Lucy ordered a black decaf for herself, then pulled out her notebook. "I hope you don't mind if I take notes?"

Graves shrugged.

"First of all, I need your full name and rank... ."

He raised an eyebrow and slid a business card across the table. "Not my service number?"

She smiled back, taking the card. "That won't be necessary."

"It's major. Major Lawrence Graves, United States Army, currently stationed at Camp Edwards in Ma.s.sachusetts." Norine set the coffees in front of them and he busied himself adding cream and sugar.

"And you were married to Tamzin?"

"Yeah." He nodded, stirring his coffee. "For three years, back in the nineties. She was in her early thirties. Beautiful. I never knew such a beautiful woman."

Lucy nodded, wondering how to broach her next question. "She made quite an impression here in town... ."

Graves laughed. "I bet she did-especially with the male half of the population."

"Well, yes," said Lucy. "Was she always so ... ?"

"Promiscuous?" Graves took a long drink of coffee. "She was."

"Is that why you divorced?"

"Yeah."

"But you stayed in touch?"

"Sure. It was a lot easier being her friend than being her husband."

"So what was she really like?"

"She grew up in Troy, it's one of those towns in New York State that have fallen on hard times. She couldn't wait to get out and joined the army; that's where we met. She's the only person I ever heard say she loved boot camp, but she thrived on physical challenges, she just loved the workouts, the obstacle courses, the runs. And she really liked being with all those guys."

"How come she left?"

He shrugged. "She was stuck in Texas and didn't like it much, so when she got twenty years-enough for a pension-she didn't reenlist. She always loved New England so she came up here to Maine. She loved this town, she said she'd never been happier."

Lucy felt the pull of a great sense of guilt. "I'm so sorry... ."

"It's not your fault," said Graves. "You didn't kill her, did you?"

"I could have been nicer to her."

"It's okay. She never had a lot of girlfriends," he said, signaling Norine for a refill. When she'd filled his cup and he'd gone through the rigmarole of tearing open the little paper pouches of sugar and poured in the cream, he made eye contact with Lucy. "So what do you know about this guy she was working for? This Trey Meacham?"

Lucy shifted in her seat, uncomfortably aware that the situation had changed and she was now the interviewee instead of the interviewer. "I don't know him very well," she said, feeling that the incident with Corney was something she shouldn't talk about. Corney deserved to have her privacy protected.

"But you told me you know everybody in town," he said, challenging her.

"I may have exaggerated," she said, attempting a chuckle.

Major Lawrence Graves was not amused and Lucy had the feeling she was up against a skilled questioner, someone who was able to get information from toughened Taliban fighters. "How big is this chocolate operation of his?"

"Oh." Lucy was relieved. This was something she could talk about. "There are four stores: Kittery, Camden, Bar Harbor, and here. The chocolates are made in Rockland, in a converted sardine factory, and there's a shop there, too. I haven't seen the corporate balance sheet, but Trey himself seems quite prosperous-he drives a Range Rover-and the chocolates have won prizes."

"Is he a local guy?"

"You mean, did he grow up here?"

"Yeah."

"No. He left a high-powered career in public relations, I think, and started Chanticleer Chocolate about a year ago."

"Did he and Tamzin have a relationship?"

"That's open to debate," said Lucy. "They certainly seemed friendly."

"What about this woman they say killed her? Dora Fraser?"

"She's a local woman, her family owns a fudge shop so she was a compet.i.tor with Chanticleer. Also, Tamzin had a relationship with Dora's ex-husband and she may have been jealous."

"I don't buy it," said Graves. "I don't think a woman could take Tamzin. She was into martial arts, she taught hand-to-hand combat."

Lucy brightened. "That's what I think, too. I don't see Dora as a double murderer."

Graves's eyebrows shot up. "Double?"

"Dora's ex-husband was killed last month when he was ice fishing. Knocked on the head and tangled up in fishline and shoved through the ice. They're charging Dora with that, too. Or trying to. I'm not sure of the status of the investigation."

"Wow, this is some nice town you've got here."

Lucy decided not to respond. "Are there any funeral arrangements yet for Tamzin?" she asked.

He drained his cup and set it down. "Her family is still back in Troy. They'll have a service and she'll be buried there."

