uh-huh. Last night. Noticed it."

Two Feathers tossed his long, gray-streaked hair over his shoulder. "Death before noon."

Simon edged closer, hoping there was no truth in the prophecy. "Why don't you get in my car and we'll talk about it." Taking note of the odor of whiskey in the air, he took off his parka and slipped it over the Indian's shoulders. On his diminutive frame, the jacket hung to his calves.

"Death is coming. It is all around us. Do you not feel it?"

"Can't say I do."

"If you had more Indian blood running in your veins than white, you would. Half-breed."

"The guilt is tearing me up." Simon steered Two Feathers through the crowd. "Show's over, folks."

"Where're you taking me?"

"To a warm, cozy bunk at my place. First, though, I got a stop to make."

Simon spotted the White Tailed deer in the bushes, stomping its feet just before it charged the fence. He surveyed the area and learned the reason for the deer's distress. Two of her offspring were on the other side.

"Blood on the moon," Two Feathers said.

"Uh-huh."

"Looks like she hurt herself. Blood runs down her face. What you plan on doing, chief? Take her down?"

Simon knew he said that only because of his mixed heritage. Shooting a deer was sacrilegious among Indians. "Nope, gonna accommodate her."

He looked at the shotgun racked on the dashboard. "Why did you bring that, then?"

"Thought you might be uncooperative."

Simon got out of the truck, put on the bomber jacket in the trunk compartment and grabbed the wire cutters. The deer turned and eyed him warily when he crossed over the ditch. "Easy, girl. Easy." He kept a safe distance away, walking along the fence in the opposite direction. Simon worked fast cutting the links and bending back the fence. He stepped to the side and waited for the deer's offspring to take advantage of the exit. With mother and fawns reunited, he directed traffic while they crossed the road.

"You're a crazy son-of-a-bitch, chief. The deer could've charged you."

"Yeah, could have, but didn't."

"Should've shot it. Have some deer steaks for supper."

Simon refused to give in to the taunt. "Maybe next time."

At the station, Simon handed Two Feathers over to Tallulah. "Our finest accommodations for Mr. Kennah and get him some clothes. We must have a jumpsuit around here somewhere. Did you get a hold of Evie?"

"No answer at her place."

"Did you try her cell?"

"Yup, and she isn't at your parents, either."

"Okay. Keep trying. Call the DOH and tell them there's a section of fence that needs mending."

With a lull in full moon madness, Simon decided to ride out to Evie's. She worried him. Seldom did she go anywhere without her cell. He drove the ten minute distance to the cottage without event. Here, amid the nestle of spruce and pine trees along the road toward Evie's cottage the silence seemed surreal considering the craziness he'd dealt with in the last hour and a half.

Evie's Explorer sat in the drive. He stood on the stoop at the back door and rapped his knuckles on the jamb. "Evie." After a moment, he called her name again. Still no answer. The doorknob turned in his hand. That she left her door unlocked didn't surprise him.

"Evie?" He stepped through the kitchen and into the living room. But for the tick-tock of the grandfather clock, the cottage was as silent as an animal's lair in winter. Bear was nowhere to be seen, either. He retraced his steps and searched the property. No need to worry, he told himself.

Simon answered calls and wrote up reports and considered moon madness a blessing. At least for a little while, it took his mind off murder and what the result of Evie's DNA test might bring. The pressure built slowly inside him, the desperate need to make things right, the violent want that Evie was not a murderer. When Tallulah called out from her desk that Glenn Talbot from the lab was on the phone for him, he was about ready to burst. His hand shook when he reached for the phone. "Chief Wolfe."

"Chief, the hair sample you sent me isn't a match for the DNA found on Miller's body."

Simon breathed relief. "Was it close at all?"

"Not even remotely."

He let out another long breath. "Thanks, Glenn, for putting a rush on it. I owe you one. Send me the bill." Simon jumped into the air. "Yahoo!" He sprinted to Tallulah, lifted her off the floor and kissed her on the lips. "Life is great!"

"You might not think so when I tell you a pissed-off mayor is on her way over to see you."

"Not even a temperamental bureaucrat can spoil my mood."

"Did I forget to mention the ADA will be joining her?"

"Victoria 'the Viper' Shore"?

"Uh-huh." Hell's Bells. He hated lawyers.

With the ADA and Mayor dealt with, Simon decided to have a talk with Aubrey. He walked out of his office and stopped alongside the deputy's desk. "Let's take a walk." He clipped a two-way on his belt. "Tallulah, you have the com."

"Like I don't always?"

Outside, a brisk wind had picked up, the kind that brought rain. Simon steered Aubrey around the back of the building. "How's everything going?"

"Good."

"No problems?"

"None. Look, Chief, if this is about what happened earlier with Kneeland, I want to apologize."

"You should be apologizing to Kneeland, not me."

"But I embarrassed you and the department."

"Most of all you embarrassed yourself. Aubrey, I don't want to turn this into a sermon where I preach about how a man's actions define him. You know what you did was out of line and I'm sure you'll never let it happen again. Right?"

Aubrey heaved a breath. "Right."

"Good."

They crossed the street and strolled up the sidewalk toward town. Fallen leaves rustled around their ankles. "How's Henry doing? Been spending a lot of time with Mrs. Miller, has he?"

"Some."

"How much?"

"A lot. Every free moment he has. Truthfully, he's clinging to her like plastic wrap."

"Uh-huh." Just as he thought. Sometimes the truth stared you straight in the face. Simon caught Aubrey's quick glance.

"You don't think...What? You're saying Henry killed Miller to get him out of the way because he's in love with his wife? Oh God, you can't ...he's one of us."

"I can't dismiss him as a suspect. Is Henry capable of murder?" Simon spread out his hands. "Love can make us do crazy things. Maybe he thought he was doing right by her." He scanned houses, parked cars, the loose shingles on the roof of Harry Gammon's house. "He's kept up his friendship with her since high school...that's what...fourteen years or so? Loving her from afar, watching her husband make a fool of her and pissing on their marriage vows time and time again. That must have been a sore spot with him, probably festering inside until he couldn't stand by and do nothing anymore."

A woman pushing twin boys in a stroller past by them.

"Ma'am." Simon tipped his hat. "It looks like rain."

"It does." She smiled and continued on her way.

"Miller had no defensive wounds on his body, so he wasn't worried enough about his assailant to think he needed to protect himself. He either knew his killer, or thought his killer posed no threat to him." Simon waved at Wallace O'Connell entering his office. "We have to recognize that fact."

"What are you going to do?"

"Keep an eye on Henry; discretely, of course. You will, too, Aubrey."

It neared six o'clock when Simon left the station for the day. He stopped by Su Linn's for take-out. Darkness had settled over Honeydale. The moon was high in the sky and clear, he noted with relief. When Evie's well lit cottage came into view, he let out a pent-up breath. Before he had his boots firmly planted on the deck, the door opened and Evie jumped into his arms.

"I missed you." She showed him how much with a passionate kiss. "Why didn't you call?"

"I did and Tallulah did, but there was no answer. I even came by, but you weren't here."

She appeared deep in thought for a moment. "Oh, I must have been out by the brook with Bear."

"We sure could have used your help today. The town went crazy, for awhile."

"Really?"

"Full moon madness."

"You don't believe in that stuff."

"Maybe a little, now." He steered her into the kitchen and set the take-out on the counter.

"Bad day?"

The worst, but it ended well. Very well, in fact. He gave her the abridged version. "Then the mayor and ADA took today to pay a visit. 'When can I expect an arrest in the Miller murder,' Mayor Duffy asked in that high-pitched mewl of hers."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her she'd be the first to know when I make an arrest and to get out of my office."

She slapped his chest playfully. "You schmoosed her, didn't you?"

"All two hundred and thirty pounds." He nuzzled her neck. "Be my wife, my soul mate and my friend for life, Evie."

She stepped back. "What?"

"Marry me."

A half-smile formed on her lips. "This isn't full moon madness, is it?"

"I'm madly in love with you and the moon doesn't have anything to do with it."

She searched his face. "You're serious."

"As a heart attack. Marry me. Please don't make me beg. We've lost so much time as it is, I don't want to lose another minute with you." It took only a second for her to decide.

"Yes!"

They kissed.

Simon felt the ground settle beneath his feet.

"I want a diamond, a big diamond."

"I want children, lots of children. Cooper, Amelia, Dawson, Penelope, Morgan. I want a pack of them. A pack of little Wolves." He showered her cheeks, forehead, nose and chin with kisses.

She locked her arms around his neck. "Why don't we take this to the bedroom and get started on Cooper or Amelia, or Cooper and Amelia."

"You always were an over-achiever." He scooped her into his arms. Evie would finally be his, his to cherish, his to love freely. She nibbled on his ear and he stopped thinking altogether. They lowered to the bed. When he held her tightly in his arms, he had all he needed, all he would ever need. His mouth closed over hers, his fingers undoing buttons.

She yanked off her jeans.

Something colorful through the lace of her underwear caught his attention. "What's this?" He edged the fabric down slowly and gasped.

"It's a tattoo," she said.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Hell's bells! A tattoo. Keertana's vision flashed in his mind. Simon couldn't breathe. The room spun before his eyes. His stomach somersaulted.

"Simon, my God, what's the matter? You look like you're going to pass out. It's just a little tattoo. I wanted to surprise you."

That, she did. He forced calmness that didn't reach his mind and flipped over on his back, shoving himself up against the headboard. "I'm fine." He mustered a smile.

Squinting, she looked into his eyes. "Something's going on. What is it? You shouldn't have had that reaction to a tattoo."

He shook his head. "Nothing's going on. Just taken off-guard, is all. You're not the kind of person to get a tat."

She wagged a finger before her face. "No, no, no. It's more than that. Now, come clean, mister."

He weighed the prudence of telling her the truth. Would she still want to marry him once she knew he thought she was a murderer? On the other hand, one lie would lead to another lie. If she was innocent, was that any way to start their life together? He patted the bed beside him. "There's something I need to tell you."

He told her everything. "And when I saw your tattoo, I naturally assumed..."

She threw her head back and laughed, then covered her mouth, tears dribbling from her eyes. "You thought I killed those men and staged the break-ins and everything else?" She laughed some more, rolled over and slapped the mattress playfully.

He grinned, feeling like an ass. How could he think she was a murderer and devious enough to concoct a plan to implicate someone else?

She composed herself and sat up, staring him in the face. "Did your mother say whether the killer's tattoo was a permanent one?"

He thought back to that night. "At the time, I presumed it was, and given the time that's elapsed since Miller's murder and my mother's vision, I would say so."

She flipped a hand through the air. "Well, there you go. Mine's a Mehndi."

"Huh?"

"A temporary tattoo. The application is hand drawn and applied with powdered henna, a mixture of coffee and lemon juice mixed into a paste. It'll probably last about two weeks and fade away."

"Oh," was all he could think of to say.

"Judging by the skeptical expression on your face, you're still not convinced. You still think I might be the killer?"

How could he still think that? He hauled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. "First thing in the morning we're shopping for that big diamond. I want the world to know how in love with you I am."

Chapter Twenty-Six

Evie sat before Gaston. Her second hypnotherapy session had begun.

"How do you feel, Evie?"

"Fine."

"Relaxed?"

"Uh-huh."

"Evie, I want you to remember back a few years."

She smiled.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"What month is it?"

"June. It's the night of my graduation."

"Are you alone."

"No. Simon is here. He took me out to dinner, then we went to the prom. He looked so handsome...I love him so much." She giggled. "No, Simon, we can't. Not here. Someone might catch us." She frowned and whimpered.

"What is it?"

She shook her head. "No, no, no."

"Is Simon hurting you, Evie?"

"Simon would never hurt me. He loves me...loves me so much, and I love him." She whimpered again.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm all right."

"You can tell me."

"It's...it's just ..."

"Just what?"

"My mother. She doesn't like Simon."

"Why not?"

"Because of his heritage. She calls him half-breed, says I'm too good for him."

"How do you feel about that?"

"I want her to like him, to see the good in him, to see past his heritage and the color of his skin."

"And if she doesn't change her mind?"

"She said she won't pay for college and'll cut me off if I don't break up with him. I don't want to. I can't..." She cried.

"Evie, think back to when you were a little girl."

She giggled. "Higher, Daddy, higher! Faster, Daddy, faster! Look at me. I'm flying. More. More..."

"How old are you?"

"I'm four-and-a-half. When I turn five, Daddy says he's going to have a big party for me with a clown and everything."

"You love your daddy very much, don't you?"

"Yes. Very much. He's the best." She frowned.

"What is it, Evie?"

"No, Daddy, no." She squeezed her eyes closed, squinted and shook her head from side to side. "No, Daddy. Please. What are you doing? Where's Mommy?" She screamed.

"Evie, it's just a dream. Nothing can hurt you."

