SEVEN

1

“Oh, my God,” Adrienne gasped. “Is that written in blood?”

Lucas walked toward it, then peered closely. She noticed he was careful not to touch the dresser top or the mirror. Finally, he said, “It’s not blood. It’s waxy.”

Adrienne crept closer to him, never removing her gaze from the message. Then she recognized the color. “It’s lipstick. Persian Red. I left it on the dresser.”

Lucas backed away from the dresser and looked around. “I don’t see the tube. Are you sure it’s your lipstick?”

“Yes. The color was too bright for me in natural light, but the case was pretty so I left it standing on the dresser.”

“The tube could be here in this mess.”

Adrienne turned to him. “Lucas, you act like the only important thing is finding the lipstick. Hasn’t the message sunk in yet?”

“’Leave or Die.’ Pretty melodramatic. I think it’s meant to scare you, not actually warn you.”

“I’m glad you can be so sanguine about it!”

“When you use words like sanguine, you’re mad,” Lucas said mildly. “I’m not taking the message lightly, Adrienne. I’m just not panicking over it. And neither should you.”

“Of course not. It’s par for the course to come home and find death threats scrawled on my mirror. What the hell am I getting so shook up about?”

Lucas put his hands on her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. “Do you have faith that I know what I’m doing as a cop?”

“You know I do. But—”

“No buts. This could be a threat. But my instincts tell me that if someone really wanted to harm you, they would have done a lot of damage to this house. Whoever searched the place was almost careful until they got to this room, where I figure they fell into a temper fit for not finding anything. And that message sounds like something a kid would write.”

“So you think all of this is just nothing.”

“I didn’t say that.” He glanced around, his eyes clearly focused inward, and finally said, “I think you and Skye should stay at Vicky’s for a few days. Just in case.”

“So we wouldn’t be alone just in case we’re in danger? Well, that won’t work. Philip and Vicky are leaving tomorrow morning on a campaign trip. Only Rachel would be there, and if I’m a target, I don’t think Vicky would appreciate my aiming danger her daughter’s way. Besides, their house was broken into, as well.”

“Because the alarm system wasn’t on. You don’t even have an alarm system.”

“I’ll have one installed today”

“Adrienne, you might not be able to get one today,” Lucas said. “If you’re determined to stay away from Rachel to keep her out of harm’s way, then you should just leave Point Pleasant.”

“Leave Point Pleasant? Where I have a teaching job? A job I need? A job I could lose for good if I just walk out?”

“You’re only teaching two classes in summer school.”

“Nevertheless, the classes have started. If it was just a matter of my being gone for a few days, missing each class even two times wouldn’t be so bad. But you don’t know when you’ll find Julianna’s killer. It could be weeks. I can’t be gone that long, Lucas.” He was still scowling, but she’d felt she had to dig in her heels on this issue. Her teaching position was absolutely necessary for the livelihood of her and her daughter. She took a deep breath and spoke with a pretense of confidence. “Besides, even if the murderer isn’t in the photos I took, he can’t go on thinking I saw him and have just decided not to tell on him.”

“Why can’t he?”

“Because he knows I’d be afraid of him. He’d know I’d want him locked up. After a few days of silence from me, he’ll have to realize he has nothing to fear from me.”

“And in the meantime?”

“In the meantime you’ll use your considerable influence as sheriff to insist a security company install an alarm system today. Skye and I will be extra careful. I won’t let her out of my sight, which will drive her nuts but make me feel better. Rachel will be safe in her house, Skye and I will be safe in our house, and all this trouble will die down.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Adrienne,” Lucas said slowly. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”

She stiffened, wanting to clap her hands over her ears like a child but forcing herself to listen. “What is it?”

“Claude Duncan died in a fire last night. That’s why I didn’t come to the hospital when I heard about your attack. I was at his place. It was awful. The cottage went up like a torch, Adrienne, and I’d bet my life it was no accident.”

2

The smell of charred wood hung over the rubble like a low-lying cloud, befouling the clean morning air. A shroud of ashes dulled the colors of the nearby shrubbery and flowers, and the remaining grass around the burn site lay flattened and drenched by the fire hoses that had unsuccessfully tried to quench the fire that had devoured the caretaker’s cabin.

Drew Delaney couldn’t hold his breath any longer. He drew in air that felt as if it were singeing the inside of his nose and brought tears to his eyes. Even his meager breakfast of toast and coffee rolled in his stomach as he thought of the man that had met his end in this inferno.

Claude Duncan.

One of the town’s losers. One of the town’s human jokes.

Drew remembered being seventeen and speeding away from la Belle Rivière in his uncle’s silver Corvette on a steaming summer day. He’d felt hot, he’d felt cool, he’d felt on top of the world because that night he had a date with Adrienne, in his opinion the prettiest girl in town, and he was taking her out in the Corvette. Yeah, it had been shaping up to be one fine day.

Then he’d spotted a lanky boy with stringy hair trudging down the road. Drew recognized him instantly. Claude Duncan, the manager’s son. He was around eleven, thin, stringy, and hunch-shouldered as if drained of every bit of joy and confidence. Almost without realizing what he was doing, Drew had stopped beside him. “Hey, Claude, where’re you going?”