"Thanks for your help," said Lucy. "I guess you'll be heading off to Troy?"

Graves caught her in his gaze. "Oh, no. I'm staying right here until I find the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who killed her."

The cool, calculated way he said it took her breath away. "Oh," she said, her voice a whisper. "Good luck."

"Luck will have nothing to do with it," he said, reaching for his jacket and pulling his watch cap over his head. "I have a mission and I intend to complete it. Thanks for the coffee."

Lucy watched as he left the coffee shop, feeling a bit like a bystander in a superhero movie. Graves, it seemed, was no ordinary mortal, he was battle ready and itching for a fight. She was convinced he had the skills and the mental preparedness to fight his enemies and even kill them.

Reaching for her purse, she picked up the check and went over to the cash register. "Who was that guy?" asked Norine. "He looks like one tough customer."

"That was Tamzin's ex-husband," said Lucy, handing her a five-dollar bill. "He's a soldier."

"Well, I'm glad he's on our side," said Norine, giving Lucy her change.

But as Lucy left the coffee shop and hurried to her car, she wondered if Graves was really the avenger he said he was. As a reporter she'd covered a number of murders and the sad fact was that most of the victims were women who'd been killed by their husbands or lovers. Graves said he wanted to find Tamzin's killer but was that nothing more than a smoke screen to hide his own guilt?

She climbed into the car and started it, thinking that the more she knew about Tamzin, the less she knew. Here she'd thought she was nothing but a trashy s.e.xpot and now she had learned she was a soldier for twenty years and even taught hand-to-hand combat. It seemed crazy. Yet in spite of all that, somebody had overpowered her and killed her. Who could have done it? And why? This was one story she couldn't wait to write; it was going to upset a lot of people's preconceptions about Tamzin, that was for sure. And it was going to blow a very big hole in the case against Dora.

Lucy was already composing sentences as she headed for home, detouring along Sh.o.r.e Road to stop by Corney's place.

When Corney opened the door, Lucy saw that Corney had definitely had a tough night. Her eyes were puffy, her face was blotchy, and there were faint bruises on her neck and wrists. Her short blond hair hadn't been brushed and was sticking out all over her head. "Oh my goodness," Lucy exclaimed, wrapping her friend in her arms and giving her a hug.

"I feel awful," said Corney, "and I look worse."

"You had a bad time," said Lucy. "Trey's bad news."

"You can say that again." Corney sat on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. "A lot of it's my own fault. I never should've drank all that brandy. I always try to sleep on my back, but when I woke up this morning my face was squished into the pillow."

"Don't blame yourself," said Lucy. "You're the victim here. Those are terrible bruises on your neck You're lucky to be alive."

"No, Lucy, you've got it wrong. He's just a big guy. He doesn't know his own strength-and I bruise easily." She got up and went over to a mirror that hung on the wall, examining her face and running her fingers beneath her eyes, smoothing out the bags. "Do you happen to have any Preparation H?"

This was the last thing Lucy expected to hear. "Not on me," she said.

"It's the best thing for bags under your eyes." Corney flipped up the collar of her blue fleece robe, holding it beneath her chin with two hands and hiding the bruises. "You know, I think he really likes me."

Lucy had done a couple of stories on the rape crisis center in Gilead and knew that Corney's reaction wasn't unusual. The counselors there said one of the most difficult obstacles to getting rape convictions was the victims' tendency to blame themselves for causing the incident in the first place, believing it was something they did that made their partner become violent. She knew she had to use a gentle approach if she was going to convince Corney that she hadn't deserved to be a.s.saulted.

"I'm sure he does like you," said Lucy, seating herself on one of the rustic stools that were lined up at the island. She was recalling Larry Graves's interest in Trey and wondering if he suspected Trey had killed Tamzin. Now that she knew about his a.s.sault on Corney, it seemed possible, but what about Max? Was there some link between Trey and Max?

"Last night, you said something about how Trey's mood changed when you mentioned you were going to Mexico."

"Yeah." Corney took a big gulp of coffee. "I said I was going to this little town on the Baja coast. A lot of surfers go there and I know he likes to surf, at least he did when he was younger. He was always talking about surfing."

