Nick Meredith felt a hundred years old-shocked, disgusted, hopeless, emotionally and physically drained. He'd come to Port Ariel because he wanted to rear his daughter in a safe, wholesome environment. Safe? Someone had committed three homicides in forty-eight hours. Wholesome? Someone had nearly decapitated three people. What would Meagan think of this new life he'd created for Paige? Meagan would say nothing in life is certain except that nothing in life is certain. She would be understanding and philosophical. He was angry and resentful. Hadn't Paige been through enough? Hadn't he?
He had more work to do, but at six he felt an overpowering need to see his daughter, to hear her laugh, to feel her slender amis around his neck. At times like this only she could restore him. He also wanted to make absolutely certain she was safe. He had niggling doubts about Mrs. Collins's diligence in the child-care department.
When he arrived home he was surprised to see a gold Cougar sitting in the driveway. He knew no one with a Cougar. Had something happened?
Nick nearly bolted in the front door and was greeted by the sound of laughter. In the living room Paige sat on the floor with a dark-haired woman. Natalie St. John. They were bent over Ripley, who lay on his back bouncing a toy mouse between his paws. Nick realized he'd been holding his breath when it came out as a loud whish.
"That certainly looks like a sick cat to me," he said, grinning.
Paige jumped up and ran to him. "Hi, Daddy. Natalie says-"
"Dr. St. John," Nick corrected.
"I asked her to call me Natalie." He hadn't noticed before that her voice was slightly husky. "It gives me the illusion of youth."
"Anyway, Natalie says that Ripley does have mites. I told you he'd been scratching his ears."
"What about that terrible limp I've never noticed?"
"Maybe just a muscle spasm," Natalie said. "Nothing life threatening."
"And his weight?" Nick asked.
Natalie smiled. "Ripley could stand to lose three or four pounds."
"He eats from nerves," Paige explained.
"And what does Ripley have to be nervous about?" Nick asked, smiling.
"These murders. I heard there were two more."
Nick's smile faded. "How did you hear about them?"
"Somebody called Mrs. Collins and they talked about them for a long time. Two people got their throats cut on a big boat! One was Tamara Hunt's husband. He was having an affair!"
Nick's jaw tightened. He was furious that the child was privy to all this information. He looked at Natalie, who shook her head regretfully. Apparently she felt the same way. "Did you catch the murderer?" Paige asked anxiously.
"Not yet, but we will soon. I don't want you to be afraid."
"I'm not afraid," Paige said staunchly. Nick did not believe her. "Do you think this crazy person is killing special people or just anyone?" she asked.
"We don't know that yet, but probably special people, particular people." Nick said uncomfortably. "I don't think you have to worry. They were all grownups."
"Yeah, but he could decide to kill kids. Especially if they know something important."
Nick looked at her closely. "Do you know something important?"
"What would I know?" Except maybe where the killer is hiding, Paige thought miserably, but she could not tell Daddy about the Saunders house. She would be in so much trouble she'd never be allowed outside again. She'd never get to see Jimmy again, either, and that would be too awful to bear. "I just like mysteries," she ended lamely.
"I'd prefer it if you kept your mind off this particular mystery," Nick said firmly.
"Paige, Ripley is scratching his ears again," Natalie interrupted with false urgency. " Blaine had fleas and ear mites so yesterday I had the clinic where I work send me some prescription-strength flea medicine and drops for mites. The mite drops are right here in my purse. I'll show you how to put them in Ripley's ears and then you can do it until he's well."
"Do you think I can put them in right?"
"I'm sure you can. Come give it a try."
Nick cast her a grateful look for changing the subject. Mrs. Collins was another matter. While Natalie and Paige worked on a less-than-cooperative Ripley, he walked into the kitchen. The woman sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee. She gave him a bright smile. "Sheriff, I wasn't expecting you home so early. I just put some pot roast and potatoes and green beans in the refrigerator. I'll fix a plate and heat it in the microwave."
"Before you do, I'd like to talk to you." The woman immediately looked wary. "Did you tell Paige about the murders this afternoon?"
She flushed guiltily. "I'm so sorry. A friend called to tell me-her nephew works at the marina-and Paige overheard me on the phone. But I think she got a call from that Jenkins boy. I'm sure he knew all about it and told her more than she should hear. He's a regular town crier. His mother should keep a tighter rein on him. I don't think he's a good influence on Paige."
The woman was valiantly trying to shift attention from herself to Jimmy. It wasn't going to work. "Mrs. Collins, I wish you had waited until you got home to discuss the murders with your friend."
"She called me?'
"You should have told her you couldn't talk at the moment."
"We hardly said anything."
"My daughter knows quite a few details and she said she heard them from you." Nick looked at her sternly. "Mrs. Collins, Paige is eleven-"
"She would have heard about the murders sooner or later!" the woman burst out indignantly.
"Later would have been better. Later when I got home and could tell her in my own way."
Mrs. Collins stiffened. "I suppose I'm fired."
"No. I just want you to be more careful about what you discuss in front of Paige."
"I raised a girl of my own," she said in vindication. "I know what I'm doing!"
"I'm sure you do." Nick fought to keep his voice even. "We simply need to be clear on this point."
"We are." Mrs. Collins stood. "I will be going, now that you're home."
"I have to go back to work. I need for you to stay."