The crying stopped. "Good. You'll wake on the count of three, feeling calm and relaxed."

She nodded.

"One...two...three."

She opened her eyes.

"How do you feel?"

"Fine." She thought a moment. "Really good, in fact."

He smiled. "Evie, I'd like to see you again next month."

Something traumatic had happened to her in childhood, something that involved her father, just as he thought. "Just one more visit."

"And that's it?"

"That's it."

She returned his smile. "Okay."

"All set for the big day?"

"Pretty much. I can't wait."

"You're going to be a beautiful bride. I hope you have good weather."

"We will. God smiled down on us when he brought Simon and me together. He'll make our wedding day perfect, I'm certain of it."

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Humming beneath his breath, Simon drove from Evie's to the station. The first sign of the forecasted Nor'easter came in the form of seemingly unthreatening soft, fluffy snowflakes. He knew differently.

He strode to the counter and took the telephone messages Tallulah handed him. "How're our supplies?"

She looked at him over her butterfly-winged glasses and pursed her lips. "Good morning to you, too, Simon. How are you?"

He sighed and pasted a smile. "Good morning, darlin'. How are you?"

"Just hunky-dory. Nice of you to ask."

"That's the kind of man I am." He repeated his question.

"All well stocked. We could hole up here for days."

"With guests?"

"Plenty for them, too." She stood and walked to the counter. "Henry brought in the foldaway cots and blankets from storage."

"How about kerosene for the heaters?"

"Aubrey's out getting it now. And the snowmobiles are all gassed."

"Looks like you have everything under control."

She arched her brows. "Like I don't always?"

"I'll see how it goes, but if it's what they say, we're on twenty-four seven."

"I'll advise the deputies. What about Evie? Want me to call her in?"

He thought of Evie alone in her cottage weathering the storm in warmth or out in it chancing frostbite and accident. "We'll manage without her. We did before."

"Uh-huh."

"What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

"If you have something to say, Tallulah, now's the time."

"I think it's cute how you want to protect her."

"Do not."

"Do too."

Simon knew when not to argue. "You can go home now while the getting's good."

"What and leave you fellas to fend for yourselves? I don't think so."

"That's very generous of you. But—"

She pruned her lips. "Nothing generous about it. Looking after my own interests, is all. You fellas will probably blow up the place trying to light one of those heaters, then I'd be out of a job." Her wrinkled cheeks folded into accordion pleats. "I love it when you get all protective papa bear like; so old school."

"You're going home." The wind howling and ramming the windowpanes forced a command. "That's an order."

She saluted, obviously changing her mind. "Aye, aye, captain."

The scene from his office window didn't look hazardous. Quite the opposite, in fact. Perfect white flakes fell onto the limbs of fir trees and rooftops. Plumes of white smoke puffed from steel or brick chimneys.

Within an hour the wind pounded the building like a battering ram and snow fell relentlessly.

They got their first call. A fender bender on Main.

Thirty minutes later came their second. A car plowed into a house on Jefferson. From there, the calls came nonstop. Visibility was almost nil and winds gusted to sixty miles per hour.

Simon and his deputies camped out at the station for the duration, handling calls and rescuing stranded motorists. Department of highways closed the roads. Simon and his crew transported emergency victims— there were two of those — to the hospital by snowmobiles equipped with bush sleds. Angie Barrow's son decided to come into the world two weeks early, and Jarvis Edison fell from the roof of his house — strangely enough — after he lost control of his snow blower while removing snow. Things settled down near midnight with a station filled with stranded motorists. Also strangely enough, motorists who left the safety of their homes to attempt to get into town either for food or gas for generators.

Studying the phone, Simon stretched out on the sofa in his office. He checked the time: 12:55. Too late to call Evie. They probably wouldn't have phone service much longer. Maybe he should call. She was comfy in her cottage with plenty to eat and plenty of firewood and Bear to keep her company. Still, he worried. It would always be this way, he knew.

Above the howl of the wind, he heard someone calling for help. He jumped up, ran to the window and saw a beam of light through the haze of blowing snow. A flashlight, maybe. He put on his coat, ski pants and boots, sprinted through the hallway and out the door. The force of the wind almost slammed him back against the door. Crystallized snow bit at his eyes and exposed skin. He pulled the hood of his parka over his head and shielded his face with his arm.

"Is someone out here?"

"O-over h-here."

"Shine your light toward the sound of my voice," Simon yelled.

A second later, an unsteady streak of light shot through the dark.

He lowered his shoulders, ducked his head, jumped from the stoop into knee-deep snow and using the beam of the flashlight as his guide, plowed through waist-high drifts through the parking lot. His breath labored by the time he reached the figure huddled in a ball between two cars. He grabbed him under the armpits and hauled him to his feet. Surprised to see his deputy, he exclaimed, "What in hell are you doing out? I sent you home hours ago. You're one lucky bastard. If I hadn't heard you, we'd be going to your funeral this week."

He flung Henry's arm over his shoulders and carried him fireman-style through the snow.

In the waiting area, he set him in a chair and caught his breath. "Crazy son-of-a-bitch," he muttered, walking to the coffee machine. He filled a cup, reached behind the counter and took the flask of rum Tallulah kept for medicinal purposes and poured a generous dollop in the coffee.

"Here, Henry. It'll warm you up."

Coffee sloshed over the rim in his shaking hands.

When Henry's teeth stopped chattering, Simon asked, "What in God's name were you doing out? I told you six hours ago to go home."

"I-I s-stopped off at D-Deb's to see if she w-was ookay." He looked at him and grinned, a sheepish one. "I-I lost t-track of time. W-when I left it was pretty bad out. S-shorter to come h-here than h-home. I t-thought I could make it, but I-I ditched my car in a whiteout o-on the h-highway near Chance River."

"And you walked from there? My God, man, it's two miles."

Henry nodded. "L-Longer when you're b-bucking a high wind. There weren't any taxis a-around," he grinned, "and m-my cell phone d-didn't work." He removed his knitted hat and got out of his parka.

Simon went to get him something dry to wear. He came back with an orange jumpsuit. "Here, put this on. It's the best I can do."

Henry stripped down and put on the garment. He looked at himself. "I'm a carrot." He turned and hung his wet clothes on a hook at the door.

Simon stared at the black lettering emblazoned between his shoulders: HPD. "Only from the front. From the back you look like an inmate."

For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind howling and iced flakes of snow hitting windowpanes and snoring.

Simon hooked a thumb over his shoulder when Henry looked in the direction of the cells. "Visitors at the inn."

"How many did we get?"

"Twelve."

He looked up at the lights and squinted. "Least we still have power."

"Still have phone, too."

Simon listened to the wind slamming against the building, rocking the ancient floor joists. "Maybe not for much longer. I'll get you something to eat. Go to my office."

He returned with cereal bars and juice boxes.

Henry helped himself. "Thanks, chief."

Leaning against the desk, Simon crossed his legs and shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers. "Seeing a lot of Mrs. Miller, are you?"

Henry stopped mid-bite.

Simon saw something in his eyes. A flicker of recognition, or a flicker of guilt?

"Some."

"You care about her."

Henry stared at his stocking-ed feet. "Uh-huh."

"Are you in love with her?"

He nodded.

"How long has it been?"

"Since high school." He blew out a lungful of air.

"Did you date her back then?"

He shook his head. "What girl wants a boyfriend who stutters?"

"You only stutter when you're nervous or agitated."

"I was always nervous around her back then. Besides, she had eyes only for poodle butt. I don't have an alibi for the night Miller was killed, and I don't own a twenty-two. I didn't kill him."

"I didn't say you did."

"No, but you wondered, and you got to do your job."

Simon uncrossed his legs, walked behind his desk and sat. "I'm not sure I'd be so understanding."

"Yes, you would. You like to see all sides."

"That would serve you well if you're guilty."

He nodded and grabbed a juice box. "It would. If I were guilty."

Chapter Twenty-Eight

At nine o'clock Sunday morning Evie strode into the station, waved at Tallulah and entered Simon's office. He looked up from a report and smiled. "Well, hey there. How's my—"

"You're coming with me." She grabbed his coat. "Where?"

"It's a surprise."

"I can't leave. There's too much to do. People are still being plowed out of ditches and traffic needs to be directed. Reports to write up."

"Henry and Aubrey can handle it."

"No, they—"

"Simon, you have to learn to delegate, and how else are they going to learn if you don't give them the experience?" She walked over to him and grabbed his bicep. "Move it, mister, or I'll be compelled to use force and handcuffs."

Lips pursed and hands on her hips like a playground monitor, Tallulah said from the doorway, "What's going on in here?"

Evie looked at her. "I'm trying to bust him out, but he's putting up a fight."

Tallulah moved into the center of the room like a Sumu wrestler. "Want me to help?"

Simon jumped up. "Okay, okay. I give up." He looked at Evie. "One hour."

She grinned. "We'll see where it takes us." She winked at Tallulah.

Outside, Simon halted, obviously reconsidering leaving the station.

She reached up, cupped his face and kissed him. "Trust me?"

"With my life."

"Then follow me."

Despite the quick and definite answer, his skeptical expression told her he seemed doubtful. "It won't be painful, I promise."

He swatted the air. "Rats. I've been thinking a lot lately about experimenting."

She smiled, a wily one. "You have, have you? Well, it's not quite what I had in mind, but I can improvise."

"I really shouldn't leave."

"Yes, you should. You're tired and need a break," she said.

He followed behind, got in the Explorer and strapped in beside her.

She pulled onto the snow-packed road and headed out of town.

He opened his window a crack. "It never fails to amaze me—the snow-laden trees, the white rooftops, the clean, pure scent of the air after a snow." He sighed. "It's nature at its best."

On the highway a red Chevy Suburban traveling in the opposite lane about a half mile ahead of them oscillated toward the middle of the road, fishtailing in that eerie slow motion way that happened just before something bad took place.

Evie noticed the vehicle at the same time as Simon. "Keep an eye on him. He's driving too fast for the road conditions."

She checked the rear view mirror and pumped the brakes, telling the motorists behind her to slow down. Flicking on the blinker light, she slowed to a stop against a bank of snow on the shoulder of the road. The traffic at her rear followed suit. Cars behind the Suburban braked hard, sending their vehicles sideways before coming to a stop.

"This is going to be one major accident," she said, not feeling the composure she forced into her voice. "Is your seatbelt well fastened, Simon?" She tugged it. It didn't give an inch. Satisfied, she sat back and prayed, fingering the medal at her neck.

Simon looked behind them. "Everyone's stopped. If he can get his vehicle under control..."

The Suburban spun counter-clockwise, nosing toward the left shoulder of the road until finally coming to a stop, back end facing oncoming traffic. Without delay, the driver clutched the wheel, steered onto their lane and proceeded in the opposite direction he originally headed.

"Stupid son-of-a-bitch," Evie muttered, getting back onto the road. "He was driving too fast for the road conditions. It's exactly how accidents happen. "

"What's his plate read to you?"

She increased her speed and rhymed off the number.

He wrote it down and looked up when she flicked on the blinker light. "You're taking me to your cottage? That's the surprise?"

"Opportunities are seldom perfect. We have to make them so."

In the kitchen, she threw him a towel. "Shower and I'll set up."

"Set up?"

"You'll see." She pushed him toward the bathroom. One minute later, she heard the spray of water. She walked into her bedroom, lit sandalwood candles and a fire in the hearth, spread pillows on the floor and closed the shutters in the window. Everything needed to be perfect. She checked the temperature. Eighty degrees. Perfect. She changed into a pink silk dressing gown, fluffed her hair and dabbed on a pale, frosty pink lipstick. Standing in the doorway, she studied the room, pleased with her efforts.

Simon came out of the bathroom wearing only a towel, turban style around his head.

She laughed. "Down, big boy. That's the last step." She splayed her hand. "Welcome to Evie's Massage Parlor where friendly and loving hands will give you a full body rubdown. You like?"

He looked around. "I love."

"Make yourself comfortable on those pillows, and I'll get the oil."

Kneeling astride him, she rubbed massage oil—a calming bouquet of lavender, cardamom and nutmeg to revive the spirit and rosemary to relieve aching muscles and a scent that sharpened thought. She began with long, circular strokes along the muscles running parallel to his spine. Then the flat muscles groups covering the top of his back and lower neck. Without breaking contact, she moved on to the wide bank of muscles stretching from his lower spine to his pelvis.

"That feels good."

"How about this?" She used two hands and massaged his upper back and shoulders, applying a little pressure.

"Nice." Exerting heavier pressure, she asked, "This?"

"Hmm."

She applied even more pressure.

"Oh, God."

Precisely the reaction she hoped for. She smiled. Her hands glided smoothly over his muscles, her movements rhythmic, even and symmetric. Using her forearm and elbow, she massaged the stiffness from his lower back.