Somewhere in Lucy's brain a connection formed and she felt a mounting excitement. "Max surfed, too. In Mexico. What's the name of the town?"

"Playa del Diablo."

"Devil's Beach?"

"I didn't know you knew Spanish," said Corney.

"I don't," said Lucy, slipping off the stool. "Mind if I use your computer?"

"Not at all. It's down the hall, next to the guest bath."

Lucy followed Corney's directions and found a small, very messy office. The desk was covered with stacks of papers, the bookcase was crammed with cookbooks and design books, and a bunch of Valentine's flags were propped in a corner. A box of promotional brochures was sitting on the desk chair, and Lucy couldn't find anyplace to put it except on the couch, where stacks of newspapers and magazines were already taking up most of the s.p.a.ce. She sat down and booted up the computer; she was waiting for the Internet connection when Corney joined her, plunking herself down on the couch amid all the piles of print media.

"You've found my secret," said Corney, crossing her legs and revealing a fuzzy blue slipper that matched her robe. "I can organize other people's stuff but I can't get a handle on my own."

"Like the shoemaker's barefoot children," said Lucy, typing PLAYA DEL DIABLO in the search box. A few moments later she was rewarded with colorful pictures of a pristine beach and muscular, tanned surfers with very white teeth. "Looks like you're going to have a fantastic time in Playa del Diablo."

"Oh, that's just PR. I bet they're all eighty years old and toothless. And the beach is probably covered with globs of tar and oil." Corney propped her feet on a storage box marked TAX RETURNS. "That's the trouble with being in public relations-you never believe anything."

Lucy chuckled and began a search for Mexican newspapers. Playa del Diablo didn't have its own paper, but nearby Cabo San Lucas did and its archives were available for a small fee. "Corney, I need your help here."

Corney groaned as she got up and shuffled over, kicking a pair of high-heeled shoes out of her way. She leaned over Lucy's shoulder to read the screen, then opened a desk drawer and pulled out a credit card. "It's my shopping card," she said. "I keep it handy, in case I want to order something."

Lucy vacated the chair and Corney plopped down and began typing in the numbers. It took a couple of tries but she finally got it right and was inside the archives. "It goes by year. What year do you want?"

Lucy told her and she entered the date. "What now?'

"Just keep scrolling through. I'm looking for anything about Max or Trey."

"Talk about a needle in a haystack," complained Corney. "How do you think we're going to find ... uh, whoa! Here we go!"

"What is it?" asked Lucy, spotting a photo of several surfers and recognizing youthful versions of both Max and Trey. "What does it say?"

"American killed in surfing accident," translated Corney, reading the accompanying story. "Wes Teasdale drowned yesterday when hit by a loose board ... his companion Trey Meacham was tragically unable to save him." Corney leaned back in the chair. "Poor Trey. That must have been terrible. Imagine seeing your friend drown in a horrible accident."

Lucy had a different take. "Maybe it wasn't an accident," she said. "And maybe Max knew it."

Chapter Twenty.

Excited about finding a connection between Max and Trey, Lucy dialed the state police barracks and asked for Lieutenant Horowitz, half expecting her call to be transferred to voice mail. He was there, however, and took her call.

"You're working on a Sunday?" she said, in a surprised voice.

"And so, apparently, are you," he replied.

"I guess I am," said Lucy. "I'm actually with Corney Clarke. She was involved in a very unpleasant situation with Trey Meacham last night."

"Umm," said Horowitz, sounding bored.

"Well, I've found some evidence that casts doubt on Dora Fraser's guilt. It points instead to Trey Meacham."

Horowitz sighed. "Go on."

"It's a connection between Trey and Max that goes way back, about twenty years ago, when they were both in Mexico. A friend of theirs, Wes Teasdale, was killed in a surfing accident, but I don't think it was an accident at all. I think Trey actually murdered Wes. And when Trey showed up here in Tinker's Cove, I think Max may have attempted to blackmail him."

"Whoa," said Horowitz. "This was twenty years ago?"

"Yes. You see, I knew there was a connection between Tamzin and Trey, of course, but I couldn't figure out why he would kill Max. But Max told Dora he was going to come up with the money for Lily's college-and how else would he get twenty thousand dollars if he wasn't blackmailing Trey?"