"Because the guy who was killed over at the drugstore came into our office more than once. I know. I saw him there."

"How do you know it was the dead man? Did you see the picture the police have?"

She nodded. "I stood as close to him as I'm standing to you right now."

My breath caught in my throat. "Have you told the police about this?"

"Not yet." Elena's gaze flickered away, then snapped back to my face. "I probably will. No, I'm sure I will. I just . . . well, it's complicated, and it has nothing to do with the murder."

"You're withholding information, Elena. That could mean serious trouble."

Her dark eyes clouded. "I'll tell them. I promise."

I wasn't sure I believed her, but I'd done what I could. "So who was the guy? Was he there to meet Quentin?"

Elena nodded and leaned forward a fraction of an inch so she could check the traffic on the sidewalk again. "Yeah. I made the appointments for him."

"Do you know who he was? You know his name?"

Elena shifted her gaze back to my face and nodded. "I can give you a couple of names, but I'm not sure either of them were real. At first, he told me his name was Arthur Hobbs, but I heard Quentin call him Lou a couple of times."

Neither name rang any bells with me. "Why was Hobbs meeting with Quentin? Was he a client?"

Elena shook her head. "I don't think so. If he'd been looking at property, Quentin would have said something about the listings he was showing, or he'd have taken keys with him when he left the office. He didn't do either. He just took off when they had an appointment, or sometimes they'd just go into Quentin's office and shut the door."

"How often did they meet?"

Elena shrugged. "Once a week."

"For how many weeks?"

"The last month or two, I think. I can't remember, but I could check my calendar if it's important."

The dead guy had been in town that long? That surprised me. "It might be important," I told her. "Did you ever hear what they talked about?"

She shook her head. "When they were here, Quentin always made sure I had something to do that kept me away from my desk."

She seemed sincere, but after getting stonewalled by Kerry, Quentin, and Dwayne Escott, her willingness to talk seemed a little suspicious. Was she being honest with me or setting me up? "Why are you telling me all of this?"

"Because I know Quentin's hiding something. He knew the man who got killed, and now he's claiming that he didn't. Why would he do that unless he has something to hide?"

"Maybe he just doesn't want to get involved in a murder investigation."

She shook her head firmly. "I don't think so. That's not like Quentin. He's hiding something, and I don't want any part of it."

She had a point. "Do you think he is involved in something illegal?"

"I think he might be," she said with a dark scowl. "I know the signs. I've seen them before. But my family doesn't need any more trouble. My mom's been through enough."

Finally, I remembered where I knew her from. I hadn't seen her since she was a girl when her stepbrother was accused of a.s.saulting a girl a few years younger than me. Ben had been in and out of trouble for most of his teenage years, and last I'd heard, he'd been sentenced to prison for aggravated a.s.sault. Elena was right. Her family didn't need any more trouble.

Now that I remembered her, I shoved my suspicions aside. "If Hobbs wasn't a client, were he and Quentin friends?"

Elena shook her head. "I don't think so. In fact, I don't think Quentin liked Hobbs at all. He always seemed annoyed when Hobbs was around, and when I'd tell him that Hobbs had called or something, he'd swear or slam his desk drawer shut or bang the phone down. To tell you the truth, I think Hobbs made him nervous."

"Then they must have had business together. But why would Quentin do business with someone he felt that way about?"

"I wish I knew. Whatever it was, Quentin was doing it off the books." Elena darted another nervous glance at the sidewalk. "I've been gone too long. I should get back before Quentin gets upset."

I touched her arm gently. "Are you afraid of him, Elena?"

The question seemed to catch her offguard. "He has a temper," she said after a brief pause. "And somebody killed Hobbs on Sunday night."

"Do you think Quentin did it?"

"I don't know. He's not normally a violent person, but you never really know about another person, do you?"

Maybe she didn't know if Quentin was guilty, but she thought he might be. "Why would he want Hobbs dead? What's his motive?"