"Stay! Tonight?" She shook her head violently. "I stayed late two nights ago. I can't always stay late without notice."
"I'm sorry. The next time someone is going to be murdered, I'll ask them to let me know several hours ahead of time so I can clear it with you."
Mrs. Collins gave him a long, icy stare. "You don't need to be obnoxious, Sheriff. I'm doing the best I can. When I took this job you didn't say a word about night work. If you're so unhappy with me, I won't be back tomorrow."
What will I do then? Nick thought. He couldn't lose the woman on such short notice. Feathers definitely needed smoothing.
"You're right, Mrs. Collins. I've had a tough day, but that doesn't give me the right to take it out on you. Will you accept my apology?"
She hesitated and Nick felt she was deliberately trying to make him squirm. "Well, okay," she said in a tiny, injured voice. "But I really can't stay any longer tonight. I'm having a birthday party for my sister. I can't cancel."
"I understand." I understand you've just manipulated me into feeling like a creep when you were in the wrong, Nick thought. But what the hell. "I'll figure out something else for Paige tonight. We'll see you in the morning."
Mrs. Collins marched past him cloaked in martyrdom. In the living room he heard her say, "Good night, Paige dear. Have very sweet dreams. We'll have a wonderful day tomorrow."
Nick sauntered back into the room after the front door closed. Paige looked up at him. "How come she's being so mushy!"
"Beats me. She's just in a mushy mood."
"A weird mood. Daddy, I put the drops in Ripley's ears."
"She did a fine job in spite of Ripley's protests," Natalie said. "We might have a future vet here."
"I'd like to be a vet!" Paige exclaimed. "Either that or a police detective."
"I vote for veterinarian," Nick said. "Safer."
Natalie raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever treated a bad tempered pit bull in pain?"
"I stand corrected." Nick sighed. "Paige, I'm going to have a cup of coffee. Then I have to go back to the office for a while. I'm afraid that because Mrs. Collins went home, you have to go with me." Paige made a face. "I thought you liked police headquarters."
"I do. It's just that you only have a little-bitty TV and Jane Eyre is on PBS at eight. I love Jane Eyre."
"Me, too," Natalie said.
Paige's eyes widened. "Isn't it creepy when Mr. Rochester's crazy wife comes down from the attic and looks at Jane asleep?"
Natalie shivered dramatically. "And when Jane comes back and Mrs. Rochester has burned down the mansion?"
"Oh, yeah! And poor Mr. Rochester is blind!"
"I see the Port Ariel Jane Eyre fan club is alive and well," Nick laughed. "I'm sorry, honey, but you'll have to watch it on the little-bitty TV set."
"Sheriff Meredith, I could stay with Paige until you get back," Natalie said.
"It's Nick and we couldn't impose. I'm sure you have things to do."
"Actually, I don't. I'd like to stay and watch Jane Eyre with Paige." And he remembers you as the woman who shot up the local dance hall with a gun you were carrying illegally, Natalie thought. Very reassuring. She felt ridiculous for suggesting he entrust his daughter to her when there was a murderer on the loose. "Of course, I understand your wanting her to be with you, though," she stumbled. "I didn't mean to interfere-"
"I love Paige's company, but I'm going to be busy," Nick said suddenly. "If you're sure you don't mind staying, I would appreciate it and I know Paige would, too. I don't want to spoil the movie for her."
"Great!" Paige burst out.
Amazing, Natalie thought. Maybe he didn't think she was a nut after all.
"I'll be home by ten," Nick promised. "Keep the doors locked."
"Oh, Daddy, I always do," Paige said. "I'm going to fix popcorn. And Cokes. Or 7Up. Or whatever you like, Natalie."
"Sounds terrific." Natalie looked at Nick. "I'll take good care of her. You go do your duty. We'll be here suffering through the trials and tribulations of a nineteenth-century heroine and loving every minute of it."
It was 10:45. He'd told Natalie he'd be back by ten. Would she be mad?
"Nick Meredith, you act like you're married," he said aloud. "Natalie is not your wife. She's some woman you barely know. Probably shouldn't even have trusted after that dumb stunt she pulled at The Blue Lady. If she's mad, you never have to see her again."
He hoped she wasn't mad.
When he unlocked the front door and walked in, he saw her curled into a corner of the couch hugging an oversized pillow and watching Street Life. Her sandals lay on the floor and her long hair hung in a sloppy braid somewhere near her right ear.
"Natalie?"
She jumped, then smiled sheepishly. "I'm afraid I was somewhere between waking and sleeping. The movie ended at ten and Paige was worn out. She and Ripley are in hypersleep."
Nick laughed. "I take it you two had quite an evening."
"We did indeed. Before the movie we played the piano."
"You actually got her to play?" Nick asked.
"Yes. She said she hated her lessons, but I taught her a few songs. She has talent."
Nick smiled. "Both the piano and the talent come from her mother."
"I think she doesn't like her lessons because the teacher concentrates on classical music. It isn't her favorite. Afterward she got out her boombox and we danced and sang to some songs she does love. Did you know she's a closet rock star?"
"I've had hints."
"So was I at her age. I've promised to give her a few guitar lessons, if you don't mind."
"You play the guitar?"
"Yes, since I was younger than Paige."