Claude had jumped and said nervously, “I’m not up to anything bad. Honest.”

Drew had laughed. “I didn’t say you were. I just asked where you’re going. You look like a guy in need of a ride.”

“Oh. I do? I mean, I am. I’m goin’ to the drugstore for my mom. She’s sick and Dad’s too busy to pick up the refill of her medicine.”

Drew had stared at the boy. The drugstore was four miles away. His father expected him to walk eight miles round trip in this heat? Probably. Mr. Duncan was a first-class jerk in Drew’s opinion. “How about a ride?”

“A ride?” Claude had looked at the Corvette as if it were some kind of fabulous space vehicle. “In this?”

“Sure. Hop in. I’ll get you to the drugstore in no time.”

Claude had gingerly gotten in the car and gazed around him with wide eyes. “This is the coolest car I’ve ever seen, Mr. Delaney,” he’d said in awed tones. “Is it yours?”

“No, my uncle’s. But I’ll have one like it someday soon. And my name’s Drew. I’m way too young to be called Mr. Delaney.”

“Oh. Yes, sir. Drew. I’ll remember that. But in front of my dad, I have to call you Mr. Delaney. It’s one of his rules.”

Screw his rules, Drew had almost said, but kept silent. Encouraging Claude to defy his father would only get the boy into trouble.

Drew had waited in the Corvette outside the drugstore for Claude, drawing the admiring looks of several fine-looking girls, in which he’d basked. When Claude had emerged from the store, his shoulders no longer drooped and his step was almost jaunty. To his amazement, Drew realized he couldn’t stand to whisk Claude right back to the hotel and his father. Instead, he’d taken him to the Dairy Queen, where they’d each had a chocolate sundae, then he’d roared around town a couple of times, radio booming, to show off the car. Claude had actually laughed, and Drew realized that in all the years he’d had been allowed to hang around the pool at la Belle because he was Kit Kirkwood’s friend, he’d never seen Claude even smile.

They’d returned to the hotel in a little over an hour, much quicker than Claude could have made the trip on foot. The boy had climbed from the Corvette, looking enraptured, and beamed at Drew. “Thanks, Mr. Delaney. I mean Drew.” He’d blushed. “Honest, this has been the best day of my whole life!” Then he’d bolted toward the little cottage, smiling and clutching the bag of medicine for his mother who Drew had heard was slowly dying of cancer.

When Drew had returned to Point Pleasant less than two years ago, he couldn’t believe the change in the once wide-eyed boy with so much joy bottled up inside. Clearly, his spirit had been broken, no doubt by the formidable Mr. Duncan, whom Kit Kirkwood’s mother had always tolerated because he ran la Belle so smoothly. A few times over the last couple of years, Drew had bought Claude a drink in a local bar and chatted with him for a while, but the encounters were depressing. Claude never had much to say when he wasn’t drunk, his wits dulled by emotional abuse and alcoholism. When he’d been drinking, he was alternately a depressed whiner or a ridiculous braggadocio. Drew had felt immensely sorry for the man Claude had become.

And now the poor guy was dead before he’d reached the age of thirty.

Drew had still been at the hospital with Adrienne when Claude had been brought in last night, horribly burned. A nurse Drew had once dated had told him confidentially that Claude had second- and third-degree burns over eighty percent of his body. Even if he’d been alive when he reached the hospital, he would never have stood a chance. But she’d also heard a doctor observe that the pupils of Claude’s eyes were completely constricted, indicating ingestion of drugs. She said she hoped Claude had been “out of if before the fire got to him.

Claude’s death could have been accidental, Drew thought. After all, la Belle had suffered more than its share of deaths over the years. But two in less than twenty-four hours? Even for la Belle that would be hard to imagine. Unless the deaths were connected. But Drew wondered what possible relation Julianna Brent could have had to Claude Duncan. Certainly not romantic. Certainly not business. Something they both knew? But what? The identity of Julianna’s lover? Hell, Claude couldn’t keep any information to himself for more than a day. If he’d known who was her lover, he would have blabbed the name all over town, swearing everyone he told to secrecy. Drew was convinced Claude hadn’t known the name of Julianna’s lover. So, what could have been the link in their deaths?

Drew closed his dark eyes and shook his head. Sometimes his reporter’s curiosity wore him out. His mother had called it plain old nosiness and warned that it would get him in trouble someday. But that hadn’t happened yet, nor had he learned to turn off the inquisitiveness of his mind.

Yellow police tape surrounded the remains of the cottage. A middle-aged, dumpy deputy with a perpetually red face Drew knew as Sonny Keller strode toward him. “I don’t know how you got past the roadblock on Rivière Lane, Delaney, but you’re not supposed to go near the cottage.”

“I simply walked around the roadblock through the woods, and I’m nowhere near the cottage,” Drew answered pleasantly.

“Sheriff Flynn doesn’t want a bunch of souvenir-seekers up here.”

“I didn’t intend to raid the place. Besides, it doesn’t look like there’s much left to take.”