Elena bit her lip, and her eyes shuttered, as if she realized she'd said more than she'd intended to. "I don't know why I said that," she said, backpedaling. "Quentin's all right, really. And you're probably right. He's probably only denying that he knew Hobbs because he doesn't want to get dragged into the investigation."

She tried to leave, but I caught her hand. "You don't really believe that," I said, "or you wouldn't have come after me."

"Even if he did kill Hobbs, I don't know why he'd do it. I've only worked for him for six months. I don't know him that well."

"Wait! One more question. Does Quentin have any listings near Hammond Junction?"

Confusion clouded Elena's dark eyes. "Two. Why?"

"That's where I saw Hobbs for the first time. Which properties is Quentin handling?"

"The old Davenport house is on the market, and Colby Tilley is selling off about twenty acres near the creek."

I had no idea whether the information was important or not, but I filed it away just in case. "Do you know where Hobbs was staying?"

Elena dug a Post-it note from her pocket and slipped it into my hand. "I don't know where he was staying, but I called him twice at that number. Maybe that will help." And before I could stop her, she was gone.

I watched until she disappeared around the corner, then glanced at the note. The number had a local area code but not a prefix I recognized, which meant the number probably belonged to a cell phone. That would make it just about impossible to track-at least for me-and that made it just another dead end.

With the phone number Elena gave me burning a hole in my pocket, I picked up a sandwich and a c.o.ke and carried them back up the hill. Karen and Liberty had worked out a lunch schedule so that one of them was always at the store, but I didn't want to take advantage of my newfound freedom.

The adrenaline rush that had carried me through my meeting with Quentin began to fade as I climbed the steps, and by the time I reached street level again, a sudden wave of exhaustion made my limbs heavy. I paused to catch my breath and saw Liberty come out the front door of Divinity across the street from where I stood. She shivered in the cold air and crossed her arms tightly over her chest, then turned away from me and started walking quickly downhill.

She looked small and alone, and a pang of guilt stirred uncomfortably. She was a good worker. Eager. Always on time. Karen seemed to like her. Really, I told myself sternly, I should be more friendly toward her.

I jogged across the street during a break in traffic and my thoughts had just started to drift back toward other things when I saw Liberty stop walking abruptly. She turned slightly in the direction of a man, just stepping out of a nearby shop. For a heartbeat, I thought he might be the mysterious Rutger. In the next breath, I recognized the lumpy body of Dwayne Escott.

They were too far away for me to see expressions or hear what they said, but Liberty seemed pleased to see him. I don't know what made me stop walking to watch them. There was no reason Liberty and Dwayne couldn't be friends. But watching them together made me uneasy.

For the first time, I wondered about Liberty's story. Did Rutger actually exist, or had she made him up to explain why she'd come back to town? If she wasn't here because of "Rutger" was the timing of her return a coincidence? She'd come back at roughly the same time Hobbs showed up, and I wondered if there was some connection between them.

Liberty must have felt me watching them because she glanced up the street quickly. Instinctively, I stepped into the recessed doorway of Picture Perfect so she wouldn't see me.

"Abby? What on earth are you doing?"

The woman's voice, so unexpected, almost made me drop my sandwich. I wheeled around to face my friend Rachel with an embarra.s.sed laugh. My reaction had been purely instinctive, and I must have looked ridiculous, ducking into the doorway like that. "I don't know," I said, stepping onto the sidewalk and hoping to regain a little dignity. "Don't ask."

Rachel's a beautiful woman whose life's ambition is to be a plus-sized model. I've only seen her a handful of times without full makeup, her dark hair just so, and outfits topped off with carefully coordinated accessories. Most mornings, I'm doing well if I can remember to put on a watch.

While Rachel waits to be discovered, she makes and sells candles at a shop just down the street, and she's usually in and out of Divinity several times a day. Like me, she must have been planning to eat lunch while she worked because she carried a bag with noticeable grease spots and a large soda in a paper cup.

She glanced down the street in the direction I'd been looking. "What are you doing, spying on Liberty?"

I was embarra.s.sed to admit the truth, so I hedged a bit. "Not exactly. I haven't seen you for a few days. You must be busy down at Candlewyck."