"Guitar lessons," Nick said thoughtfully. "Maybe they would spur her musical interest the way the piano doesn't. I don't have an ounce of talent myself, but I'd hate to see hers go to waste just because she's playing the wrong instrument."
"It's not the instrument-it's the type of music. 'Fur Elise' doesn't inspire her," Natalie told him. "She'd prefer something more modern. Anyway, after our concert we played beauty shop. She's practicing her French braid."
Nick grinned. "Judging by the looks of your hair she needs more practice."
"Don't tell her that. She said this was her best braid yet."
"Good Lord."
"She'll improve." Natalie reached up and began untwining the long, shining strands of her hair. "During the movie we ate approximately five pounds of popcorn. After the movie she was determined to stay up until you came home but her eyelids were drooping. She'll sleep late tomorrow."
Nick looked troubled. "Was she still frightened about the murders?"
"She stopped talking about them. I'm sure she's still afraid, though."
"She and the rest of the town. It's been one hell of a day."
Natalie stood. She wore faded jeans and a pale green tee shirt. "You look tired," she said, slipping her slender feet into the sandals.
"So tired I'll never get to sleep."
"I'd suggest a drink but alcohol makes you sleepy, then wakes you up in the middle of the night. May I fix you some warm milk?"
"I would love some warm milk, but after the evening you've put in with my daughter, I certainly can't ask-"
"You certainly can," she said briskly. "Warm milk coming up, on one condition."
"And that would be?"
"You get milk, I get information."
"About the murders?"
"Yes." Sensing his reluctance, Natalie said, "Sheriff Meredith-Nick-I knew these people. Tamara was one of my closest friends. Warren was her husband. This is all striking pretty close to home."
He sighed. "Okay. You deserve information. Just give me a few minutes to unwind."
Nick followed Natalie into the kitchen and took mugs from the cabinet while she got the milk. "Sit down before you fall down," she directed, putting the full mugs into the microwave. "Do you like cinnamon in your milk?"
"I never tried it, but it sounds good. I feel like living dangerously tonight."
She smiled. "I guessed you were a risk-taker."
When he took a sip of warm cinnamon-flavored milk he said, "That's great. I didn't know what I'd been missing for thirty-six years."
"My mother used to fix milk this way." Suddenly she laughed. "Once she read some silly article that said nutmeg had the same effect as LSD, so she rushed out and bought some for herself, sprinkled it in milk, and gulped it down. She looked so disappointed when nothing happened."
Nick stared at her.
"Let me explain Kira to you," Natalie went on. "I was never allowed to call her Mommy-only Kira. Her parents lived in San Francisco. They were artists, very successful and very bohemian. Their son Peter was straight as an arrow. He and my father met in medical school. Unlike Peter, Kira was even more unconventional than her parents. She and my father were a total mismatch. I still don't understand why she married him and had me. Maybe Dad and I were an experiment for her. Anyway, when I was six she took off. She was supposed to pick me up at school. She didn't show.
Lily's mother took me home. The house was empty except for the dog. Three hours later when Dad got back from the hospital, he found a brief note in the bedroom saying she was sorry but she had to explore her inner self or some such nonsense. She said she'd be fine and in touch with us soon. Soon turned out to be six months. She was in California. She'd joined a commune, she called it. I think it was really a cult."
Natalie tossed Nick a lighthearted smile, but he saw the pain behind it. "She's still floating around from group to group, man to man. I hear from her a couple of times a year. I haven't seen her since I was twenty-one. She actually came to Columbus to talk me out of going into veterinary medicine. She said it was plebeian and that I should pursue my music. I ignored her."
"That's sad," Nick said, and immediately felt foolish. The woman had poured out her heart and all he responded with was "That's sad." He tried again. "Back in New York I ran into cases of neglect and desertion by parents all the time. I got almost used to it, but then I never knew the people involved. It seems almost unbelievable to me when I think of my own mother, though. She had seven kids. Didn't believe in birth control. My dad worked two jobs and Mom was a waitress, but things were still tough. She didn't have a lot of free time, but what she had she devoted to us. And my own wife Meagan… well, she was a great mother. A wonderful, loving mother. I wish she could have seen Paige grow up," he ended, feeling his throat muscles tighten. He took a sip of milk and sat rigid-faced when it wouldn't go down.
"Paige was lucky," Natalie said softly.
Nick nodded and managed to swallow. "Meagan died two years ago. That's why we left New York."
Natalie looked at him, clearly expecting him to go on with more details. But he hadn't discussed Meagan's death since it happened. A few people in Port Ariel knew that he was a widower. He'd never told anyone here how he had become one.
Natalie lowered her gaze and said casually, "It's tough on a little girl to be without a mother-"
"Meagan was murdered." The abruptness of the statement startled Nick. Natalie raised her eyes and the words began spilling from him. "She was working on a doctorate in English at N.Y.U. and had almost finished. One evening I came home and she was ecstatic. She'd done great on a general exam and wanted to celebrate with champagne. I offered to go to the liquor store, but she said I looked beat. The store was only a block away."
He looked down, lines digging into his forehead. "Just as she was paying for the champagne, in came a couple of punks with guns. The clerk had to play hero and go for the owner's gun under the counter." He drew a deep breath. 'The punks started shooting. Two people were injured slightly. The clerk took a bullet in the head and died instantly. They got Meagan in the abdomen and the neck-the carotid artery. She lived four hours."