Keller shook his head. “It was a hell of a mess. There wouldn’t be anything at all left if somebody hadn’t spotted the fire from the highway and called it in right before that second cloudburst hit. All that rain’s the only thing saved Claude.”

“For a short, agonizing time at least.” Drew shuddered inwardly. “Any idea what caused the fire?”

Keller looked at him cagily. “I know your game. You’ll run right back to your newspaper and print every word I say. Flynn said for us to keep quiet about what we know.”

“Then you do know what caused the fire.”

“I didn’t say that.”

‘Oh,” Drew said in mock disappointment. “I figured with all your experience, Keller, you of all people would probably know something.”

“Well, actually, I do.” Drew had known Sonny Keller couldn’t keep his mouth shut if someone hinted the lawman didn’t have all the answers, no matter what Lucas Flynn had ordered. “Flynn’s having an arson expert come to look at the place this afternoon,” Keller almost whispered, looking over his shoulder although no one was near. “Can you believe that? We don’t need some smart-aleck so-called expert up here messing around. It’s plain as day that idiot Claude got drunk, turned over his bottle of whiskey, passed out, and dropped a lighted cigarette in the alcohol. Voilà!” he ended triumphantly, pronouncing the word vi-o-lay.

“Hmmm.” Drew nodded solemnly as if he were thinking this over. Then he said, “But Claude could hold a lot of liquor. If he’d drunk so much he’d passed out, there couldn’t have been enough alcohol left in his bottle for a cigarette dropped into it to cause a fire big enough to wipe out this place, Keller. How do you explain that?” he asked in polite perplexity.

Sonny Keller hesitated, clearly troubled by the complication Drew had thrown into his simple explanation. Finally he drew a deep breath and said with bravado, “Well, I say a cigarette in a little alcohol could have caused it. Dozens of ways the cigarette could have ignited the liquor to cause a big fire. Yes indeed, that’s the answer.”

“Maybe so,” Drew said casually, “but I knew Claude a little bit and I see two problems with that scenario. One, Claude didn’t smoke. His mother died of lung cancer and he swore never to touch a cigarette. And he kept that promise. Never had a pack on him and never accepted one if someone offered. And two, the doctor who examined him before he died said his eyes showed he was pumped full of some drug. Now I happen to know that Claude was terrified of drugs. Liquor he couldn’t get enough of, but he would never have voluntarily taken anything except an aspirin or an antibiotic.” Drew looked at the increasingly glowering deputy. “And Keller, all of that says to me that someone must have helped Claude Duncan on his way last night.”

3

A shrine. That’s what this place was—a damned shrine to Julianna Brent.

Gail Brent stood in her mother Lottie’s cabin. She hated the place. Lottie had lived in it all of her life and called it “humble.” Gail called it a dump, which hurt Lottie and made Juli angry. But it was a dump, Gail thought defiantly. It was small, primitive, full of furniture bought at yard sales and some crude pieces built by her grandfather, with faded rag rugs on the cheap wooden floor no amount of varnish could make presentable. And to make matters worse for Gail, over the last sixteen years, the walls had become almost covered with photos of Julianna in fashion layouts and on magazine covers with names like Vogue, Glamour, and Cosmopolitan. None of Gail’s school papers bearing As and glowing comments earned places. They were just smiled at, vaguely commented on, then tucked away in a cheap folder. Meanwhile, every time Lottie prominently displayed another picture of Julianna, Gail had felt like a voodoo doll being stabbed with a needle.

Gail’s watch showed that it was ten till eight in the morning, but Lottie wasn’t home. Gail was certain her mother hadn’t been home for at least twenty-four hours. There were no cooking smells, no open windows, and the cat on the front porch was mewing hungrily. Why had Lottie been gone so long? Was she just out wandering? Or in light of Juli’s murder, was Lottie’s absence more significant?

Gail’s gaze fell on a particularly striking photo of her sister in a forest-green sequined gown with her auburn hair pulled high, and her golden-brown eyes innocent and coquettish at the same time. Gail hated to admit she thought her sister was beautiful, and she couldn’t stop comparing herself to Julianna. There was no contest, she thought glumly, walking over to a small mirror for a self-study.

Her hair was shoulder-length, a glossy natural dark blond. My hair is great, Gail thought. Her boyfriend, Deputy Sonny Keller, seemed half in love with her hair, which he once compared to honey-colored satin when he was drunk. He loved her hair and her big breasts, even though she thought they were too big and were beginning to sag although she was only thirty-two and had never nursed a child. And although her teeth were perfectly straight and white, looking at her round face with what everyone called “chipmunk cheeks,” her small and murky blue eyes, her snub nose, and her too-thick neck sent Gail into the habitual fit of depression.

When she was growing up, Lottie had continually told her she was cute, even pretty when she smiled, but Gail had been certain Lottie was lying. She knew Lottie hated her because Gail looked like her father Butch, who’d been short and squat, an uneducated but smart man whom Lottie had driven away with her craziness. Gail had seen a goodness in her father no one else ever seemed to notice, and she knew her father had loved her, even though Juli had always captured all of his attention and his kisses. Julianna and Lottie had been happy when Butch left, Gail seethed inwardly after all these years. Happy! She’d been devastated.