Rachel gave me a knowing look. My subtle attempt to change the subject hadn't fooled her in the least. "I am. It's that time of the year, you know. I sell more candles during ski season than I do the rest of the year. What about you? Are you getting orders for holiday candy already?"

"Some." We started walking slowly toward Divinity. "The pace should really start picking up as we get closer to Thanksgiving."

"How's Liberty working out?"

I lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. "She seems fine. Karen's pleased with her."

"But you're not so sure."

"She's fine," I said firmly, but I wasn't sure which of us I was trying harder to convince. "She hasn't done anything to make me unhappy with her."

"But-?" Rachel nudged me gently with a shoulder.

"Come on, spill it. I can hear the hesitation when you talk about her."

I stopped walking a few feet from Divinity's front door. Uncertainty about Liberty had been nagging at me for days, and the urge to confide in someone was almost overwhelming. But if we were going to have this conversation, I didn't want to have it in front of Karen. "It's nothing I can put my finger on. There's just something a little . . . off about her."

Rachel's dark eyes clouded. "What do you mean?"

"Have you ever met her boyfriend?"

"Rutger?"

I nodded. "I've never seen him. Have you?"

Rachel blinked in confusion. "You think she's making him up?"

"I don't know. That's the trouble. She came back to town about the same time the dead guy showed up. What if there's some connection?" I glanced down the street to see what Liberty and Dwayne were doing now, but they'd disappeared.

"I think you're a little paranoid," Rachel said. A sigh laced with exasperation escaped her lips. "Have you heard anything about the murder? Do the police have any suspects?"

Maybe she was right. For Karen's sake, I hoped she was. "No suspects that I know of."

"And the victim? Do they have any idea who he was yet?"

I filled her in on everything I'd learned since I saw her last, told her about the guy who'd been following us the other night, my visit to Quentin Ingersol's office, and my conversation with Elena. "That may not even be his real name," I said when I'd finished, "and none of it may help the police, but I'll call Jawarski and tell him what I found out as soon as I get back to the shop."

Rachel frowned thoughtfully. "No wonder you're paranoid. Do you have any idea who was following you?"

"None."

"I would have been totally freaked out," Rachel said.

"Believe me, I was. And the boys were terrified. The whole thing's starting to get to me, I guess."

"I should just put the whole thing out of my mind and focus on things I can actually do something about-like work."

"What you need is an evening without work and without the basketball team. A night all your own." Rachel fell silent for a moment, then turned to me with a grin. "I know the perfect thing. Come with me to that new antique shop after work. I've heard good things about it, and I'm dying to see what they have."

"I don't know-"

"Come on. It will be fun. We can get dinner somewhere when we're through."

"It sounds tempting," I admitted, "but this schedule I've been keeping recently is kicking my b.u.t.t. I think I'd be smart to stay in tonight and catch up on my sleep."

"Your sleep?" Rachel laughed and shook her head. "How boring is that?"

"I know. I know. I'd love to go to the antique store with you another time, though."

"Okay. Sure. I can wait a couple of days." She glanced at her watch, and her mood changed abruptly. "I've got to run. I'm alone in the shop today, and I locked up when I left. The note I left on the door said I'd be back ten minutes ago."

"That's all right. I need to get back, myself."

"And don't worry about Liberty," she said as she started away. "I really think she's okay."

Chapter 23.

Divinity was empty of customers when I let myself inside so, wrapped in blessed quiet after Karen left on break, I called Jawarski and filled him in on my conversations with Quentin and Elena. He didn't return the favor, but that didn't surprise me.

After I finished talking to Jawarski, I stared at the phone for a full minute, trying to argue myself out of doing what I did next.

It didn't work. Curiosity was way too strong.

Holding my breath, I dialed *69 to keep my ident.i.ty from showing up on caller ID and punched in the phone number Elena had given me. I chewed on my bottom lip while the phone rang. I desperately wanted to find out who the phone belonged to, but what if *69 didn't work this time, and I gave myself away?