"Nick, I'm so sorry."
"If only I'd gone for the champagne. Instead I was sitting at home with my shoes off watching television while my wife-"
"You couldn't possibly have known what would happen," Natalie interrupted firmly. "Certainly she'd gone to that store before and there weren't any robberies. It was a random event. You can't control the world."
"More's the pity."
"It's a pity, but it's also a fact." Natalie added hesitantly, "Paige never said a word about what happened to her mother."
"She never does and it really worries me. I don't want her to dwell on her mother's death, but she won't discuss it at all. I know she thinks about it constantly, though. They were so close. She adored her mother," Nick said raggedly. "For five months after Meagan's death I went around in a haze, furious one minute, lost in grief the next. I even got this weird silver streak in my hair."
He paused and drew a deep breath. "Then Meagan's sister Jan started making noises about getting custody of Paige. That scared the hell out of me. There I was single and with a high-risk job. Not an ideal father, and Jan's husband has powerful contacts in the New York judicial system. So I pulled myself together and decided I had to get Paige out of New York, away from the memories, away from the threat of Jan, away from the danger of the city because if I lost her, too…"
Nick laughed mirthlessly. "I started looking frantically for jobs in small places. Someone I knew who vacationed here every summer told me about Port Ariel. I came and looked it over and discovered I could get on the police force. It seemed like a miracle, even if I had to work for Sheriff Purdue. Then came the election. I ran and to my amazement, I won. I thought I had it made. I was the sheriff of a beautiful little town. I'd made a home for my child in a safe haven, or so I thought."
"Port Ariel usually is a safe haven."
"I guess I was just lucky enough to move here and become sheriff when all hell is breaking loose. People are looking to me for answers."
"And you'll find them."
His dark blue eyes were anguished and the scar on his forehead turned dead white against the tanned skin. "Do you really believe that?"
"Yes," Natalie said sincerely. "Don't start doubting yourself now."
Nick studied her oval face, the fine skin, the intensely dark eyes with that beautiful slight slant. She not only looked lovely, she looked calm and intelligent and full of good sense. He suddenly felt astounded that he'd told her not only about Meagan's murder, but also his anxiety over his daughter's safety and her refusal to discuss her lost mother. Natalie had sat there with her warm milk and cinnamon, her soft husky voice, her tranquil manner, and elicited his darkest memory and his deepest fears. "Well, I'm a laugh a minute, aren't I?" he asked dryly.
"You're tired and worried." She smiled. "You're human."
"I don't think the citizens of Port Ariel want a human for a sheriff right now. They want a superhero."
"Can you blame them? They're scared."
"You don't seem scared, even after your visit to The Blue Lady."
Natalie flushed. "Can we please forget that appalling lapse of good sense? I'm not usually such a fool. And for the record, I'm just as scared as everyone else."
"And you're also full of questions about the murders."
"Maybe now isn't the time for me to be asking questions."
"Because I sound like I might blow into a million pieces? I won't. I never do. And it might help me to talk about all of this. Actually I have a few questions of my own."
Natalie raised an eyebrow. "Quid pro quo? You trust my assessments even after our meeting at The Blue Lady?"
"No one shows perfect judgment all the time." Nick smiled. "Not even me."
"I'm glad you can be forgiving. Okay. What can I tell you?"
He leaned forward. "Did you know Warren Hunt was involved with Charlotte Bishop?"
She shook her head. "Lily can't-couldn't-stand him and I think she suspected affairs, but she never mentioned anyone in particular. Frankly I'm shocked to hear about him and Charlotte."
"Why?"
" Warren was a nice-looking man, a professional, but Charlotte was beautiful and rich and fresh out of a marriage to a gorgeous television star. Warren Hunt seems a bit mundane for her."
"I thought the same thing. About Warren being boring after what she's used to, not about Paul Fiori being gorgeous." She made a face at him. "So you have no idea how long they've been seeing each other?"
"Certainly not when Charlotte was in California. The affair must have started after she came back to Port Ariel just a few months ago."
"Do you think Lily knew about it?"
"No. If she had, she would have told me."
"You're absolutely sure? Maybe she was being discreet."
"Lily is not discreet, particularly around me," Natalie said wryly. "Now it's my turn. Were Warren and Charlotte murdered like Tamara?"
"Yes. Throats slashed. As of now it looks like the same or a similar weapon was used. A long-bladed razor. We found Warren in the living room or whatever they call it on a boat. He'd been murdered on deck, though. Charlotte was in the bedroom." He paused. "On the wall was written in blood, 'open tomb.' "
Natalie drew a sharp breath. " 'Their throat is an open tomb.' The Biblical quotation the woman said on the phone and in the dance pavilion."
"Do you know where in the Bible the quotation is from?"
"I'm not a Bible scholar, but she told me it was Romans. She even said the chapter, but I don't remember. I was going to look it up at home, but I couldn't find Dad's Bible. I don't know if he even has one. He's never been particularly religious. Da you happen to have one?"
Nick rose from the table. In a moment he returned with a large, battered Bible. He handed it to Natalie. When she flipped it open, she saw a list of births and deaths recorded in various shades of faded ink. The last was for Meagan Marie Lincoln Meredith. She quickly riffled pages until she came to Romans. She began scanning pages and after only a couple of minutes she said, "Here it is!"
"That was quick."