Gail unconsciously clenched her teeth at the thought, then quickly relaxed her jaw. She didn’t want to chip a beautiful tooth by reverting back to the clenching and grinding that had plagued her as a child. But she couldn’t seem to help herself lately. She despised Julianna’s latest romantic involvement. She found it filthy, almost unholy if she had been religious, which she was not in the least. But most of all, Gail viewed it as sickeningly unfair. Once again, Juli had gotten what she wanted, just like everything was for her!

I should have done something about the situation years ago, Gail chided herself. Julianna had caused a man who loved her too much pain. Instead, Gail had let things drift while she worked out a plan. But as usual, she’d vacillated, afraid to take action until she’d poked every possible hole into every scenario she’d concocted. In the meantime, the situation had reached critical mass and gotten completely out of control. And to top it off, now Julianna had probably become a saint to the man Gail loved more than life.

Feeling hot tears of grief and frustration beginning to run from her murky blue eyes down her chipmunk cheeks, she pushed aside a heavy trunk and looked at a piece of scuffed wood beneath it. Gail got one of her mother’s kitchen knives and began gently running it around the edges of a barely visible square crack in the wood. Around and around, careful not to damage the already worn varnish. After nearly three minutes, she was able to pry the blade into a crack and lift up an eight-by-ten-inch piece of wood. She laid the piece aside, reached inside and clutched a velvet sack that had covered a particularly fabulous bottle of Crown Royal given to her father by a Christmas-generous boss. Neither the boss’s mood nor the Crown Royal blended whiskey had lasted long, but Gail had cherished the bag, worked on a secret hiding place for it every time she found herself alone in the cabin, and used it for safely squirreling away keepsakes for years.

Gail knew Lottie was nowhere near the cabin—she could almost feel the absence of Lottie’s “aura”—but she still glanced over each shoulder before she dumped out the contents of the velvet bag. She smiled when she saw the hair ornament her mother had made—there had been two—one for her, one for Juli. Two barrettes almost two inches long, made in the shape of a butterfly with tiny chips of blue, green, and pink Austrian crystals sprinkled on the gossamer wings.

She picked up one diamond stud earring. The man Julianna had cared about for a while and Gail had adored wore it almost constantly until it disappeared from his dresser one day. The last item in the velvet bag was her love’s picture, a small sketch she’d done, not very good, but recognizable. That was why she’d obliterated the face, just in case her hidey-hole were ever discovered. Besides, she didn’t need to look at a picture to remember his face. It was burned into her brain.

Gail wanted to take her treasures home, but she didn’t dare. She didn’t think she was under suspicion for her sister’s murder, but you could never be too safe. She wiped off each item and slipped it back into its velvet bag and down into the hole. She carefully put the trunk back in place, and walked out of the cottage.

On the porch, she glanced around. A fierce morning sun had washed the sky and the air clean. Beside Gail, her mother’s small cat Calypso let out a tiny, pitiful mewl of hunger. Gail looked at the cat for a moment, gave it a slightly lopsided smile, said, “Things are tough all over, cat,” and walked purposefully to her small white car, the cat looking pathetically after her.

4

“Good heavens, did a tornado blow through here?” Kit Kirkwood surveyed the shambles of Adrienne’s living room. “It’ll take forever to get this place back in shape.”

“Not really.” Adrienne slid a heavy seat cushion back onto the couch. “Only a couple of little things were broken. The rest was just tossed, as Lucas says.”

“Let me help you clean up.”

“I can manage. Skye is helping.”

“And with me helping, things will go even faster.”

Kit had dark brown hair that an incredibly expensive haircut gave a casually tousled look. She wore Capri pants, sandals, a T-shirt, and only a slash of pale lip gloss and a bit of mascara. Without the dark lipstick, the blush, and the eyeliner she applied to her hazel eyes when she was at the restaurant, she appeared at least five years younger. Usually Kit had a wide, lovely smile, but not today.

“I’m wondering just what the hell is going on in this town,” Kit said, picking up a lamp. “It’s beginning to feel like we’re in an episode of The Twilight Zone.”

“It always has. Don’t forget, Point Pleasant is supposed to be suffering under an old Indian curse.”

“Now you sound like my mother.”

“I’m beginning to think her belief in the supernatural has been undeservedly dismissed.” Adrienne shoved the last cushion onto the couch and stood back, hands on hips. “Here we are making light of the situation when Julianna has been murdered. What’s wrong with us?”

“Shock.” Kit set down the lamp on a table and came to Adrienne, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. “Back when we were teenagers, I thought I was ordinary, you were special, and Julianna was bigger than life. She was so beautiful, so energetic, so joyful that she seemed … I don’t know … eternal. That sounds stupid, but even when she was having trouble with drugs, I knew she’d come through it. And she never forgot us. Even at the height of her career, I don’t think I ever went more than a month without talking to her.”