"Aaaah." He sighed. "Where'd you learn to do this?" His voice sounded thick.

"I read some books, watched some videos on the subject. There's foot massage therapy, too. Maybe next time— "

The phone rang.

"Damn, I forgot number two — lock the doors and unplug the phones." She reached across him and answered the phone. "Oh, hi, Tallulah. He's right here."

Simon put the receiver to his ear. "Hello." He listened. "What's his number?" Evie handed him a pen and paper from the bedside table. "Okay, got it."

She replaced the receiver. "What was that about?"

He sat up, pulled the towel from his head and wrapped it around his waist. "Gormley called. Said it was important."

"Another murder?"

"Or maybe he got a lead." He punched in Gormley's telephone number. "Detective Joshua Gormley, please. Simon Wolfe returning his call. Thanks. I'll hold." A moment passed, then another. "He's taking his good ol—Detective Gormley, Simon Wolfe. You called?...Same MO?...Uh-huh...Any leads?...What's the name of the detective on the case?" He scribbled on the pad. "Thanks for the call."

"There's been another murder." Evie wrapped the sash tighter around her waist.

Simon stood. "Yes, and it looks like the same killer."

"Where?"

"Chesley."

"When?"

"Friday night, sometime around six."

"Chesley, Friday night," she said more to herself than Simon. "Seems our killer is moving up through the state."

"Leaving murder in her wake." She stood and held out her wrists.

He looked at her. "What are you doing?"

"Don't you want to arrest me?" she asked seriously, but with humor in her heart and knowing he would take the ribbing like the good natured man he was.

He grinned. "And I suppose you flew there in your reindeer-drawn sleigh?"

"Yep." She crossed her arms against her chest, unable to control the smile that formed.

He hugged her against him so tightly she could barely breathe. He kissed her long and slow. "I'm so sorry for thinking you murdered those men, for thinking you're capable of murder."

She latched onto his buttocks and hauled him close. "I need more convincing."

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Hand in hand and in the breath of a faint pong of cows from the farm across the road, Evie and Simon strolled down the snow-blown path in the Wolfe's backyard toward the barn.

Here, the air was fresh with the scent of snow, spruce and the ashy odor of a wood fire.

Overhead a full moon and a star-lit sky shone down on them. A white-tail deer, browsing amidst a cluster of trees, perked his head and watched them with sharp, nut brown eyes. The howl of a coyote, a high, quavering cry, followed by a series of short, high-pitched yips pierced the silence. The stag, as though experiencing danger, scampered off into a copse of trees.

"I can't believe it's Christmas Eve already," Evie said, raising their entwined hands in the air. "The month of December flew by."

In the weeks following their engagement, she had spent every waking moment, it seemed, on wedding preparations. The big day couldn't come fast enough for her, or for Keertana and Dan, either. To say they anxiously awaited their nuptials would be an understatement to be sure. New Year's Eve, when they would finally declare their love before God, before Father McDougall, before their families and friends, was six happy days away. As much as Dan and Keertana loved her, she had expected either or both of them to issue a warning never to hurt or break their son's heart again. There'd been none of that, which went to show how much they loved her, how much they trusted her. She would never let them down again.

"Are you ready?" Simon asked, his lips curving in a half-smile.

She inhaled deeply and nodded. He yanked open the barn doors.

"Here they are," Dan yelled.

Nothing could have prepared her for the reception they received.

A swarm of sixty-something-aged women, ladies she recognized as either Dan and Keertana's friends or as members of the Woman's Auxillary, rushed at them like a herd of two-legged gazelles, all wearing wide smiles and shouting congratulations.

Dan maneuvered through the gaggle.

Simon wasted no time accepting his father's rescue. He plopped a kiss to the top of her head and gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. "They're all yours, sweetheart."

Dan whisked Simon off to a group of men standing in the middle of the barn.

She watched him amble off, wishing someone would come to her aid.

After being nearly hugged to death, she showed off her ring. "Ooohs" and "ahs" rang from the lips of the women. She had to agree, it was a beautiful ring. The women fired off questions like a submachine gun: "How did he propose? Did he ask on bended knee? Was it romantic? Did he already have the ring? Did he bring you flowers? Where did he propose? Where are you going on your honeymoon?"

Breathless, she did her best to answer all their questions: "With two words: Marry me. No. Everything Simon does is romantic. No. No. In my kitchen. Unfortunately, we aren't going on a honeymoon. Simon can't leave the station for any length of time. There's no one experienced enough in police work to cover for him."

Keertana, wearing a long midnight blue velvet gown and her black mane flowing to her waist, rescued her. "Ladies, I am going to steal Little Leaf for a few minutes. We need to discuss a few last minute arrangements for the wedding."

When they were out of earshot of the women, Evie used her hand to mop her brow and turned to Keertana. "Thank you. I was getting dizzy."

She laughed, a melodic sound that never failed to make Evie smile. "They can be a bit over-powering, can they not? Will you be all right? I have things I must attend to."

Evie smiled. "I'll be fine." She looked at Simon standing in a circle of men across the floor from her and sighed. He looked so handsome in navy dress pants, navy shirt, sleeves rolled at the cuffs and black cowboy boots, not that she didn't think him handsome in his police attire of blue jeans, blue chambray shirt and scuffed cowboy boots.

A little girl, wearing an emerald green dress and white tights, ran up to him and tugged at his pant leg. He leaned toward her and listened intently. He reached behind her ear and came out with a candy cane. She giggled and skipped off to a bale of hay, unwrapping the sweet treat.

The scent of freshly brewed Hazelnut coffee, sautéed onions, cinnamon and sugar and pinecones brought back sweet, sweet memories of Evie's childhood. She smiled and looked around the barn, admiring the decorations. Huge shimmering bells in green and gold hung from streamers attached to lighted garland spanning the roof rafters. Balloons in red and green adorned supporting cedar posts. A ten-foot spruce tree festively dressed in colored mini-lights and handmade ornaments graced one corner.

As accustomed, Dan and Keertana's Christmas Eve celebration was open house. Everyone brought food and helped with the preparation. It was always this way on the island.

Walls filled with laughter and floors that whispered the long gone patter of her little bare feet, she experienced an overwhelming feeling of welcomeness, warmth and comfort. She belonged here, with Simon, with Dan and Keertana, in Honeydale.

Women mulled around her, dressing makeshift tables and placing mincemeat pies and dishes of salads in every form imaginable while their male counterparts huddled in corners, catching up on old times, or just catching up, each taking nips from the silver flask Dan passed around.

She hefted a bowl of punch that Dan had suitably spiked onto the center of a table. Her diamond ring sparkled on her finger. She'd changed her mind about a big diamond, deciding instead on a half-carat surrounded by ruby chips. Extravagance didn't measure love. Simon told her how much she meant to him in so many ways—in his eyes, in his touch, in his tenderness, in his kindness. How had she gotten so lucky for this second chance? Thinking that in six short days, they would be married, she hugged herself, barely able to contain her delight. No one had ever loved her like Simon loved her. Sometimes it scared her. He would happily throw himself in front of a moving bus if it meant saving her. She hoped he would never be faced with such a situation. If given the choice, she'd rather take her chances with the bus. Life without Simon would not be worth living.

Placing a hand against her tummy, she wondered if they'd conceived Cooper or Amelia. Wouldn't Simon be thrilled? It would please her, too, but it would please her more knowing how much it would make him happy.

Her parents still hadn't arrived. Walking to a corner next to the nativity scene, she pulled her cell from the pocket of her pants and hit three on redial. Felicia answered on the second ring.

"Mom, aren't you coming? We're about ready to eat."

"Your father and I changed our minds," her mother said in that perfectly modulated voice of hers.

Asking why would only give Felicia an in to tell her once again how marrying Simon, the half-breed, would be the-biggest-mistake-of-her-life rant and she would say, in her head – of course – no, the biggest mistake of my life was when I walked away from him six years ago.

"Sure you won't change your mind? Everyone's here, and they're asking where you and Dad are."

"Have you changed your mind about marrying Simon?"

Evie wouldn't let how her mother spat his name bother her. "No, I haven't." She inhaled and let the deep breath out slow. "Mom, I wish you and Dad could be happy for me. This is what I want. Simon makes me happy, happier than I have a right to be."

"I'm sorry, Eve. We can't."

Evie was sorry, also. "Will you and Dad be alone tomorrow?"

"No. The Smythes are coming to dinner. You remember them, don't you, dear? Their son is a partner with a high profile law firm in Concord."

How could she forget? Since she told Felicia about her engagement, she constantly brought him to her attention. "Yes, I remember." She sighed. "I'll be by in the morning for awhile." Felicia didn't answer, letting Evie know how ticked off she was. She might never get over her defying her wishes. Didn't her mother remember what happened to her when she thought her life might be better without Simon?

Before her mother could fly into another of her rants, Evie said hastily, "Mom, I'm sorry you and Dad can't make it. We'll miss you." She flipped the phone closed, unable to quell her disappointment.

For just once, she wished Felicia and Harrison would share in her joy.

Simon looked over his shoulder at her as though sensing her distress.

She smiled wanly.

He excused himself and walked toward her.

A woman Evie didn't know, wearing a red silk blouse, a sleek black leather skirt and stiletto black leather boots intercepted him. Her hand curved around his arm, cardinal- colored acrylic nails holding him in place. She said something and smiled at him, her ample bosom brushing his forearm. Simon laughed, extricated his arm from her hold and continued to Evie.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his eyes searching her face.

"My parents aren't coming." She couldn't keep the regret from her voice.

"That's too bad."

At their backs, amongst bales of hay, Felix Guthrie on the violin, Homer Parsons on the banjo and Clinton David on the washboard strummed Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.

"They're missing a great party." She crossed her arms against her chest, stared at her feet shifting invisible pebbles around on the plank floor.

"Someone needs a hug." He swooped her into his arms and twirled in a circle.

Her feet lifted into the air. She glanced around the barn. "Put me down, Simon. Everyone's looking at us." She slapped his shoulder but couldn't help smiling. He always knew what she needed and when.

"They are?" He set her down, placed his hand at the pit of her back and tilted her. A devilish smile formed on his lips before he captured her mouth in a sizzling kiss.

Whistles and catcalls sounded through the barn.

The kiss ended, but he didn't release her. "Whadda say? Want to take this upstairs to the hayloft?"

She straightened. "You're bad."

"But adorable."

She giggled. "But adorable."

"Chief," Judge Harrigan said, "if you can tear yourself away from your beautiful fiancé for a minute, can you settle a dispute about the best handgun for protection?"

"Great," Simon said in her ear. "The residents are arming themselves." He nuzzled her earlobe. "No one will be safe in town now."

She watched him trot off, his tight buns fevering her flesh. Maybe she should have taken him up on his offer.

Simon returned to her side a moment later. "All settled."

"What did you tell them?"

"I—"

The barn doors opened.

A gust of wind and puffs of snow blew in with a man wearing a long, brown robe tied at the waist with a length of coarse looking rope and Jesus sandals.

Evie didn't recognize him. "Who's he?"

Without taking his eye off the man, Simon said, "I think he's our Christmas stranger. The man who no one knows."

For as long as she could remember a stranger crashed the Wolfes' Christmas Eve party. It had become so usual, it wasn't unusual. Tradition, if anything. "He looks like a monk." The closest monastery was in Rogers, one hundred miles away.

"He does."

"Don't you find it strange?"

"Why?"

"Yes, why would you?" Why would she? She thought back to her childhood to these very nights. "I used to think these strangers were God's emissaries sent to us to share in the excitement of the anniversary of His birth. What did the stranger look like last year?"

He thought a moment, then smiled. "He wore scruffy dungarees, a flannel work shirt and steel-toed work boots."

She shrugged. "That's not so strange."

"No, but the walking staff he carried was."

"Walking staff? Like the Three Wise Men?"

"Uh-huh. Hand-crafted from hickory and carved with religious engravings. It looked old. Really old."

"Geez." Maybe God did send these strangers to them.

Dan and Keertana welcomed him with warm smiles and obvious joy in their hearts.

He said nary a word as monks wont to do, but allowed Keertana to guide him to the place of honor— the head of the table.

Keertana stepped aside and rang the dinner bell, a metal triangle with a metal wand. "Dinner is served."

Chattering gaily and smiling widely, everyone gathered round.

Evie sat between Dan and Keertana and across from Simon and the other guests took seats around the twenty-foot rectangular table.

Keertana bowed her head and clasped her hands in front of her. "Kepmite 'lmanej tat'n teluisit Wekwisit Niskam, aqq Ewujit Niskam, aqq usjiwli Niskam. Sa 'q me'j nantem wa 'so'k tl-kepmite'lmanej. Na Tliaj."

"Glory be." Dan turned to Evie.

"Would you say grace, dear?"