"It's in chapter three, in italics, no less! Must be bad."
"Read it to me. I'm so tired my eyes are blurry." Natalie read slowly and clearly:
" 'There is none righteous, no, not one; There is none who understands; There is none who seeks after God. They have all gone out of the way; They have together become unprofitable; There is none who does good, no, not one.
Their throat is an open tomb; With their tongues they have practiced deceit; The poison of asps is under their lips; Whose mouth is full of cursing and bitterness. Their feet are swift to shed blood; Destruction and misery are in their ways; And the way of peace they have not known. There is no fear of God before their eyes.' "
Nick sighed. "Well, that was cheerful."
Natalie frowned. "The reference to their throats being open tombs is obvious because all the victims had their throats slashed. But what about 'they have practiced deceit'? Warren and Charlotte were deceitful, but Tamara? She was probably the most honest person I've ever known."
"It says none seek after God. That could mean none of the victims was religious."
"I don't know about Warren and Charlotte, but Tamara was a devout Catholic. 'Destruction and misery are in their ways,' 'There is none who does good.' You could apply those lines to Warren and Charlotte, but not Tamara. Nick, nothing in this quotation fits Tam."
"I guess finding the motive for these killings so easily was too much "to hope for."
"Maybe these are motiveless murders."
"I've always thought the phrase 'motiveless murder' was stupid," Nick said. "No murder is without motive, not even the murders committed by serial killers. They have motives, although often those motives don't make sense to the average person."
Natalie was quiet for a moment. "But you don't believe this is the work of a serial killer."
"No, I don't," Nick said slowly. "I'm not even convinced the three murders were committed by the same person."
"But you said they were all killed the same way."
"Yes, but Charlotte and Warren were killed with more savagery. They each have multiple stab wounds besides those to the throat. Tamara didn't."
"So you think there might be two killers?"
"Maybe." He paused. "I have another question for you to answer. Lily and her father didn't like Warren."
"That's not a question."
"No." He paused. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but Warren 's alibi for the night of Tamara's death didn't check out. He claimed to be at a bar having a drink with a woman. She corroborated his story, but I thought she seemed nervous. She sounded as if she'd practiced her story. She also made the mistake of volunteering too much information. One detail she mentioned was the name of the bar. I checked. The owner had died and they were closed the night Warren was supposed to have been there. That's why I was trying to find him this morning."
Natalie's face froze. "You think he might have killed Tamara?"
"Considering his affair with Charlotte and the lack of an alibi, yes."
"But how does that explain his murder?" Natalie's lips parted as realization dawned. "You think Warren might have murdered Tamara, Lily and Oliver suspected, so one of them murdered him?" She shook her head. "No. Absolutely not. I've known Lily most of my life. She's not as gentle as Tamara was, but she could never deliberately hurt anyone."
"And Oliver?"
"No. I mean, he wouldn't murder someone. He just couldn't…"
Nick's eyes narrowed. "You don't sound as sure of yourself as you did about Lily."
"I don't know him as well. Well, I really don't know him at all. He's rather cold and formal. I don't believe I've ever had a real conversation with him even though I was a friend of his daughters."
"And those daughters probably sounded a lot alike. Especially on the phone."
"You're back to the anonymous call I got after finding Tamara's body. Nick, Lily was at her father's when I got that call. I told you I tried to reach the number of the caller but I was blocked. I've called Lily at Oliver's, though. My father's number is not blocked from Oliver's phone."
"He might have more than one phone line, Natalie. Many people do now with fax machines and the Internet."
"Lily would not make a call like that or hang around The Blue Lady dance pavilion trying to scare me. What would be the purpose?"
"Maybe as soon as her sister was murdered, she knew who did it and she planned revenge. She thinks you know her so well she might give something away, so she's trying to frighten you into going back to Columbus."
"That's really stretching things. Besides, what about the person on the phone saying 'their throat is an open tomb' and 'open tomb' being written on the wall of the Charlotte just like in the note that was left with Tam's body? It's the same person using the same phrase."
"Is it? Lily saw that note and she knows you saw it. By the time you got the anonymous call, I'd had time to tell her and Oliver I thought it had been left by the murderer. By repeating the phrase, she could be covering her tracks by making you come to the conclusion you just did-that the same person who left the note on Tamara also called you, hid in The Blue Lady, and killed Warren and Charlotte."
Natalie stared at him as she absorbed his speculation and realized it did make a kind of sense. But she wouldn't accept it. "Nick, this all must seem perfectly plausible to you, but it's just absurd if you know Lily. She isn't capable of murder."
"Profound grief and shock can make you capable of things you never imagined."
"Not murder. Not Lily."
"If you did think Lily might have murdered Warren and Charlotte, would you tell me?"
Natalie glanced down at her hands. They were slim with long fingers and short, unpainted nails. The creamy pearl in her ring seemed to glow. Tamara had always loved the ring.
Natalie lifted her gaze to Nick's. "If I thought someone had committed cold-blooded, premeditated murder-even
Lily in revenge for Tamara-I would tell you. I'd have to. I couldn't let someone so dangerous walk around free."
Nick nodded. "Good. You know the people involved in this case. I'd like to believe I can count on you for information."
"That makes me uncomfortable. These people are my friends."
"One of them could be a murderer. Maybe not Lily. Maybe it's Oliver, and Lily is just lending her voice to the project."