“I know,” Adrienne said sadly. “Her attention meant so much to me when Trey and I were in Las Vegas. I was miserable and worried about money, especially after I had Skye and I was still trying to get my master’s degree, I wrote to Juli, but I couldn’t afford to make a lot of long-distance calls. She understood without my having to explain. She’d call me and talk forever. Her phone bills must have been huge. But I always felt better after I’d talked to her. Well, when I talked to you, too. It’s just that Julianna—”

“Had a more exciting life than I did. We could both live it vicariously.”

By now, Adrienne’s eyes had filled with tears. “I’m going to miss her so much.”

“Me, too. Nothing will ever be the same for us.”

“Or Lottie.” Adrienne sighed. “How’s Gail taking it?”

Kit dropped her arm from Adrienne’s shoulders and shrugged. “She’s the same old Gail. A cipher. You’d never guess her sister had just been killed. Yesterday she came in for the evening shift as if nothing had happened. I told her to take the night off. She said that wouldn’t be necessary. Can you believe it? But I insisted she go home. I was so angry that she was unfazed by her sister’s death, I just felt like slapping her.”

“No wonder. Certainly she felt something. Julianna was her only sister.”

“Of whom she was wildly jealous. She has none of Juli’s beauty, her charm, her ambition. Gail is okay looking, pleasant when she feels like it, and efficient. That’s it. I tried to befriend her for Julianna’s sake—I even gave her a job—but I can’t make myself like her. I believe she’s one of the coldest people I’ve ever met.”

Adrienne began shoving the heavy coffee table back into place. “Gail was devastated when her father deserted the family. She was also ashamed of their poverty. Juli didn’t give a damn.”

Kit pushed on the other end of the coffee table. “I love the slab of glass on this thing, but it weighs a ton,” she gasped. “What does Lucas have to say about all of this?”

“The break-ins, Claude’s death, or Julianna’s murder?”

“Any of it.”

“I don’t think he knows much about Julianna yet. Her body is still at the medical examiner’s office in Charleston. They’ll determine the cause of death. Same with Claude.”

“Claude? He burned to death.”

“There was something else wrong with him. Lucas wasn’t specific, but he doesn’t think his death was an accident.”

“Another murder?” Kit exclaimed. “Jeez, I never gave that a thought.” She sat down hard on a hassock. “Do we have some kind of maniac running around town?”

“Apparently.”

“My God.”

They both stiffened when the doorbell rang. Their gazes met as they stood perfectly still, frozen with anxiety. Then a man yelled, “Adrienne? I mean, Mrs. Reynolds? It’s Rod from Rod’s Lock and Key. Sheriff told me to come myself instead of sendin’ one of my employees ‘cause you know me. I’m here to install your new locks and your security system.”

Adrienne let out her breath and went to the door. She opened it a crack and looked out at Rod, whom she’d known since childhood. He grinned and she smiled back. “Rod, it’s good to see you.”

“You, too, Mrs. Reynolds.”

“Rod, when did I become Mrs. Reynolds to you?” She swung the door open. “We went all through school together.”

Rod’s oversized teeth shone in his lean, weathered face that spoke of all the time he toiled outdoors when he wasn’t laboring at his business. His father had owned a small farm and worked Rod shamefully hard when he was young. After he inherited the place, Rod continued to handle it by himself, refusing to make his young sons near-slaves as he had been. “Well, Adrienne, aren’t you lookin’ pretty these days?”

“Yes, I think the bandage on my forehead does wonders for me.” She smiled. “The same for dark circles under my eyes from no sleep.”

“It’d take more than a bandage and dark circles to ruin that face, although I’m awful sorry about what you’ve been through. Lord Almighty, I heard you found Julianna Brent’s body.” Adrienne nodded, hoping he wouldn’t ask for any details. “And then you got mugged and now your house’s been broke into.” He shook his head dolefully, deep creases forming between his heavy, sun-bleached eyebrows. “Sure glad you were at your sister’s, although I heard her place got broke into, as well. And the Hamiltons with that fine alarm system I put in. The most expensive one we’ve got. I don’t get it.”

“The alarm system wasn’t turned on, Rod.”

He looked relieved and annoyed at the same time. “Well, I’m glad there wasn’t nothing wrong with the system, but confound it, why pay a fortune for a fancy system like that and then not turn it on?”

“It was an oversight. When Philip and Vicky got home from a party, they found Skye and me and our dog as unexpected houseguests and I’d just come from the hospital after getting bashed on the head.” She tried to smile lightly. “Everyone was a little off center last night. I’m fairly certain that was the first time the alarm had been left off.”

“Phew. That makes me feel a whole lot better,” Rod said. “Wouldn’t want to think I’ve been chargin’ a lot of money for an alarm system that’s not what it’s cracked up to be.”

“Aren’t you even going to speak to me, Lightning Rod?”

Rod turned to face Kit and broke into an even bigger grin, showing more teeth. Adrienne was certain the man must have more teeth than the standard thirty-two. “Kit Kirkwood, no one’s called me Lightnin’ Rod for nearly twenty years!”