"I'd be honored." Bowing her head, she said, "Bless us, O Lord, and these Your gifts which we are about to receive from Your bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," rang through the barn.

Dan looked across the table at Simon.

"Son?"

Simon lowered his head. "Father in Heaven, we praise You for giving us Your son to be our Savior and Lord. Bless us all as we gather here tonight and let us live happily in Your love. Hear our prayer, loving Father, for we ask this in the name of Jesus. Amen."

A chorus of "Amens" followed.

Keertana raised her glass of wine. "Eat hearty, but let us not forget the less fortunate."

Simon's cell phone rang.

Chapter Thirty

Simon stood. "Excuse me." He strode to a corner of the barn.

"Chief Wolfe," he said, answering his phone. Never removing his gaze from Evie's face, he listened. "Ten minutes."

Evie placed her napkin on the table, excused herself and walked over to Simon as he flipped the phone closed. "Who was it?"

"My snitch. He says he has something for me on Miller's murder."

"Oh, Simon, it's Christmas Eve. Can't it wait?"

"I won't be gone long." She knew how much this unsolved murder bothered him and because of that put up no more fuss. "Be careful." Standing on tiptoes, she kissed him on the lips. "I love you."

"As I love you."

Simon eased the four-by-four against the curb on Main Street across from Bennett's Pharmacy. He stepped from the vehicle, walked across the street and into the alley. The sound of Evie's chuckle filled his ears. It popped up in his mind at the most unlikely of times, like a welcome stranger.

Standing in the darkened and narrow passageway between two brick buildings, he blew into his hands and closed his mind to the putrid smell of garbage and urine. When, after ten minutes of waiting with no sign of his snitch, footsteps sounded from behind him. He turned and watched a lanky man, dressed in a well-worn parka, jeans and mukluks swagger toward him from the opposite end of the alley. He seemed vaguely familiar to Simon, but he couldn't place him.

"So, we meet again, Mr. Big Chief of Police. I've waited a long time for this. Four years, in fact."

Now Simon placed him. Billy-Bob Parker, a scumbag with an arm's length of arrests. Simon was detrimental in sending him away for rape.

"What do you want?"

He laughed and pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans. "What do you think I want? Payback."

Simon wagged a finger. "Tsk-tsk. An Irishman bringing a gun to a fistfight." His temper burned hot with the thought of being set-up. Payback would be a bitch for Parker, and wait until he got his hands on his snitch. Ignoring the Beretta, he hunched his shoulders and hurled himself through the air and rammed his head into Parker's stomach, knocking him backward. Parker struggled to raise his hand that held the gun. Simon grabbed him by the wrist and turned it inward. The gun went off. Simon cried out.

Through the haze of pain, the voices of men and laughter wafted in from the street. He closed his eyes. Evie's face, dusted a rosy hue with happiness, her eyes sparkling in happiness, reflected off his eyelids. There it was, her chuckle, like nothing would give her greater pleasure than to grant his every wish. Grant me this wish, Evie. That I will live to love you.

The pain became hardly more than an inconvenient twitch. His vision twinkled. He saw Evie standing over Miller's body, a knife dripping with blood in her hand, and heard her pleas: Please help me, Simon. They think I'm a murderer. He swallowed the sickening remorse and compelled himself to stand. Evie needs my help. I must save her.

Teetering on wobbly legs, his head wracked with pain, he looked around. In that instant, he sensed himself falling. His legs gave out and he hit the ground with a heavy thud. Snow puffed around him, rising in a rush, then slowly falling as soft as a baby's breath around his face. He tasted iron. The earth trembled beneath his body. He heard heavy footsteps, someone running, and men yelling. Shifting his head a fraction, he opened an eye, only a slit, and saw two men receding into the darkness. Giving in to blessed oblivion, he closed his eyes. "E...vie. I love you."

***

Evie checked her watch. Where was Simon? He'd been gone an hour and a half. He should be back by now. She shivered suddenly, but it lasted a mere second. Like a snow squall that arose from nowhere and vanished again for no apparent reason.

She looked at Keertana whose eyes had opened wide at the same moment, either in shock or surprise. Had she experienced the same feeling? Before she could ask, the barn doors opened and Aubrey walked in, looking clearly distressed. She recognized the look—the look people wore when they had bad news to impart. Her forearms prickled. Her heart felt like an anchor in her chest. The gay chatter and the laughter around her came to an abrupt halt, like everyone knew what Aubrey would say and that this would be a Christmas Eve they would never forget.

He peered around, spotted Evie and sprinted to her. "Can I talk to you outside?"

She couldn't move. "What is it, Aubrey? Something's happened to Simon, hasn't it?"

He looked at Dan and Keertana who now stood behind their chairs, as though readying to dash for the exit. "There...there was an altercation in an alley. I'm sorry. There's no easy way to say this. Simon...Simon's dead."

From somewhere else, it seemed, she heard gasps and exclamations of alarm. Her own voice failed her. She couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe. It couldn't be true. Simon wasn't dead. He was going to marry her. He loved her and promised he would never leave her.

One by one, she stared at the faces looking at her until she came to the head of the table. The monk nibbled on fruitcake, as though nothing had happened.

"No, it is not true!" Keertana said.

Dan moved to stand beside Keertana. "Sweetheart—"

"It is not true! I will not believe it." Keertana wrapped Evie in her arms.

She instantly calmed. "I want to see him. Where is he, Aubrey?"

"At the hospital, but—"

"Take me to him." When Aubrey shifted his gaze from her to Dan and Keertana, she said, "Now."

"We will go with you, Piloqutinnguaq," Keertana said.

She nodded, amazed and soothed by Keertana's composure.

"Everything will be all right, you will see."

How could say that? Her life was over. Nothing would ever be all right for her again. Already, her heart filled with the echoes of her lost love. A mournful song she tried to block, but couldn't. It sang on and on.

Evie rode with Aubrey in the police cruiser and Dan and Keertana followed behind in their truck.

"Have you seen him?" she asked, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her jacket. He shook his head. "The attending intern at the hospital ID'd him."

"H-how'd it happen?" I won't be able to live without him. I'll kill myself and be with him.

"Gunshot to the chest."

She shuddered. Simon was dead. She wanted to die, too. She envisioned her wedding dress, hanging from a hanger on her closet door, the single white rose she'd intended to carry, Simon standing at the altar, beaming with his love for her. Oh God. Why? Was He punishing her for what she had done? Tears filled her eyes, her heart ached. Simon couldn't be gone. He just couldn't. Why couldn't you take me? she asked God. I was the one who did the wrong. Simon didn't deserve to die. She clutched the medal at her neck. Our Lady of Lourdes, if you are to grant me one miracle, let this be a horrible mistake. Even as she prayed the words, in her heart she knew even God could not undo this what He had done.

What traffic there was on the highway, Aubrey passed, siren screaming and lights flashing. They made record time to the hospital.

Evie opened the door of the patrol car and hopped from the vehicle before Aubrey had a chance to come to a full stop. Her heart hammering, she ran the short distance to Emergency, hauled open the doors and sprinted to the reception desk.

"Where's Simon Wolfe? I'm his fiancé, and I want to see him now."

Aubrey, Keertana and Dan flanked her.

The nurse pointed to her left. "He's—"

Evie followed the direction of the nurse's outstretched finger. The others rushed through the hallway behind her. Outside the curtain, Evie halted. Keertana placed a hand on her elbow.

"We will wait here."

Evie nodded, tears clouding her vision. Taking one hesitant step, then another, she clasped the curtain and slowly pushed it aside. She stared at the blood-soaked sheet covering the body ... Simon's body. This wasn't some horrible mistake. Oh God. She had thought she needed to see him for herself to verify, but realized now, in this moment of truth, she couldn't see him this way. Not this way. Feeling like her world collapsed around her, she backed up and hit something.

"Hello, sweetheart."

Recognizing the voice, she cried out, turned and stared into Simon's face. "Oh, thank you God." She flung herself into his arms and sobbed against his chest. "When Aubrey...I thought you were dead. My life was over. I couldn't live without you."

He hugged her fiercely. "I'm fine. Just a little blow to the head. Take more than that to put me down for good."

This made her realize how close she came to losing him. They worked in a dangerous business, but it was a vital part of them, one neither of them would ever be able to do without.

Dan, Keertana and Aubrey joined them. Dan hugged Simon, then shook his head, blinking back tears. Aubrey stepped in and clasped Simon by the shoulder, but said nothing. Keertana made no move toward Simon. He noticed. "Tepkunset-nákúset."

"Do not Moon-Sun me. It is a terrible thing you did. Frightening us like that." Keertana reached under the collar of his shirt, clasped his talisman and ran her fingers over the Malachite. "It offers you health, vitality and protection, but only so much." She slapped his chest.

He raised his arms at his sides. "What? What happened wasn't my fault."

She looked into his eyes, long and steady. "That is not what I want to hear."

"It won't happen again."

"That is better."

"What did happen, Simon?" Evie asked.

Simon related the incident. "The gun went off into Parker's chest at the same time someone knocked me on the back of the head. I passed out. I guess my badge and ID must have fallen off my belt and onto him. Thus, the screw-up in identity."

"Your snitch set you up," Aubrey said.

"Yep, probably for money, and I suspect he was the one who hit me."

Evie could tell from the set of Simon's jaw the matter hadn't ended.

Dan looked up and down the corridor. "Where's the attending physician? I'd like to have a word with him."

"It's not his fault, Pa. He's new to the area and didn't know me from a hole in the ground."

Something dawned on Evie. She turned and faced Keertana. "You knew?"

"I had a feeling, yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would you have believed me?"

"Yes, I would have."

She raised her eyebrows a fraction, her mouth curving upward.

Evie realized Keertana had a point. "I would have wanted to." In fact, she would have clutched onto anything and held on tightly if it meant the slightest hope.

A nurse walked toward them and handed Simon a sheet of paper. "You'll need to follow these instructions to the letter, and remember, if you experience vomiting or become easily confused, return to the hospital immediately."

Evie took the instruction sheet from Simon's hand and scanned it. "It says here you should be awakened every two hours."

"Yes." The nurse turned to Simon. "If you have a headache, Doctor Wooten said to take acetaminophen or other aspirin-free medication and to take things easy for the next few days. The brain needs time to heal, and it's important all symptoms of the concussion have cleared up before returning to normal activities."

When the nurse left, Evie turned to Simon and slapped him on the arm. "A bump on the head? You have a concussion and don't give me that sheepish look, mister."

Dan zippered his parka. "Why don't we head back to the barn. I'm suddenly famished."

Simon raised a finger. "I'll meet you there. I have a stop to make. There's someone who needs a serious talking to."

"No!" Evie, Dan, Keertana and Aubrey said, almost simultaneously.

Chapter Thirty-One

In the parking lot, Simon sent Dan and Keertana back to their guests.

He stood at the driver's door of the police cruiser and argued a good case with Evie for spending the night at his camp.

She had none of it. "Do you think I'll sleep better knowing you're alone and possibly suffering from nausea, headaches and dizziness and maybe passing out? There'll be no one to help you." She wagged a finger in his face. "Don't think for a minute, mister, you're fooling me. Tomorrow is soon enough to track down your snitch and uphold the law."

Simon didn't argue.

"Aubrey." Simon scribbled the Roach's address on a slip of paper and handed it to him. "Find him and haul him in. Have him cool his heels in a cell until morning. I'll deal with him then."

After Aubrey dropped them off at the cottage, Evie had Simon bundled in bed two minutes later. He would have argued if only to give her the pleasure of putting him in place, but he didn't possess the strength. Instead, he welcomed getting off his feet and the warmth of the down comforter. The doctor had assured him sleep was safe, but he wanted to stay awake to think about the setup tonight and if it had anything to do with the murders. If Evie had left him to his own resources, he would have spent the night tracking down his snitch and having the pleasure of carting Rodney's weed ass to the station.

"How's your head? Is it sore?"

"No."

She cocked a brow and folded her arms against her chest. "You have six stitches and a bump the size of a plum on the back of your head, and you expect me to believe you don't have a headache?"

"It's manageable." Where he never took drugs of any kind, acetaminophen would knock him out.

"Sure?"

He nodded and immediately regretted it.

"I'll heat some soup."

When Evie left, he found a comfortable position for his head on the pillow and fought sleep by thinking about the murders. Which one of the many wives who had cheating husbands wanted them dead? The murderer was smart and he wished for something that would lead to her identity. Any one of the widows made perfect suspects if it were not for their ironclad alibis. Trixie could be considered a suspect for Miller's murder, but not Coulton's or Teed's. Besides she had an unshakable alibi for Miller's death—parent/teacher conference. She couldn't confirm her whereabouts for either of the other murders, but it didn't matter. He'd already determined the same person killed the three men.

When Evie reentered the bedroom, he stared into space, deeply entrenched in visual images of a faceless woman wielding a knife over a man who pleaded for his life.