"That's almost as bad." Natalie's face set stubbornly. "No, stumbling on information is one thing, but I won't be a spy."
"I don't want you to be a spy," Nick said earnestly. "I don't want you to divulge anything about these people's private lives that doesn't directly pertain to the murders. I wouldn't ask for any information of you, but I need help."
"You? The big-city detective?"
"Please don't plaster that local stereotype on me. The people in this town elected me sheriff, then they seemed to resent me because I come from New York City. I don't understand it."
"They elected you because they thought you had more knowledge and experience than anyone else running for the position. At the same time, a lot of them are intimidated by that expertise. And some, like Max Bishop, are simply used to calling the shots with guys like Purdue. I don't think that man made a move without first clearing it with Bishop."
"I know all about Purdue. I also know that some people think I run too tight a ship. And I admit to being a hard-ass lately. But Natalie, this department was a mess. I had to pull things back in line, institute some order." He sighed. "However, just because I was on the N.Y.P.D. doesn't mean I'm omniscient. I know investigative techniques, and I'm good at my job if I do say so myself, but I'm not a damned psychic." He leaned forward. "We have had three brutal, bizarre murders in less than three days. I'm afraid we'll have more. That's why I need all the information I can get. Can't you see that without getting up your hackles because you think I'm persecuting your friends?"
She twisted her ring, catching her lower lip between her teeth as she studied the salt and pepper shakers on the table. "You're right," she said reluctantly. "I know these people better than you do and I can't deny there's a connection among the killings. In that case maybe I can help in some small way." She raised her dark gaze. "So I'll keep my eyes and ears open but only for the sake of justice." She grinned. "God I sound sanctimonious!"
"Only to you."
"I doubt that." She frowned. "I'm having some trouble with guilt, but as long as I've agreed to offer information, I guess there is one other person I should mention. Alison Cosgrove. She's Viveca Cosgrove's daughter. Viveca has been seeing Oliver Peyton for a couple of years. Alison is twenty-one or -two and she's deeply disturbed. She's been under psychiatric care for years. Lately she'd been seeing Warren professionally, but Lily thought Alison had a fixation on him."
"Do you believe she's right?"
"Lily is pretty perceptive and I trust her judgment. If she thinks Alison had a thing for Warren, I'm sure she did. Anyway, earlier this evening I was speculating about all of this and…"
She looked troubled. "Go on," Nick urged.
"Well, you're the professional. I don't want to sound silly. But I wondered if Alison could have killed Tamara because she thought Tamara stood between her and Warren. Then she could have found out that Warren wasn't interested in her but in Charlotte. Maybe she followed him and saw them meet on the boat." Nick stared at her and she felt color coming to her cheeks. "It sounds outlandish-"
"It sounds perfectly reasonable, particularly if this Alison is as disturbed as you say. Why isn't she in a hospital?"
"She's been in and out of them ever since she was five. She's also been heavily medicated until recently."
"Why not now?"
"Because Warren was a psychologist, not an M.D. He can't write prescriptions."
"Then why was Alison seeing him?"
"Lily said Alison insisted on being treated by Warren."
Nick leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. "Well, I'll be damned. You just put a whole new spin on this case."
"I feel like I just committed slander."
"You merely presented a theory in a confidential context. You stated nothing as fact and I'm certainly not going to descend on Alison Cosgrove, although I'll be watching her. Do you think she's capable of imitating Tamara's voice?"
"I'm not sure. Alison's voice is higher and more childish than Tam's, but that doesn't mean she couldn't alter it. She'd certainly heard Tam's voice enough. Lily's, too. They weren't that different." She sighed. "Now I've just implicated two people."
"You didn't implicate anyone." Nick gave Natalie a long, direct look. "I know you're not a gossip. You only told me anything because you thought you should. That makes you invaluable to me."
That's not all you are to me, Nick almost said, but of course he couldn't. He wasn't even sure he meant it. He was exhausted and in need of some reassurance. She was beautiful and kind and smart. But he hardly knew her. Use your head, Nick, he reminded himself. Keep it light.
"One other thing," he said quickly. "Mrs. Bishop said that before Charlotte left the house last night, she was waylaid by a young slender man with dark blond hair. Does that sound like anyone you know?"
Natalie shrugged. "It could be a lot of people. No one immediately springs to mind."
"How about the guy that was in Lily Peyton's shop yesterday morning?"
"Now that you mention it. He said his name is Jeff Lindstrom."
"What does he do?"
"I have no idea. He said he's here on vacation."
"Staying where?"
"I don't know. He was headed for Trudy's Diner for breakfast, though. Maybe he struck up a conversation with someone there."
Nick smiled. "Dr. St. John, you are a gold mine of information."
"Only one of my many fine qualities." Natalie stood abruptly. "I should be going now. My father is under the impression that I'm fifteen and he'll probably be calling to check on me, which would be too embarrassing to endure."
"A concerned father is always a concerned father."
"So he keeps telling me. But I hope when Paige is an adult, you give her a little more leeway than my father does me."
"I'll try, but I'll probably be a complete pain."
She laughed. "Tell Paige I had a wonderful time with her."
"I will and thanks for staying."
"I suppose I'll see you at the funeral. I've read that police come to funerals of murder victims to see if the killer might turn up to get a big thrill out of the whole thing."