Skye had come into the room. “Hello. Why do they call you Lightning Rod?”

Rod’s eyes lit up. He’d always loved to tell this story. “When I was three years old, I took off running in a field during a storm. My mother spotted me just as a big lightning bolt hit the ground about five feet from me. She fainted.”

Skye gasped. “No wonder! Were you hurt?”

“Not a bit. They said I thought it was funny. I didn’t think it was so funny, though, when I was thirteen and ridin’ my bike home to beat a storm and lightning hit a telephone pole that crashed right down in front of me. Wires were flyin’ everywhere, thrashing around like snakes and throwing out some pretty mean sparks.”

“My goodness, you’re a walking disaster,” Skye said in an awed tone.

“Skye!” Adrienne burst out.

Rod laughed. “That’s okay, Adrienne. She’s right. Close calls with lightnin’ are my claim to fame. But God seems to be lookin’ over me, honey.” He looked at Adrienne and Kit. “Well now, isn’t this a pleasure? Of course, the circumstances are bad, but I get to see two of the prettiest girls in my graduating class. Don’t tell the wife, but I had crushes on both of you.”

“You had crushes on at least twenty girls,” Kit said dryly. “But you ended up with the right one. I always thought Carrie was sweet and pretty. Just terribly shy.”

“She’s not nearly so shy now. And she’s gotten even prettier with age. She’s a fine mother, too.”

At that moment, Brandon wandered in and immediately approached Rod’s offered hand. “Dogs always know when a person’s partial to them,” Rod declared. “My two boys each got a dog. Brown and White.”

“What are their names?” Skye asked.

“Brown and White.” Rod seemed puzzled by her question since he thought he’d already given their names. “And what’s this big fella’s name? Blackie?”

“Brandon,” Skye said promptly.

Rod looked slightly bemused. “Well, Brandon’s a fine name. Fancy, but … fancy.” He glanced at Skye. ‘Think Brandon would like to help me change the locks?”

“I bet he’d love it! And can I watch, too? I never saw a lock get changed.”

“I don’t want you and Brandon to be in Rod’s way,” Adrienne said.

Rod shook his head, the cowlick in his thick, sun-streaked hair waving as if it had a life of its own. “Kids are never a bother to me, Adrienne. Just a pure pleasure. I’d have a dozen of them if the wife hadn’t told me in no uncertain terms there’d be no more than four. Number three’s on the way—be here in a couple of months. I’ll have to get that one a dog, too.” He looked at Skye. “Maybe you can help us pick out a name for it, something fancy like Brandon.”

“What did you have in mind, Mr….”

“Just Rod, honey. I was thinkin’ of gettin’ a beagle and calling him Flop Ear.”

“Flop Ear!” Skye burst out in horror before she remembered her manners. “Well, Flop Ear’s nice, but maybe we can think of some names you’d like even better while you work on the locks.”

Adrienne looked at Kit. “Seems it’s time for us to take a break. Want some iced tea or coffee? You look pale.”

“I need coffee. Strong.”

“Rod?”

“Coffee would be great. I don’t know what my two assistants here drink.”

“I’ll see that they’re both taken care of,” Adrienne said. “Don’t work them too hard.”

Rod immediately began chattering to Skye and the noise followed Adrienne and Kit to the kitchen. “Do you suppose he really had crushes on us?” Kit murmured. Adrienne whispered back, “I think he did, but back then, we were all too afraid to get near him for fear of immediately being struck down by lightning.”

They struggled to suppress laughter until they got into the kitchen and closed the door. There they collapsed, giggling like girls Skye’s age over something really not all that funny, although the laughter was a good release from the tension and dark thoughts that had gripped them earlier.

A minute after Adrienne had pulled two tissues from her pocket and they each wiped away tears of laughter, she said, “You can have coffee but I don’t own one of those fancy bean grinders like you have. I can’t give you the quality you’re used to.”

“Frankly, I never go to all that trouble for myself. Anything is fine.”

While the coffee brewed, Kit ran her hands through her thick dark hair, tucked it behind her ears, then pulled it forward again. Fiddling with her hair was a sure sign of nerves with Kit “Do you know who Julianna was involved with? Who she could have been with at la Belle?’ she asked abruptly.

“No. But Skye thinks it was your stepfather.”

Kit gaped. “Skye thinks it was Gavin? Why?”

Adrienne took down two mugs from the cabinet “She goes to Vicky’s parties for Philip to keep Rachel company because Rachel hates them. Anyway, the two of them have noticed that when both Gavin and Juli are present, Gavin constantly touches Julianna.”

“Gavin constantly touches all young women,” Kit said in disgust “Did Skye have anything else to go on?”

“Just that Gavin would have keys to la Belle, making easy access for secret assignations.” Adrienne poured coffee into the mugs and set one in front of Kit. “I’m only telling you this because I don’t think Julianna was involved with Gavin. I thought she just put up with him out of consideration for Ellen. But your mother is bound to hear the rumor and she might believe it.”