"Simon?"

He fought through the miasma of his thoughts. The concern in her voice spurred him to reassure her. He smiled. "Yes, sweetheart."

She placed a hand against her heart. "You frightened me. You looked comatose with your eyes open."

"Just lost in thought." He straightened his legs when she placed a tray holding a bowl of chicken soup, crackers, and a cup of hot tea in his lap.

"Thinking about your snitch?"

"Actually, no." Now that she brought it up, he looked forward to psychologically torturing the weasel. "The murders."

"Come up with anything new?"

"Only that anyone is capable of killing."

"That gives you many possible suspects."

"We know we're looking for someone who is seeking revenge on every man who cheats on their wives who she comes in contact with."

"That still gives you many possible suspects."

"We finally thought we got lucky when we got a name. If only Staci Gardner existed, which goes to show again how smart our murderer is."

"Gardner was my mother's maiden name." She sat beside him.

He stared at her, surprised by this bit of information. "I thought it was O'Malley."

She shrugged. "Gardner was my grandmother's first husband's last name. He died in a car accident shortly after my mother's birth. A year later, she married Patrick O'Malley. Mom always went by O'Malley, but my step-grandfather never legally adopted her. In fact, Felicia is not my mother's given name, either. She's christened Anastasia, but my dotty old great-grandmother kept calling her Felicia. The name took."

He stared at the comforter. Staci Gardner. Anastasia Gardner. One part of his brain told him he was reaching if he thought Felicia capable of such heinous killings, while the other envisioned Felicia castrating a man. The woman was as cold as a freezer. Did Harrison run around on her? No, Evie would have mentioned it if she knew. He felt Evie watching him and raised his gaze from the bed to her. "What?"

"What are you thinking?"

"Anastasia Gardner. Staci Gardner. See any resemblance there?" It took only a second for it to register in her brain.

She stood and backed away from him. "You can't possibly be considering my mother a suspect."

He wouldn't answer her directly. "People tend to use some part of their names in aliases."

"Dad loves her. He wouldn't cheat on her."

Some men loved their wives and still cheated on them. He simply looked at her.

"Besides, Mom would have told me if he had ...does."

"Would she? You and your mother are not close."

She flopped down on the edge of the bed and stared at him. "She couldn't kill anyone. She's spent almost her entire life caring for the sick." She shook her head. "No, I refuse to consider her a suspect."

He took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb over hers. "We determined long ago we're looking for a woman with two faces. The one who is highly educated and intelligent, an intellect and who probably holds down a demanding job, one exacting details. The other, the one who kills without compunction and for retribution."

She stood, shaking her head. "My mother wouldn't kill anyone, not even if her life depended on it."

He already thought ahead to tomorrow, getting Felicia's whereabouts for the nights of the murders, getting a sample of her DNA. Detective Pyke's witness had identified the woman in Tallulah's sketch as the same woman Teed, the third victim, left the bar with on the night he was killed.

"Simon."

Dimly, Evie's voice broke into his thoughts. He placed the tray on the floor and smiled. "Isn't it time to coddle me?"

She moved out of his grasp when he reached for her. "You're not going to distract me. I can see where your mind is going. You're hypothesizing, calculating, extracting and deciphering. My mother is old, too old to be gallivanting around in bars, picking up men."

"Not that old. Fifty, and she's still a looker."

"She's not strong enough to haul a dead body up a hill."

"A small incline, and your mother has a personal trainer and works out three times a week." He envisioned the woman in the sketch. It held a strong resemblance to Felicia, just as it did to Evie. "What about the drawing?"

"What about it?"

"Don't you think it resembles your mother, just a little?"

She thought about it a moment. "Maybe a little. Have you already arrested, tried and convicted her?"

"I'm simply presenting the facts."

"She hates Chesley. It's foggy and damp and frizzes her hair, and Sibbett is a little town she passes through on her way to somewhere else."

The desperation in her voice to prove her mother's innocence brought Simon out of cop mode. He patted the bed. "Come here." When she sat, he wrapped his arm around her.

She snuggled against him. "My mom wouldn't kill anyone."

"But you can't deny the facts."

She drew back and studied him. "Simon?"

"I know, sweetheart. I'm having a hard time seeing her as our killer, too."

"You really mean that?"

"Of course."

"But it's not going to stop you from checking her out."

He hated himself for the need to, but what kind of cop would he be if he didn't? "I have to. Do you understand?"

"It's going to be a waste of time."

"I know." Truthfully, he didn't know for certain.

"You have enough to take her in for questioning."

"I'll be discreet and diplomatic."

"Once you determine Mom is not the killer, I'm going to say, 'I told you so'."

"Uh-huh." In fact, he looked forward to it. If Felicia was their killer, he didn't like to think what effect it would have on Evie. "Tomorrow is Christmas. Mom and Dad's having a dinner party. Can you wait until Boxing Day?"

He shouldn't, and if it were anyone else, he wouldn't. All establishments were closed tomorrow, and since the murderer seemed to pick up her victims at bars, adulterous husbands would be safe, at least for the one day.

"Okay." He relaxed when she nestled against his chest. He stroked her arm until she sighed from fatigue. It had been a long, trying day for her. "I love you, Evie. Nothing or no one will come between us again."

"Not ever again. When I thought I lost you tonight ...."

"Shh. Go to sleep, Evie."

"I'm so tired, Simon." Her voice sounded husky. "I set the alarm on my watch for every two hours."

"I'll be fine."

She fell into him and within a moment her breathing evened. He had a busy day ahead of him tomorrow. He'd get little sleep tonight.

Chapter Thirty-Two

At his desk at the HPD, Simon studied the photocopies of Felicia's charge cards. The woman loved to shop and had expensive tastes, but then, he had always known that. The charges she amassed wasn't what held his interest or concerned him, though. With a red marker he circled the charges for gas in Sibbett and Riverside-Westfield. On the day of Coulton's murder, there were also charges for accommodations at the Comfort Inn in Concord. She could have had a drink in a bar in Sibbett, met up with Coulton, rendezvoused at the motel, done the murder, all in time to check into the Comfort Inn at eleven that night.

For the first time, he wished for a closer relationship with his future mother-in-law—his future mother-in-law. Hell's bells. He could see the headlines: Chief of Police Simon Wolfe, questions future mother-in-law, Anastasia, aka Felicia Madison, in the murders of Honeydale resident, Douglas Miller, Sibbett resident, Richard Coulton and Chesley resident, Harold Teed. Be that as it might, he couldn't overlook Felicia as a suspect. He made a jab for the phone to call her to arrange a visit just as Evie came into his office.

He brought his arm to his side and yawned. What sleep he succeeded in getting last night was plagued with worry over what he had to do today. He hadn't managed any shut eye the night before, either. Just as well. The phone ringing one ring every two hours beginning at midnight would only have disturbed his sleep. His mother, he suspected. Though she'd entrusted his care to Evie, she would want to make sure he was awakened every two hours.

"Set those papers down," Evie said, placing a cup of tea in front of him. "It's time for a break. You don't want to overdo it. The doctor said rest for twenty-four hours and to take it easy for the remainder of the week. You've been going non-stop since we came in at seven."

If everyone kept nagging and hovering over him, he would surely suffer further physical hurt, probably at his own hand. He plopped his feet on the desk, laced his fingers behind his head, forgetting about his injury and immediately withdrew his hands.

Evie noticed. "Still tender, huh?" She tilted her chin, looking as though he proved her point.

He narrowed his eyes. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you're getting some perverse satisfaction knowing it.

"Not at all."

He arched his brows as though to ask, 'Tell me the truth'.

She measured a quarter of inch with her thumb and forefinger. "Maybe that much."

Tallulah stuck her head in the doorway. "How're you feeling, Simon? Any headaches, dizziness or nausea?"

Yes, yes and yes, but not from the concussion. "I'm fine, darlin'."

"Need anything?"

"I'm good." He sipped his tea.

"If you need anything, just holler."

"Aren't you the one who's always telling me not to holler?"

"I'll make an exception this once." With that said, she left.

Evie smiled. "She's been running around all morning, wringing her hands, throwing Hail Mary's and Our Father's to Heaven and cursing your foolishness for going into the alley alone."

"Harrumph." His mind was already focused on Felicia's credit card charges. As soon as he could get rid of Evie, he would study them more closely. He was getting close. He could feel it. "Aren't you supposed to be on patrol?"

"Aubrey's covering for me so I can tend to you."

Great. Everyone pitched in on the coddling, bitching, pecking, and nagging. He grimaced, knowing how he sounded but, Hell's bells, he had work to do, a murder to solve. "Don't you have last minute wedding preparations to make?"

She took a sip of his tea and looked at him over the rim of the cup. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

He shook his head and, in a mindless, nervous gesture, ran his thumb up the corner of the twenty-some sheets of Felicia's credit card charges for the past several months. The sound, psst, psst, rang loudly in the ensuing silence. Then he saw it on her face—the look that translates to an epiphany.

She removed her hand from under her chin and motioned to his hand. "Whatcha got there?"

Busted. Crap. He handed her the sheets of paper and braced himself for tsunami-like turbulence.

Recognizing them for what they were, she asked, "How'd you get these?"

"Not through legal channels."

She arched her brows. He knew what she thought. "The guy I get to do this kind of stuff is discreet. He won't say anything to anyone, so it won't get out I'm investigating your mother."

"As a murder suspect."

He didn't let that hang in the air, not a nanosecond. "Thanks for understanding."

She nodded. "You have a job to do just as you had when you considered me a suspect, which, by the way, I haven't forgotten. You're looking down the wrong rabbit hole again. The only thing that's going to come of your investigation into my mother is hard feelings."

He virtually felt the sting of repercussions hitting his face from it. But it was okay. At least then he'd know for certain. "Check the dates and charges circled in red."

She took the sheets from his hand and scanned the pages. "Uh-huh. Mom was in Sibbett the night Coulton was killed, but she also booked a room in Concord four hours later. Why do you have Riverside-Westfield circled? The third murder was in Chesley."

"It's located outside Sibbett. About twenty miles or so. An hour's drive to where she spent the night."

"I know where it is and if I remember the geography correctly, Chesley is in the opposite direction from Riverside-Westfield. You're saying she went out of her way and drove to Chesley, met up with Teed, killed him, then backtracked to Riverside-Westfield?"

"Maybe she had business in Chesley." He watched her worry her bottom lip. "I already told you. She hates Chesley. She went there to shop once when I was little and has never been back. Besides, even if she had business there, which I doubt, that doesn't mean she killed Teed."

"It could put her in the time and place, though."

She looked at him. "You've given this a lot of thought."

"It's all I'm able to do."

"Aw. Is the patient feeling closed in?"

His grimace came without intent. "Does your mother know anyone in Riverside-Westfield? She wouldn't go there for anything else. I wouldn't think, anyway. It's a small place. Population four thousand nine hundred and forty-nine." He watched her run her fingers along her scalp and knew the moment she concluded the possibility. He also knew the effect this had on her and sympathized.

"You're leaving no stone unturned."

He stood, walked to her and massaged her shoulders.

"Any chance of it being a coincidence?" Her voice sounded sad, resigned.

He wanted to tell her there wasn't such a thing in police work, but couldn't bring himself to remind her of something she already knew. She reached across the desk, grabbed the murder file and flipped through it until she found the sketch. He walked around her and leaned against the desk, his legs crossed at the ankles.

"Mom does resemble this woman a little."

More than a little, but it wasn't something he would tell her. "A little."

"When are you going to bring her in?"

"I thought I'd go to her and question her informally. Show her the photo and take it from there."

"I'm going with you."

"Evie—"

"I wasn't asking permission."

Chapter Thirty-Three

In the hallway outside his office, Tallulah asked from Checkpoint Charlie, "Where are you two off to?"

Simon placed his hand around Evie's waist. "For a bite to eat. Can we bring you back anything, darlin'?"

"No. I'm good." She held up a brown paper bag. "Turkey sandwich."

Evie turned and Simon followed her through the hall toward the rear exit.

"You haven't forgotten about Parker, have you?" Tallulah asked.

"No. We can hold him a while longer." Simon wanted the weasel to stew. Maybe then he'd be more cooperative when he talked to him.

"He's yanging for his lawyer."

"Leave him yang."

"He's giving me a headache running his metal coffee cup along the bars."

"Then, darlin', take the cup from him."

At her cottage where Evie changed out of her uniform and into a turtleneck, jeans and sneakers, Simon listened attentively as she suggested ways to broach the subject of the murders with Felicia. He told her what he had in mind. She liked his approach better.

On the drive to her parents' home, she proposed that she would speak to Felicia alone. He argued against it strongly, but appreciated that she wanted to protect him. She compromised. He offered concessions and made promises. She reciprocated. He'd listened to her reasons why he was mistaken. Very good arguments they were, and they discussed and argued until ending up agreeing to disagree.