"The only problem is that if they're getting a thrill, they usually don't look like it. Natalie, I'd rather Lily didn't know the real reason why I'm coming to the funeral."
"I won't have to tell her-she'll already know. She won't come up to talk to you about the case, either. She'll stay out of the way." She frowned. "Alison is another matter."
"She's attending?"
"Viveca says she wants to and Alison gets what she wants. She might sit like a stone and behave herself. Or she might make a scene and have to be taken away. Or she might play Lois Lane and come up to interview you."
"Oh, God," Nick moaned. "I vote for the stone."
"Don't count on it."
He trailed behind her to the front door. He wanted to say something, clever, but the only thing he managed was, "Sure you can make it home after all that milk?"
"I think so. It didn't have nutmeg in it, remember?"
"Nutmeg. I'll have to try it." Well, you've certainly impressed her with your witty repartee, he thought gloomily. As she strode to her car, though, one more comment burst from his mouth. "Do you really think Paul Fiori is gorgeous?"
She turned, her silky hair swinging over one shoulder, and winked at him. "Absolutely irresistible."
He shook his head. "I knew it. Too much milk."
"Tell me again what they looked like. Warren and Charlotte, I mean. No, wait a minute. I wanna see this."
Ted Hysell sighed and glanced back at the television. Eddie Salvatore leaned across the table, his brown eyes smoldering in his chiseled face. "So you don't know nothin' about this murder that went down today, I got that right, Ice Pick?"
A sweating hulk with acne scars and bulging arms sprouting from a sleeveless sweatshirt dropped his sneaky gaze. "Yeah.'man."
"I love this show!" Dee gushed. "Paul Fiori is a walking, breathing piece of perfection."
"He's good as Salvatore," Ted agreed without her panting enthusiasm.
"Yeah?" Salvatore demanded. "Yeah! Is that what you're tellin' me, Ice Pick?" More shifting of eyes and sweating from Ice Pick. " 'Cause I'm gonna tell you somethin'." Salvatore sprang from his seat and grabbed the giant around the throat, rushing him across the room and slamming him against a wall. "I'm gonna tell you about how a little girl got found in the street, a little girl in a sweet blue dress pulled up around her waist from where some animal raped her over and over before he wrung her sweet little neck until her face turned as blue as her dress and her mother had to see that little girl, had to look in that little girl's face and say, 'Yes, that's my baby,' and for the rest of her life every time that mother tries to sleep she'll see that little girl's sweet face all blue and the eyes bulgin' out-"
Salavatore's well-meaning but vastly inferior partner stood back reverently, gazing at the law enforcement god that was Eddie Salvatore. "You gonna tell me that, Ice Pick?" He pounded the man's huge head against the wall. " 'Cause I got a hunch, Ice Pick. I got a hunch you didn't have nothin' to do with hurtin', rapin', stranglin' that little girl, but you gotta give up the truth, you hear what I'm sayin'? 'Cause you don't give up the truth I'm gonna beat you till I turn that head of yours into a big, soft melon with brains drippin' outta your ears-"
"It was Snipe, man!" Ice Pick screamed, spraying saliva, overwhelmed by the blazing rage of Salvatore. "It was Snipe, I swear!"
"Hot damn, that was great!" Dee took a slug of beer from a can, now willing to talk because the scene had swung away from Salvatore. "You get confessions that way, Ted?"
Terror of the interrogation room, that's me, Ted thought dismally. "Sometimes it gets pretty rough."
"Like when?"
"It's hard to remember all the times." Ted gulped beer, thinking furiously. "You remember that old man found floating in the lake a couple of years ago, bullet in his heart? We got the guy what was seen with him last…"
"Yeah?" Dee asked eagerly.
And Sheriff Purdue had conducted the interrogation, half drunk and belligerently ignoring the guy's plea for a lawyer, bullying him into a confession that a judge rightly labeled fruit of the poisonous tree. The guy had walked away a free man with a smirk at Ted he'd never forget. "It was pretty bad," he said lamely. "I'm not supposed to go into details, though."
"Oh, hell." Dee sounded as if she knew he was trying to snow her. "Tell me about Warren Hunt and Charlotte Bishop."
He had to make up for her disappointment in his previous murder tale. "Got their throats slashed." He paused for effect. "Somebody nearly took off Charlotte 's head."
"Wish I'd have seen them! Given me a real thrill to see those two mutilated like a couple of pigs."
Ted blinked at her. "Jeez, Dee."
She threw back her head and laughed. "I was joking. You should see the look on your face!"
"Shut up down there!" The voice of Dee 's mother shrilled down the dingy stairway and bounced around the living room. "And turn off that damned TV. You're runnin' up the electric bill."
"Why don't you turn off your heating pad and your dehumidifier and your air conditioner, too?" Dee muttered savagely.
"Is she cranky tonight?"
"Cranky? That one of your mother's words? She's a bitch all the time now, not that she was ever a bed of roses to live with. Being deserted by two husbands didn't improve her disposition, but my brothers and I couldn't help it."
"They don't come around much anymore, do they?"
Dee flushed. "Not anymore."