“You bet she’ll believe it.” Kit sighed. “Honestly, how she could have stayed with that jerk all these years given his affairs is beyond me. I know she was crazy about him when she married him, but she doesn’t love him anymore. She told me she stayed with him when she first found out he was a philanderer because I needed a father after mine jumped ship.” Kit scoffed. “Gavin was never like a father to me. Or to Jamie. Then he let Jamie die—”

Kit broke off. She had adored her adopted little brother who had drowned one night last summer at la Belle. Finally, she said, “I think Jamie’s death sent Mother over the edge. As for Gavin, he can’t leave her if he wants to end up with a penny of her money, and she won’t let him go voluntarily with a nice settlement. He’s too greedy and too much of a weakling to just walk away empty-handed. So, her retribution for Jamie is to hang on to Gavin and make his life miserable. And she does. Sometimes I could almost feel sorry for Gavin.” Kit paused. “Almost.”

“If Lucas is focusing on Gavin as a suspect, he hasn’t said anything to me.” Adrienne took a sip of her coffee. “Of course he wouldn’t. No one could ever accuse Lucas Flynn of having loose lips. I do know he’s worried about Lottie, though. Before he left here this morning, he told me they still haven’t found her. She might not even know Julianna is dead.”

“She does.”

Adrienne looked at Kit in surprise. “You’ve seen her?”

“Last night at the restaurant.” Kit had brought her purse into the kitchen with her and fished inside for a pack of cigarettes and her gold, engraved lighter. Adrienne tapped her fingers on the kitchen table impatiently while Kit lighted her cigarette and drew on it, slowly blowing out smoke. Finally Adrienne said, “Well, are you going to tell me about Lottie or not?”

“If you’re going to take that tone with me, I won’t tell you anything at all.”

They had been friends for too many years to get angry with each other over a flare-up of annoyance, particularly in a nerve-wracking situation like Julianna’s murder. Besides, Adrienne noticed how Kit’s fingers trembled as she brought the cigarette to her mouth a second time.

“Lottie came to the restaurant last night,” Kit finally said again. “She sat outside in the gazebo looking at the lights on the trees. She said she felt better in my ‘magical garden.'” Kit took a sip of coffee and another drag on her cigarette. “She said she’d known when she woke up yesterday morning something had happened to Juli. There was something about an owl hooting and one of her bad feelings. She went on about la Belle being a place of doom just like Mother does, and she mentioned Juli being involved with someone. She didn’t say who, but apparently she knew they met at la Belle.”

Kit drew a deep breath and looked over at the pot of vibrant red begonias hanging in front of the window as if she couldn’t meet Adrienne’s eyes. “She was rambling more than usual, but what really frightened me is that she had some blood on her dress and she smelled of I’ Heure Bleue.”

“Julianna’s perfume,” Adrienne murmured.

Kit nodded. “And you know how spotless Lottie keeps those old dresses of hers. If she’d gotten blood on a dress from a cut on herself, she would have scrubbed it out. Unless it was Juli’s and she picked it up at the same time as the perfume scent.” Kit looked over at Adrienne, her eyes anguished. “Adrienne, she was at la Belle yesterday morning. She touched Juli’s body. And for some reason, she didn’t call the police.”

Adrienne was appalled that Lottie had seen her beautiful daughter dead. Then the significance of Kit’s words hit her. “Lottie knew Julianna had been murdered but she didn’t call the police? What are you implying? That she killed Juli?”

“I don’t know,” Kit said miserably. “She said what Julianna was doing was wrong. And you know how strange Lottie is.”

Adrienne had always cared about Lottie and everything in her fought what Kit seemed to be saying. “Kit, Lottie is eccentric. So is your mother.” Kit gave her a reproachful look. “Don’t get mad. You know it. They’re both odd, but they were two impressionable girls who grew up together and influenced each other. And they’ve both had bad—well, terrible—experiences at la Belle. They both hate it. But being unusual is a far cry from being a killer. You can’t believe Lottie killed her own daughter!”

“Oh, I don’t.” Kit stubbed out her cigarette. “But why didn’t she call the police? And last night, when I went in the restaurant to get her some tea, she disappeared. This morning I went to her cabin. She wasn’t there and I don’t think she’d even been there since yesterday morning because her cat Calypso was sitting on the porch meowing to beat the band. She was hungry, and you know Lottie would never let Calypso go hungry if she were around.”

“Lucas said they were still looking for Lottie yesterday afternoon. Honestly, with the shock of the break-ins, I forgot to ask him about her this morning.” Adrienne frowned. “Of course she’s gone wandering for a day or two before, but these circumstances are different.” She paused. “I should go feed Calypso.”

“I took her back to my apartment.”

“You’re keeping Calypso?”

“Because she means so much to Lottie.” Kit had always tried to play tough girl. She hated for people to think she had a soft heart. “I dropped her off at the apartment with a can of tuna and a bowl of milk. After I leave here, I’m going to Wal-Mart for a litter box and some more cat food.”

“And catnip and a scratch pad.”

“Good idea. And maybe some treats.”

Adrienne grinned. “You’ve never had a pet, Kit. Are you sure you want to take in Calypso? You could just stop at the cabin each day and feed her until Lottie comes home.”