He hoped they'd get through this without fallout, but the odds of that happening would be the same as having an enjoyable picnic on the Siberian Tundra.

Deep down, she knew he had to follow up and that he would be diplomatic and handle Felicia as he would blown glass. Right to the last minute, he thought she would back out. True, there had been moments when he second-guessed himself, as well. Was he seeing a resemblance to the killer and Felicia which didn't exist? No, Evie saw it, too. Was it fate that placed Felicia in the three places where the victims were killed? Possible, he admitted. Did he see this as an opportunity to sock it to Felicia and release some of the pent-up animosity he felt toward her for all those years she ostracized him for his mixed heritage? No. Subconsciously? He searched his soul. No. Was it a stretch to consider Felicia the-do-gooder-who-gives-to-the-poor a suspect? No. History was filled with people who committed murders, yet led normal and fulfilling lives. Two faces.

He pulled her Explorer to a stop in the Madison driveway, shut off the engine and sat back.

"I'm glad Mom was at home and Dad isn't. I want to get this over with and prove to you she didn't kill those men."

He clasped her hand. "However this turns out, I want you to know I'm taking no pleasure questioning your mother." Truthfully, he didn't look forward to what he was about to do.

She looked into his eyes. "I do believe it, and I also know you wouldn't use your position to settle old scores or use this interview to hurt her."

He nodded and looked up at the Cape Cod-style home with its snow-topped roof, wreaths with red bows adorning every window and white smoke puffing from the fireplace chimney. The house looked warm and inviting, but the mistress of the manor was anything but. Felicia had a problem with him, always had, but he overlooked her prejudices and forgave her snide remarks. Her dislike for him would only intensify after this, whichever way the interview transpired.

"Ready?" Evie asked.

"If you are." He looked at her.

She nodded and opened the car door.

He followed behind her up the snow-blown walkway and onto the front stoop.

The sun sat high in an azure sky, the air sharp with the bite of winter.

She turned to him and patted his chest. "You aren't wearing your vest."

"Ha. Ha."

The door opened and Felicia Madison, outfitted in a black silk pant suit, low-heeled black leather shoes and wearing the finest of jewelry, stood staring at him. Judging from the stunned expression on her face, she hadn't expected him to accompany Evie.

"Felicia." He put on his best smile. I'm fine. Thank you for asking. Just a little blow to the head, and as you can see, the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.

"Simon." Felicia recovered quickly, patted her meticulously coifed hair and acknowledged him with a nod.

Evie stepped forward and kissed her mother on the cheek. "Hi, Mom."

Felicia turned up her nose at Simon's boots. "Why don't we go into the sitting room? After you called, Eve, I asked Martha to prepare lunch for us. If you'll excuse me, I'll tell her there'll be three of us."

Simon stepped into the foyer, dried his boots on the red and black flowered Oriental rug and followed Evie through the hallway and into an expansive room filled with antiques, fine china and crystal. He sat beside her on the loveseat, unbuttoned his suede jacket and looked around. He had never been anywhere in this house except for the kitchen, and even then, the time was long ago, when he was a child.

"This is nice." He looked around. To his right, a Louis XV style walnut two door bibliotheque graced one wall. Tub chairs, matching the French Art Deco carved mahogany loveseat, sat on either side of the stone fireplace. Overhead a Louis XV style bronze and crystal thirteen light, eight arm chandelier shone down on the room.

"Hardly a sitting room. I was never allowed in here as a child and now as an adult, I feel out of place."

He noticed how she sat on the edge of her seat and forced her back and close to him.

"This is not going to go well." Despite the warmth in the room, she shivered. "No matter how you direct the conversation, or how carefully you phrase your sentences, my mother's going to be on to you like an anteater. She's astute and intuitive. Don't underestimate her." She chewed on a thumbnail.

With one hand, he rubbed the nape of her neck and with the other, he removed her thumb from her mouth. "Everything's going to be fine. Trust me." He squeezed her hand to reassure her.

Felicia issued Martha last minute instructions, her sultry voice carried into the sitting room from the hallway. She entered with a flourish of authority and settled on the wingback chair across from them. "Lunch will be ready in a few." She focused her attention on Evie. "All set for the big day, dear? I'm sorry I haven't been able to help more with the wedding preparations, but," she flipped a perfectly manicured hand in the air, "my job demands so much of my time."

Simon settled back against the sofa, recognizing the excuse for what it was—paltry and phony. If she wanted to make time, she would. Felicia could take no pleasure in helping her daughter prepare for a marriage she would not sanction.

"I understand, Mom. Simon and I decided on a small, intimate ceremony. Shelley and her partner have been a big help, buying in Concord what I couldn't buy on the island, and they even hand-crafted the pew markers, keepsakes and wedding favors."

"That's nice, dear. Didn't you tell me Shelley's friend is hearing impaired? A virus when she was a teen, if memory serves."

Evie nodded.

"They're having great success with cochlear implants."

"For her type of impairment?"

"Yes. It's a small electronic device that sits behind the ear and a second portion that's surgically placed under the skin. She might want to look into it."

"I'll mention it to her." Evie smiled.

"When are they arriving?"

"Tomorrow. Will you be coming to my bachelorette party?"

Felicia took no time in answering as though the excuse were well rehearsed. "I'd love to, but I have a previous commitment, one I couldn't postpone."

Simon envisioned Felicia slipping a twenty under the G-string of a male stripper and shouting, 'Take it off. Take it all off.' He stifled a chuckle. Like that would ever happen.

Martha entered with their lunch. She rolled the brass serving cart to Felicia. "Will that be all, ma'am?"

"Yes. Thank you." Felicia took the China teapot in her hand, fingers delicately poised on the pea-size ball on the cover, and poured two cups of tea. "What brings you both here today?" She handed a cup to Evie, then Simon and placed the tray of sandwiches on the coffee table before them. "I'm sure it wasn't to pass the time of day."

With his free hand, Simon took a wedge of lobster sandwich. "I need your help, Felicia."

She arched a penciled blond brow. "With?"

"Douglas Miller's murder." He bit into the sandwich and chewed.

"The young man who was castrated? The murder you can't solve?"

Simon let the dig slide. "Yes. To both."

"I don't know what help I can be."

He set his cup of tea on the crystal coaster on the Belker table beside him and chose his words carefully. He had Felicia's cooperation and interest and didn't want to lose it. "I'm led to believe Mr. Miller's assailant might have suffered an injury from the knife she used. Assailants usually do in these circumstances."

She nodded. "I see. As head ER nurse I might know something. Surely, you already checked with the staff on duty that night."

"You weren't working?" He'd checked the duty roster and already knew Felicia had been on her days off.

"I don't believe I was."

"Maybe she came in for treatment the next day or later?" He pulled the composite from his inside breast pocket and unfolded it in front of her. "Does she look familiar to you?"

She studied the woman in the sketch and shook her head.

"I'm sure you see many different faces in your line of work and where this happened so long ago," he spread his palms outward, "memories tend to get fuzzy. Take a moment, then look at the picture again."

She did.

He recognized the glimmer of recognition the instant she saw the resemblance to herself.

"She looks like me, in a trashy sort of way." She picked up the sheet by the corners as though touching it would contaminate her.

He leaned back and looked at Evie.

Felicia frowned. "I don't recognize her. Do you know her name?" She knocked her head. "Stupid question. If you knew her name, you'd be able to check hospital records. If she was treated at the hospital or any hospital for that matter, she would have had to present her insurance card to reception, that is, if she didn't want to get billed for the treatment."

He hoped it wouldn't occur to her he would have checked with the hospital for any cases of a knife injury for the night in question. "We think she used an alias. Staci Gardner." Just as he had read in her face when she recognized the resemblance of the woman in the sketch to herself, he saw the moment she realized the connection to her name and deduced the true purpose of their visit.

She threw the sheet on the table. "How dare you!"

He felt the chill of her wrath. "Felicia—"

She turned to Evie. "And you, Eve. How could you?"

He leaned forward, putting his body as a barrier between the two women. "Evie had nothing to do with this."

"Mom," Evie said, her voice calm. "Simon is just doing his job. You saw the resemblance yourself. What do you expect him to think?"

"I suppose next you're going to ask me where I was on the night of Miller's murder."

For starters. "Yes, ma'am."

With a huff and a remark about setting the chief of police straight, she strode to the Louis XV style Kingwood, rosewood and mahogany, bronze-mounted slant front secretary desk and took her day planner in her hand. "What was the date?" She glared at him, a look meant to intimidate. He wasn't.

He gave her the date and watched her flip the pages over with angry strokes. "Harrison and I had dinner with the Mayor," she looked at him over the rim of her reading glasses, "— and you can rest assured, Simon, she will be hearing about this — and her husband at The Pier. We had dinner reservations for seven."

"What time did you return home?"

"I don't remember exactly. Had I known I would be considered a murder suspect and would need an alibi I would have recorded the time of every occurrence that night."

"An approximate time."

She shrugged. "Probably nine or so."

Miller was killed between eight and eight-thirty. "Did you leave the restaurant at any time during dinner?"

She threw her hands in the air. "Honestly, Simon."

"Answer the question, please."

"No!" She took a huge breath, and let it out in a rush. "No, I did not."

"Where were you on the nights of November 16th and December 15th?"

She gave him a look that assured him this would never be forgotten or forgiven and flipped the pages forward in her day planner. "I don't have anything marked for November 16th." She turned over the page. "I was in Concord the next day. Shopping, I think."

"Did you leave the day before?" He knew she had.

She squinted and looked off to a corner. "I may have. I don't recall, though."

"And December 15th?"

Reading from her notations, she said, "I was in Snyder Mountain giving a speech to the graduating class of nurses at the university."

"Make any stops along the way?"

"Not that I remember." She placed her finger against her lip as though something occurred to her. "That was the day of the big snow storm?"

"Yes." She nodded. "I remember now. It started to snow just as I arrived at the turn-off for Snyder Mountain. I forgot to fill up before I left the island so I detoured to find a service station."

"Do you remember where you filled up?"

She shrugged. "Some little hick place. River something." She thought a moment. "Riverside. Yes, that was it."

"Where did you go from there?"

"Where do you think I went? To Snyder Mountain, of course. It's where I was headed."

"Would you agree to a DNA test?"

She slammed her day planner on the desk and reached for the phone. "I'm calling my lawyer. You're not getting away with this, Simon."

Evie stood. "Mom, please. The DNA test is to clear you. Why don't you give a sample, and we'll be on our way?"

Felicia thought about it a moment, her fingernail tapping the hard cover of her appointment book rang like the tat-tat-tat of machine gun fire. "Okay. Where's the swab?"

Evie took a plastic tube from her purse.

Felicia extended her hand.

"I have to do it, Mom."

Felicia rolled her eyes.

"Open up."

"That went well." Evie bounded down the walkway.

The sarcasm in her voice didn't escape Simon. He caught up to her, put a hand on her elbow and ushered her over the hard-packed snow.

From the passenger side of her Explorer, she looked at him over the roof. "I'm not happy about what we did in there."

"If it's any consolation, neither am I."

"The DNA test will prove my mom's innocence, then we can put this behind us. Don't think she'll forget about it. Ever." She yanked open the car door and hoisted herself on the seat.

He got in behind the wheel. "I know."

"When will we get the results?" She handed him the tube containing her mother's DNA.

"You hang onto it until we get to the station." He brushed her hand aside. "I'll put a rush on it. Four weeks, maybe sooner. Think she's coming to our wedding?"

Evie harrumphed. "She was iffy before. Now, I'd say she's a definite no-show."

The sadness in her voice stabbed his heart. She wanted so much for Felicia to share in her joy. "I'm sorry, sweetheart." He smoothed a strand of hair off her forehead.

She turned her tear-filled eyes on him. "Why? It's not your fault."

"You tried your whole life to make your mother love you the way you needed to be loved. You styled yourself into something you thought she would approve of."

"A lot of good it did."

"I think all of us have an inherent want to be liked."

"A child shouldn't have to fight for that from a parent."

Words failed him. He reached across the counsel and squeezed her hand.

"I wish I had some things to do over."

"What would you do differently?"

She laughed. "What wouldn't I?"

"Would you still tell me your mother's maiden name was Gardner and not O'Malley and Anastasia not Felicia as I thought?"

"Yes, of course," she said without hesitation. "I'm a cop. I took an oath."

"You were her daughter first."

She turned to him. "If it were your mother, would you have held that fact from me?"

"No."

"Good."

He wanted to take Evie's mind off the pleasantness she just suffered through. After a moment of thought, he found the way. "How would you feel about me getting a haircut?" He fingered the shaved spot on the back of his head.

She jerked toward him and searched his face. When he didn't smile, she asked, "You're serious?"