Not now that she'd been fired from the hospital where she occasionally lifted drugs for her brothers to sell, Ted thought. He always told other people the charges against her were false. They weren't and he had mixed feelings about the drug theft. What she'd done was against the law, but the brothers were losers with kids who were going hungry. She'd denied the allegations Andrew St. John had brought against her, even to Ted. She had only told him the truth one night when she was particularly drunk after a call from one of her nieces who'd run away from home. The girl was sixteen and Dee was afraid she would become a prostitute. There was no mistaking the sincerity of her love for the kids, but she'd done what she'd done and she was just lucky the hospital was more concerned about bad public relations than pressing charges or she would have landed in jail.
After losing her job, Dee would have left town if her mother hadn't been diagnosed with lung cancer. She now lived in her mother's house rent-free in return for nursing care. She earned enough to exist by typing. She also did other people's laundry, although Ted wasn't supposed to know this. He did know, though, and often anonymously threw business her way.
Dee hoped he would marry her. She'd never said so, but her desire was obvious. She was attractive in a strong-boned, earthy way. She lived life with a vengeance, though, and when she was forty, she'd probably look hard. That's what his mother kept telling him. Of course at fifty-seven Rhonda Hysell looked twenty years older with her long, shapeless, dark clothes and equally long shapeless hair that had never been touched by a beautician. Then there was her constant church work, her obsessive collection of Hummel figures she couldn't afford, her fervent attacks on dust and mildew, her unending war on grubs and mealy bugs and other garden pests. And for him she wanted a woman just like herself. Instead her son seemed to prefer Dee Fisher, a hard-drinking, raucous atheist. However, in Rhonda Hysell's mind Dee 's worst sin seemed to be the blatant sporting of a tattoo.
Ted snickered at the thought. "What?" Dee demanded.
"Show me your tattoo."
"What? Why?"
"I just want to see it."
"You're in a weird mood," she said good-naturedly and pulled up her sleeve. A red rose in full bloom sprawled three inches up her bicep. "You hate it, don't you?"
"No. I've decided I like it."
"You do?' Dee looked surprised and pleased. "Maybe I'll get another one."
"Let me guess. A big heart with 'Mom' written inside."
"Not in this lifetime. I was thinking of a butterfly." She paused. "On my right cheek."
"Your right cheek!' Ted shook his head violently. "Oh, no, Dee. That would look awful. Why would you want to spoil your face that way?"
She whooped with laughter. "My right buttock. My ass, you big dope!"
Ted stared at her a moment. Then his laughter joined hers. Mrs. Fisher thundered for quiet, displaying astonishing volume and shocking vocabulary, which set off Dee and Ted in a fresh fit of hilarity. They collapsed against each other, tears streaming from their eyes.
"Damn, I have a good time with you," Dee gasped.
"As good a time as you had with Eugene?" Ted asked and immediately regretted the question. The ghostly hand of Eugene Farley seemed to pass over her face, wiping away all happiness. " Eugene was different." Her voice always became eerie and flat when she spoke of her former lover.
At times like these, when Ted felt jealousy rising in him, he was tempted to tell Dee the truth about Farley. But he couldn't hurt her that way. He couldn't tell her about one day during the trial when he'd found himself sitting next to the elegant young Farley during a recess. He'd never spoken a word to Farley and was surprised when he'd suddenly asked, "Have you seen that young brunette who sits in the courtroom every day? The one who always wears the navy blue suit?"
"Yeah," Ted had answered. He'd noticed her great legs the first day.
"I used to date her. She has a good heart."
Ted didn't know what to say. He didn't know about her heart. He only knew about her legs.
"She was the first single woman I met when I came to Port Ariel," Farley went on. "She was in love with me. I enjoyed her company for a while, but she was too rough around the edges. I'm afraid I treated her shamefully, but there she is, every day, with her heart in her eyes when she looks at me."
"If it bothers you, maybe she meant more to you than you thought," Ted speculated uncomfortably.
Eugene Farley's perfect profile had remained calm as he considered this. Then he shook his head. "No. She meant nearly nothing to me. I'm just sorry I wasn't kinder to her." He'd looked at Ted. "There is a balance in the great scheme of things, you know. Maybe I'm in so much trouble because I'm being paid back for my indifference to that young woman."
No, you're being paid back for embezzlement, you dumb shit, Ted had thought in disdain.
He had absolutely no sympathy for Eugene Farley. The guy had everything-looks, polish, an impressive education, a great job-everything Ted wanted desperately but could only imagine having. Farley could have had someone like Tamara Peyton. Maybe even Charlotte Bishop. And he'd thrown it all away to embezzle money from Max Bishop so he could win back Viveca Cosgrove, an older woman and a gold-digger. Ted didn't even think she was pretty-she looked too styled, too stiff, too perfect, like a store mannequin. Max had brought in that high-powered outside accounting firm from Cleveland and they'd nailed Farley immediately. Oliver Peyton had done a piss-poor job of defending Farley-even Ted could see he wasn't half-trying. He'd been convicted. Then, weakling that he was, he had committed suicide. And here was Dee still grieving herself to near distraction over him.
Stealing from Max Bishop. What a fool.
Max Bishop. Oliver Peyton. What was the name of that accounting firm from Cleveland that discovered Farley's embezzlement? Martin, Goldstein, and Hunt. Richard Hunt, father of Warren Hunt.
"What's wrong?" Dee asked suddenly. "You look like someone just zapped you with the heart paddles. I'd say about 350 joules."
"I've got to call Meredith," Ted said. "Now."