Kit looked at her gravely. “That’s the problem, Adrienne. I have this sickening feeling that Lottie will never come home again.”

4

That night Adrienne lay sleepless, mentally ticking off the points in favor of her staying in Point Pleasant. First, there was her job. She’d been teaching part-time for three years and she had a good chance of being hired full-time at the end of this summer. Unless she abandoned her summer classes in mid-semester when no one else was available to take over. Such unreliability would put an end to any hopes of a full-time job that would solve her money worries, and perhaps even knock her out of the part-time position. No, she couldn’t take that risk. She had a daughter to support

As for continuing to live in the house, she couldn’t afford a motel room for an indefinite stay for her and Skye as well as kennel fees for Brandon. Kit lived in an elegant but small one-bedroom apartment above her restaurant. She didn’t have room for them, although Adrienne knew she would gladly have taken them in. And finally, Adrienne could not risk Rachel’s safety by moving into the Hamilton home.

No, staying in her own home was her only option. And she’d taken precautions. All doors and windows had new locks and the house now sported a new security system installed this afternoon, its cost taken care of by a loan from Vicky. Adrienne had decided she would never leave Skye here by herself, especially at night. And although Lucas said that at this time he didn’t have the manpower to provide full-time surveillance, a patrol car would come by three or four times a night.

All of her reasons for remaining in her home in Point Pleasant made perfect sense—the only sense considering her circumstances—until she remembered the words scrawled on her mirror: Threatening words written in lipstick that looked like blood.

Adrienne glanced at the bedside clock. One-fifteen. She’d been trying to sleep since eleven. She got up, went to the kitchen, poured milk into a mug, and put it in the microwave. When it was warm, she added a dash of brandy and carried her drink to the big rose-colored studio chair in the living room. The only illumination came from a small dusk-to-dawn fixture set near her front door whose light seeped in the picture window across from her chair but faded to pathetic weakness by the time it reached the street. And naturally, she thought, the giant, strong streetlight placed near her house on Hawthorne Way had flickered out earlier this evening and wouldn’t be fixed by the electric company until later in the week.

More lights, Adrienne thought as she curled up in the chair, tucking her bare feet beneath her. That’s a precaution she hadn’t thought of in the daylight. She would call tomorrow and have two stronger dusk-to-dawn lights placed in her yard, one in front, one in back. Maybe even three lights. The glare of lights would elicit complaints from the neighbors, but safety was her main concern, not fussy neighbors.

Her thoughts stopped as she saw the gleam of headlights piercing the darkness. Then came a car—a car that slowed as it passed her house. She held her breath, squinting although she had near-perfect vision. Then she saw almost neon-yellow stripes on the car’s silver body. A police cruiser checking the house, just like Lucas had promised.

Adrienne relaxed, slightly comforted. She took another sip of her cooling milk and brandy. She would go back to bed as soon as she finished her drink, she promised herself. She would go back to bed and sleep because she had to go to the art gallery tomorrow to deliver one of her paintings that would be entered in the contest held during the summer gala next week, and she had to teach a class in the evening. Just Art Appreciation 101, which she’d taught so many times she could do it without thinking, but she still needed to work up enthusiasm. If she acted bored by her subject, the students quickly picked up on her vibes and also lost interest.

Another set of headlights lanced the night. The patrol car had passed just ten minutes ago, so this car must belong to someone who lived on the barely traveled street, Adrienne thought. Few of her neighbors were night owls, though, so she looked with curiosity at the car creeping by her house. She didn’t recognize it. It was smaller than most of the cars that belonged to neighbors. And it was going so slowly.

Apprehension tingled along Adrienne’s spine. She didn’t know a lot about car models, but this one looked to be a two-door with a long hood and short trunk area. People in this neighborhood favored the huge, gas-guzzling sport utility vehicles she hated but had bought to accommodate her art supplies and a frequent passenger, Brandon. Adrienne leaned forward and looked more closely at the unfamiliar car. Because of the bad light, she couldn’t tell if it was dark green, blue, or black. It didn’t stop in front of her house or do anything suspicious. Still, she didn’t like the idea of an unfamiliar car inching past her house at 1:40 in the morning.

“Two nights ago I wouldn’t have thought a thing about it,” she murmured as her hand reached for the phone to call Lucas. Then she paused. He had looked exhausted this morning. He needed an undisturbed night’s sleep. Besides, it was one thing to be cautious, and another to be paranoid.

Still, she continued to sit in her chair, her milk going tepid and forming a skin on top, the only sound in the room the ticking of a regulator clock on the mantel. Her eyelids grew heavier as the minutes rolled by. Then she jerked in her chair, glanced at the clock, and saw that she’d slept for twenty minutes. Almost half an hour had gone by since she’d seen the dark car.

With a groan she uncurled her stiff legs and shook them. The pins and needles of returning circulation had begun to stab at her calves when she saw the glow of approaching headlights. She held still, ignoring the discomfort in her legs, as once again the dark two-door car drifted by.

And this time Adrienne caught the blur of a face behind the wheel looking directly into her picture window.