"Uh-huh."

"How short?"

"Short."

She crossed her legs. "When did this come about?"

"I've been thinking about it for awhile now. Since Kira Miller's visit to my office, actually."

"Doug's little girl?"

"She wears her hair in braids, too, only she calls them pigtails."

She laughed into her hand. "Because of that you want to cut your hair?"

"I'm going to be a married man soon."

"And you want to look... what, mature?"

"It's time, don't you think?"

"That you look mature or time to cut off the hair?"

When he opened his mouth to answer, she grinned. "I know what you meant." She fingered his braids. "I can't imagine you without them."

"But you're not adverse to it?"

"If it's what you want, I say go for it."

"Great." He started the Explorer and shifted into reverse. "Now, let's go have us some fun with my snitch."

Chapter Thirty-Four

Evie looked at the clock on her kitchen wall and turned to Keertana, Shelley and Bethany sitting at the table around her. "It's time to get dressed! I don't want to be late for my own wedding."

"Piloqutinnguaq, is it not early?" Keertana asked. "We still have one hour and fifteen minutes, and it is all we have to do."

For once, Evie damned her great organizational skills. How would she pass the time? She looked at herself in the hand-held mirror. "I'm wearing too much blush." No one said anything. They had been over this before. "If we wait any longer, I'll have to reapply my lipstick." Shelley worked furiously at a crossword puzzle. Keertana filed her nails. Bethany, reading the comics in the newspaper, heard nothing.

Evie was not deterred. "We should make allowances for traffic. It may be heavy. It's New Year's Eve, after all."

Keertana patted her hand. "You will not be late, dear."

"When did you say Dan will be here?"

"Three thirty."

"Is it enough time to get me to the church for four?"

Keertana smiled at Shelley, who had raised her eyebrows and chuckled at Evie's anxiousness. "More than enough."

"What if he busts a wheel or something? Shouldn't we have allowed for the possibility?"

It continued, the volley of questions of an anxious bride and the reassuring responses of her wedding party.

Fifteen minutes later, Evie, followed by her maid-of-honor, Shelley and her partner, Bethany, and her future mother-in-law, Keertana, rushed into her bedroom where she took her dress from the garment bag and draped it across the bed. She unbelted her chenille robe and let it fall to the floor.

Shelley helped her into the dress and did the pearl buttons down the back. When she came to the two last buttons, she fought to bring the two pieces of material together, but couldn't.

Evie noticed. "What's the matter? I knew there would be something. I knew I should have gotten dressed earlier."

"It's nothing, Evie. Haul in your tummy a little, and I'll be able ...." She halted abruptly and walked around to face her.

Keertana placed her fingers against her lips. "Oh, my."

"Oh my, what?" Evie looked at Shelley and Keertana who beamed. Bethany simply shrugged.

"Have you been feeling tired?" Shelley asked. "Nauseous? Heachachy?"

"Of course not." She wasn't depressed. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she experienced those sensations.

Shelley smiled. "Have you been eating more?"

Evie nodded. Her appetite had increased.

"It could account for the weight gain," Shelley said.

"It could," Keertana said, looking Evie over. "But it seems it is only your waist that has been affected." She raised her brows.

It finally dawned on Evie. "I'm pregnant." She clasped Keertana's hands and danced on the spot. "I'm pregnant! Simon will be thrilled."

"Yes, Piloqutinnguaq, I feel it is so."

They hugged and kissed and cried happy tears.

Several extremely happy minutes later, Keertana brought them back from the clouds. "We must hurry. Dan will be here very soon."

The day was perfect. Evie's life was perfect. Well, almost perfect. If only her parents would accept Simon as her husband and attend the wedding.

She rode in a white, horse-drawn carriage driven by Dan in his top hat, black tuxedo and top coat, a hot pack beneath her bottom and a wool blanket covering her legs. She looked to the west where the setting sun slowly sank into the horizon, then behind her where Jeff Barrows, Simon's best man, chauffeured Keertana, Shelley and Bethany in his almond-colored Cadillac.

They traveled along the streets of downtown Honeydale, causing quite a stir. She wondered if this were the first time since the invention of the automobile that a bride was driven to the church by horse and carriage. Motorists waved and tooted horns. She acknowledged them with a smile and a nod. Snowdancer, on the other hand, whinnied and snorted, his frosty breath carrying backward over his breadth by a light wind, then continued on with a certain prance to his surefooted step.

In a matter of minutes, she would be Mrs. Simon Wolfe. Evie Wolfe, soon-to-be mother.

Dan looked over his shoulder at her. "Everything okay back there?"

"Fine." She'd like to tell him to have Snowdancer pick up the pace, so anxious was she to get to the church, but didn't. They were early as it was.

His cell phone rang.

Evie held her breath. No, dear God. Surely, nothing happened to Simon again. She should have handcuffed him to her wrist.

"Whoa, boy." Dan reined in Snowdancer, brought the carriage to a stop and turned. "There's been a small hitch in our giddy-up."

She released her breath. "Oh?"

"It seems there was a misprint in the church bulletin, and instead of it reading wedding mass it read New Year's Eve mass and half the town has turned out. I know you and Simon want a small, intimate ceremony, so shall I tell Father McDougall to turn away the parishioners?"

Turn away children of God from His house? She didn't think so. "God, no." She smiled. "If it's all right with Simon, it's fine by me." If this were the worst to happen today, she'd gladly embrace it.

A few minutes later, they arrived at Stella Maris church.

Evie stood, adjusted the white fur-trimmed hood covering her head and smoothed the wrinkles from her white floor-length cape.

Dan jumped from the carriage and helped her onto the sidewalk. "Any second thoughts?"

"Definitely not. Today, Simon and I will pledge our love before God, before our family and friends, and as it turns out, the town," she smiled, "and we will officially become husband and wife. Do you know whether my parents are here?"

He shook his head.

When she spoke to her father this morning, he doubted they would attend. Felicia had one of her migraines. Evie said she understood, but she didn't, not really. She placed a hand on her tummy. Little one, I will always stand by you.

"I think someone needs a hug." Dan opened his arms wide.

She fell against him.

"I'm honored you asked me to stand in for your father and walk you down the aisle. You won my heart from the moment you knocked on our screen door when you were four years old with your blond hair in pigtails, tied with little red bows and asked to play with the horseys. Daughter." He smiled and kissed her cheek.

Tears filled her eyes. She blinked and forced them back. "I love you, too, Dad. Shall we go in and get this ball rolling?"

In the bridal room of the church, the women fussed over Evie, making last minute repairs to her make-up. She looked at herself in the cheval mirror and admired the Renaissance chiffon gown with off-shoulder puffs, long sweeping chiffon sleeves and shirred waist. Keertana adjusted the sheath over the chiffon train while Shelley touched up Evie's hair. Minutes later, Evie fingered the medal at her neck, her only jewelry, and waited impatiently for Shelley to reach the altar and for the organist to play the Bridal Chorus.

When the moment finally arrived, Dan extended his crooked arm toward her. "They're playing your song." He ushered her toward the entrance inside the church, stopping in the breadth of the doorway.

Harrison stepped from the shadows to her left and extended his arm.

"Daddy?"

"If it's not too late, I'd like the privilege of escorting my beautiful daughter down the aisle."

Dan unhooked his arm from hers and kissed her cheek.

She grabbed his sleeve. "Don't go." She tucked the single white rose she carried over her ear and held out both her arms. "Shall we set a precedent, gentlemen?"

Chapter Thirty-Five

Simon stood off to one corner of the parish hall beside Jeff. He raised a finger to his lips and kissed his wedding band. Forever together. He caught sight of Evie and his heartbeat accelerated as it always did when he looked at her. He watched her talking to a group of women gathered around her. His gaze fell on her chest where her wedding dress clung tightly to her breasts.

Jeff took a sip of wine. "I like the new do by the way."

"Huh?"

"The haircut."

"I decided to get in touch with my Irish side." Simon smoothed back a lock of hair off his forehead. "It takes some getting used to."

Jeff pointed his wine glass toward Evie. "When you said she was beautiful, I had no idea how beautiful."

He saw the look of lust in Jeff's eyes. He didn't like it one bit. "Don't get any ideas. She's taken."

Jeff smiled and jerked his head toward Bethany. "She's hot. I may ask her out."

He frowned. "You know she's gay, right?"

"So was Anne Heche, but she married and now has a child with her husband."

"She was also abducted by aliens."

"Don't believe everything you read in the tabloids." Jeff slapped Simon's shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to find out just how into women she is."

"Good luck." He grinned and turned his attention back to his lovely bride.

As though sensing his eyes on her, Evie turned and looked at him, smiling widely. She excused herself from the group, lifted her dress, ran to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I am so happy." She looked up at him. "I love you, Simon."

"As I love you." He hugged her fiercely and felt the familiar want for her. "Do you think anyone will miss us if we skip the reception?"

She laughed and stepped back. "I think they'll miss the bride and groom."

He nuzzled her neck. "I noticed a closet near the front door. What do you say?"

She patted his chest. "All good things come to those who wait."

"Speaking of good things." He pulled an envelope from his breast pocket.

"What do you have there?"

"Six days and five nights at the Grotto Bay Beach Resort in Bermuda. A wedding gift from my parents."

"Bermuda?" She clasped his hands and stepped in place, then promptly stopped. "But you said you couldn't leave."

"Pa arranged for my predecessor, Gruber, to resume his old post for the week."

"So we can go?"

He smiled and hugged her. "So we can go." He would make sure all of her wants and desires came true.

She placed a finger against her lips. "What about Bear? She can't be left alone."

"Mom said she'd look after the skunk."

Like a child, she hopped in place. "It's going to be so much fun. Did you know Bermuda has pink sand and the best beaches? I can't wait. When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow at two. We fly out of Concord." She peered around the hall and found Dan and Keertana looking at them. Placing a hand against her heart, she mouthed a thank you.

Simon pulled another envelope from his back pocket.

She turned at the sound of paper crinkling. "What's that?"

"The deed to the cottage in both our names. A wedding gift from your parents."

"Omigod." She placed a hand against her heart again, speechless. Her eyes teared up.

"I know. I felt the same way. It's quite a gift."

"We're so fortunate, aren't we?"

"Truly blessed. Nothing can make this day any more perfect."

She grasped his hands and pressed them against her tummy. "Feel anything?"

It took a moment for it to register. When it did, he swooped her into his arms. "Are you sure?"

"I haven't been to my doctor yet, but your mother ... and I quote, feels it is so."

He kissed her full on the lips. "And my mother is never wrong."

"Except for the time ..." She stared into his eyes and grinned.

"How could I ever have thought you would kill anyone?"

"Shh. Think of it as a story we'll tell our grandchildren."

He took her hands in his, no longer feeling shameful for drawing the wrong conclusion. He trusted Evie as much as he loved her and that was saying a lot.

"Listen up everyone." Dan clapped his hands. "If the bride and groom can tear themselves apart, it's time to chow down."

***

In the baggage area of the Bermuda International Airport, a tall man with skin as dark as night held up a sign that read: Mr. & Mrs. Simon Wolfe.

"That's us," Simon said, tugging Evie along with him.

"Your parents thought of everything." It took two of her steps to match his one.

"Mr. and Mrs. Wolfe?" the man asked.

Simon would always love the ring of that. "We are." He raised their interlocked fingers in the air and smiled.

"I am Francois, your driver. Follow me, please, and I will take you to your hotel."

The drive in the air-conditioned taxi to the resort on Blue Hole Hill in Hamilton Parish was surprisingly short, due much to Francois' commentary about the Island. "Not really one island, but one hundred and eighty islands linked by bridges and divided into nine parishes."

"We didn't know," Simon said.

"Friendliest people in the world live on these islands."

"We'll fit right in, then."

Evie smiled at Simon. "Did you know rainfall generates the only supply of fresh water to the Islands?"

"That's interesting." Simon kissed the end of Evie's nose.

Francois rambled on about the picturesque landscape, like none other on earth.

Simon and Evie stared out at the aquamarine water and the lush foliage rushing past them and murmured their agreement.

"We have spectacular beaches and unique wildlife. Three hundred and fifty types of birds and six hundred and fifty species of fish, to be exact. Be sure to check out our whistling tree frogs."

"We'll be sure to." Simon looked at Evie. "Should be interesting."

Francois came to a stop in front of their resort, a three story pastel-colored lodge, hopped out and took their bags from the trunk.

Simon reached for his wallet.

Francois put up a hand and shook his head. "No, sir. I cannot accept. It has already been taken care of. I am at your service for the entire week."

His father had thought of everything. Simon took Francois' card. "I can take it from here. Thank you, Francois."

"Very good, sir. Be mindful of poison ivy and stinging nettles."

"We will. Thank you." He grabbed the bags and followed Evie into the resort.

Moments later, amid the sound of water lapping to shore and birds chirping cheery notes from the bushes and red-hot cattails, they strode along the hibiscus, oleander and bougainvillea-lined walkway at the water's edge to their suite.

"Francois wasn't exaggerating about the vegetation. It's beautiful," Evie said, hugging Simon tightly.

"Not nearly as beautiful as you."

They stumbled into their suite, kissing and tugging at their clothes.

"I might never want to leave," Evie said against his lips.

"Me neither." He unbuckled his Chinos.

She looked up at him. "Where's the bed?"

"Two steps at your back. Twelve o'clock."

Relying completely on his word, she walked backward and let herself fall.

"Be careful. The baby."

"The baby is perfectly safe. Trust me."

"I do. With my life. With our baby's life."

Simon raised himself on an elbow and watched her sleep. His beautiful Evie and his forever. Whether it was his imagination at work or not, he didn't know, but making love with her seemed sweeter now that she was his wife. He still had difficulty believing they were actually married. No one had come between them this time, which was surprising. Maybe Felicia finally accepted the inevitable, though it didn't seem plausible, not with how she felt about him and more particularly so after he considered her a murder suspect. Maybe Harrison finally found the chutzpah to stand up to his wife. Something he should have done a long time ago. Theirs was a strange marriage. They made it appear they were happy, but Simon knew differently. He would make sure he and Evie would never grow apart.

Evie stirred. She opened her eyes, stretched and yawned. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Not long. Still tired?"

She shook her head. "Not anymore." She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "I'm famished, though."

He picked up the phone to call room service. "Your wish is my command."

After Simon placed their orders for an á la carte dinner of prime rib, she said, "This is a nice room. I didn't notice before." She giggled and looked around at the crown molding, white tile floor, straw-mat area rugs, tropical wood furniture, two-chair dining set, then through the windowpanes of the garden doors and the spectacular view of the Atlantic Ocean. She lifted her head and peeked into the bathroom. "Marble. Nice."

Bermuda, they learned, was a sightseer's paradise with their military ports, magnificent old churches, historic houses, underground caves and limestone stalagtites. The beaches alone would have contented them their entire stay. Nevertheless, during the day, Simon and Evie toured the subtropical oasis, sun-bathed on the pink-hued sandy beaches, explored, body surfed, swam, snorkled and kayaked. They stopped at café's where Simon sampled tropical drinks and Evie drank pineapple juice from coconut shells. Every evening, they dined at the Hibiscus Room with its white wood ceiling beams, slate floor, and white table linens. Later, they either enjoyed a musical performance by the Bermuda Philharmonic or simply strolled hand in hand along the beach in front of their resort, a gentle sea breeze at their backs. Then they'd return to their room where they made love and fell asleep in each other's arms.

Simon had never experienced such happiness. He hugged Evie to him. "I never want this to end."

She sighed. "I feel the same way. I hate the thought of leaving tomorrow. Promise we'll come back one day."

"I promise."

She rested her head against his chest and fell asleep.

A moment later, wearing only a smile, Simon closed his eyes and let sleep embrace him.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Simon awoke to the sound of a man shouting. He reached for Evie, but his hand landed on the mattress. "Evie?" His eyelids heavy from sleep, he forced his eyes to focus and scanned the room through the light filtering in through the sheer curtains on the garden doors. "Evie?"

He hopped out of bed and tugged on his boxers and leisure shorts. He walked through the open doorway and followed the direction of the man's voice, screaming in agony or fear, Simon couldn't be sure. Cautiously, he approached, the sand a soft surface to muffle his footsteps.

"No, please, dear God, no!" a man cried.

"God isn't going to help you," a female voice, one unfamiliar to him, said.

Simon peeked out from behind a Candlenut tree. In the dim whitish light of the moon, he saw a woman holding a knife in her hand sitting astride a man wearing Speedos and a Hawaiian shirt.

"I'm not married. I only wear a wedding band because it's a chick magnet. Women are freer with sex if they think I'm married. No commitments. It's the God's truth, I swear."

"You lying motherfucker! You're all alike." She raised the knife into the air.

Simon came up behind her. "Put the knife down."

The woman looked over her shoulder, and he got the first glimpse of her face. Everything about the woman told him it was Evie, but the cold look in her eyes and the hard set of her lips told him it was not. His heart sank to his knees. His feet felt like they had rooted into the ground.

"Evie?" he whispered, still unsure. The sound of his voice rang foreign to his ears, like someone else had said her name. The world came out of focus before his eyes. He fought for equilibrium.

"Oh, thank God," the man said. "Get this lunatic off me!"

Evie turned and jabbed the point of the knife against his throat. "Shut the fuck up!"

In one deft move, Simon grabbed her arm and twisted it backward, and as much as it hurt him to do so, he squeezed hard on her wrist until she dropped the weapon.

Hawaiian shirt stood and sprinted behind Simon. "The bitch was going to kill me."

Simon held Evie by the upper arm. "Get lost, mister."

"I should have her arrested. She tried to kill me. Whack job."

Evie took a swing at him, but Simon prevented her from connecting. "Who you calling a whack job, you sorry piece of shit!"

"I'm calling the police." Hawaiian shirt made a move to leave.

"It'll be your word against hers, and I didn't see anything but a tryst going bad. Who do you think the police will believe?"

Simon watched the man leave.

With a string of expletives not unforeign to his ears but certainly foreign coming from Evie's lips, she clawed at him and tried to escape the hold he had on her. Having no choice, he strengthened his grip and held her in place at his side. Pain, as intense as a physical blow, stabbed his heart for the bruises he inflicted on her skin.

"Evie, please," he whispered.

She snarled. "My name is Staci."

He didn't know what the hell was going on, but he thought it best to humor her. His cop teachings took over: Make eye contact. Establish rapport. No sudden moves. Keep voice soft, calm. "Okay, Staci. Let's go back to the resort."

"Why did you stop me? He deserved to die just like the others."

"You killed Miller, Coulton and Teed?"

"Of course, I did. Your precious Evie didn't have the guts. The wimp. She always leaves the hard stuff to me."

As sudden as a headache came on, he understood. "You're her alter ego." In fast motion, his mind replayed the past few months. Everything made sense now.

"And I'm here to stay. Evie is gone for good this time."

Simon remembered feeling like this before, the feeling that the life was sucked out of him, leaving only an empty shell. Please, God, don't let her be lost to him forever. No, he wouldn't believe that. She loved him too much to leave him. She was strong. She had the will to regain her identity.

"Evie," he said softly. "I love you. Remember how much you love me." He took a chance and released her arm, but readied himself to intercept her should she decide to leave. "We love each other. We made a baby together. Little Cooper, or Amelia." Something flickered in her eyes. "Come back to me, please, Evie."

"Simon?" Evie sank to her knees in the sand before he could catch her. He scooped her into his arms and carried her toward their suite.

"What happened, Simon? I feel so weak." Tears fell from her eyes, a wail escaped her lips. She stared up at him. "Simon, what happened to me? Why was I outside?" She looked at herself dressed in a tank top and bikini panties. "Oh my God." She shivered against him. He sat her on the bed and knelt on one knee on the floor before her.

"Evie, what's the last thing you remember?"

"Falling asleep in your arms. How did I end up on the beach, Simon? Was I sleepwalking?"

"I don't know, sweetheart." He took her hand in his. What little he knew about multiple personality disorder, he thought it prudent not to tell her.

"Did I have a breakdown or something? But I'm so happy. You make me so happy. Why would I have an episode now? I don't understand."

"Neither do I, honey, but just to be on the safe side we should get back to the island asap and get in touch with your psychiatrist." He looked into her eyes. "Are you okay with that?"

She nodded. "Of course. If there's something the matter with me, I need to get help. For you, for our baby." She sobbed into her hands. "Simon, I'm scared."

For the second time in his life, Simon felt helpless. He sat beside her and took her in his arms. "Don't be scared. Everything's going to be all right."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

He eyed their luggage, sitting on the floor neatly packed, ready for their early morning flight. He rocked his wife of five days until her tears were all cried and she fell asleep, then he made calls—the first to Gaston, the second to Harrison and Felicia, the third to Dan and Keertana and the last (and most difficult to make for Simon) to Acting Chief of Police Herb Gruber.

Simon would do what must be done.

Epilogue

"Hush little baby, don't say a word, Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird. If that mockingbird don't sing, Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring," Simon sang, rocking his daughter in the old fashioned wooden rocking chair while staring at his son in the crib beside him. Twins. Double joy. Who would have expected? Not him or Evie. He couldn't stop looking at them. Amelia, with his black hair and long legs and warm-toned skin thumped her feet and gurgled as though to say: Sing, Daddy, sing. Cooper, with Evie's curly blond hair and rosy complexion shoved his two middle fingers in his mouth and chomped down.

"Hungry, huh? Well, it just so happens I have a bottle heated. And guess what. Your mama's coming home today." He cocked his head. "What's that? You want to do the happy dance?"

He placed Amelia in her crib, picked up her brother and fed him. He experienced a moment of sadness for Evie missing almost all of the first six months of their twins' lives. He brought them often to Concord for visits, videotaped them daily and took pictures to document their progress, but nothing could make up for their time apart.

When Gaston had told him it might take three to five years for Evie to recover, Simon's spirits plummeted to an all time low until he realized she would be well again. He would gladly wait a lifetime for her.

Much to Gaston's surprise, Evie recovered in record time. Granted, he was highly competent, but Simon suspected it had more to do with Evie's determination and will to get well. She was the perfect patient, Gaston often said. Simon could believe it. She had the proper motivation. Him, their twins and their families.

Cooper gobbled down four ounces of milk in no time flat. Simon put him over his shoulder and patted his back.

The loved ones in Evie's life each had their own guilt to bear with regard to her illness. Harrison for having the affair. Felicia for thinking too much about herself and not enough about her daughter. Keertana for not keeping in closer touch with Evie. Dan for not believing in his son when he purged his soul and told him he thought Evie was the murderer. Simon for letting his love for Evie obscure his vision. If he hadn't loved her, if she had been just another suspect, he would have put everything together. At least, he liked to think so.

Cooper belched, a loud, guttural sound deep from the stomach. "That was a big one. Almost blew me off the rocker." He cradled him in the crook of his arm and resumed feeding him.

Felicia was warming up to Simon, strangely enough. Not only that, and strangely enough as well, she volunteered to sit the twins. He took her up on the offer a few times, not because his parents were unavailable, but to let her show her forgiveness for her scorn all these years. That was as close to an apology as he would get.

After the twins release from the hospital following their birth, he had arranged for a nanny to look after Amelia and Cooper while he worked. Dan and Keertana would not hear of it. "A stranger looking after our grandchildren? We don't think so." They spoiled them, as was, he supposed, one of the perks of grandparents.

In the fourteen months where Evie underwent extensive therapy in the court appointed facility of Cedar Falls, Simon, under Gaston tutelage and what he read on the subject, became knowledgeable on disassociative identity disorder, a built-in coping mechanism. A host personality was borne when Evie couldn't cope with an extremely negative childhood trauma and repressed memories. Through hypnosis, Gaston discovered that when she was four years old, a male friend of Harrison and Felicia's molested her. The abuse continued for months until one day the man suffered a heart attack and died. Harrison or Felicia would not divulge the man's name and swore they had no knowledge of the abuse. Gaston said he believed them.

To further add to Evie's insecurity, other distasteful events occurred at approximately the same time. Harrison had an affair and Evie caught her father and his mistress, an intern from the hospital, in a compromising position in his study. This, too, was very traumatic for her. When the next day, a Sunday, came around and their normal routine of going to church and lunch at Benny's Burgers never happened, Evie blamed herself.

Guilt was one of the most powerful of emotions.

Evie admitted feeling in a daze, confused and disorientated at times and believed her thoughts were out of control. She experienced bouts of depression and anxiety attacks so severe she thought she would suffer a heart attack. She knew something was wrong with her and feared insanity, but it never occurred to her she had a host personality.

His dear Evie. It sickened Simon to think what she went through all those years ago, and how she suffered in the many years which followed.

Gaston had placed her into a self-induced hypnotic trance and made her relive in Staci's character, the traumatic events in her life. Eventually, through his expert guidance, he helped her integrate all her memories into a central consciousness. When she began to remember and was able to deal with the history, Staci was no longer needed.

Staci hadn't had sex with any of her victims, which explained why the DNA found on Miller's body didn't match Evie's. She murdered the men after she witnessed them getting it on with hookers. The only man she had sex with was the man who approached her at The Pier on the night of her birthday.

Gaston ordered blood tests for safety sake, and Evie came up clean.

Gaston told him to expect certain differences in Evie. Staci's tastes, opinions and mannerisms became a part of Evie when the two personalities integrated. Some he might not like, the psychiatrist warned. Simon prepared himself.

The End
