He stood. "And you're infuriating. How can I protect you if you won't be honest with me?"

"Is that what you're trying to do? Protect me?"

Dan pulled the keys from the desktop and shoved them in his pocket. "You wanted me to figure out what happened to your aunt. That's what I'm trying to do. If you're guilty of the crime, I'll deal with that, but if you're not-and I really hope to G.o.d you're not-then I need to protect you from the accusations. Now let's go."

She rose, too, standing before him, the top of her head in line with his chin. A light fragrance drifted into his nostrils from her hair. As she moved her head, lifting her gaze to his, he saw she'd changed out the studs in her ears from minuscule gold b.a.l.l.s to amethyst stones, but the feather remained, drifting back and forth in a current of air like the hand on an upside down metronome.

"Where are we going?" she asked, tucking her purse under her arm.

"Fingerprints."

Dan yanked open the door. Jamie stood on the other side, hastily lifting his hand as if to knock. Dan shot him a look he couldn't possibly misunderstand, and the man backed away with a less-than-discreet onceover of Maris as she crossed the threshold into the corridor beyond.

"Left," Dan said, following her. "Then second door on the right. I'll need to unlock it."

"No need," said Jamie from behind him. "Already open."

"Yeah, thanks," Dan shot over his shoulder, tone surly. Ahead of him, Maris had her hand on the k.n.o.b. She turned it and went inside, spine ramrod straight. Dan entered less than two seconds behind and shut the door before Jamie could join them.

"You sound annoyed," Maris commented.

"I am annoyed."

Dan opened the cover to the chemically pre-treated pad while Maris stepped aside in frowning observation. Dan pulled out a ten-print fingerprint card and laid it on the counter.

"That doesn't look like ink."

Dan glanced at her. "It isn't. We use inkless. It's more accurate. Don't want any mistakes."

She held out her left hand. "Does it matter which one is first?"

"Nope."

Dan took her hand in both of his, working his digits along her thumb until he had it turned properly. Her hands were remarkably soft and warm. He'd lost himself inside her the night before and hadn't noticed the texture or temperature of her fingers, hadn't so much as caressed her face, held her hand. He really was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

One by one, he rolled her fingers over the pad and then onto the fingerprint card, aware of the curves of her body pressed lightly against his side as she leaned in to comply. He could hardly breathe.

"Next."

She obeyed wordlessly, placing her other hand in his. He extended his ring finger toward her wrist, settling it against her veins, to the pulse racing beneath the skin.

"Maris..."

"Don't say anything."

If he walked out of here with a hard-on, he'd be sunk. What the h.e.l.l was wrong with him? Such a condition wouldn't go unnoticed by a bunch of guys who obviously possessed strong opinions about Maris's appeal.

He turned her pinkie over the card and then pulled it away, releasing her hand. "Okay, finished. You can wipe your fingers with one of those baby-wipes. I have to put the card in the developer chamber."

"How long do they take to develop?" She scrubbed the powder-scented wipe across her fingertips as she tipped her chin up in order to see what he was doing.

"I'll have a perfect, high-contrast print shortly." He glanced at her, telling himself he was gauging her reaction to his words, but was more intent on the swing of her hair across her neck.

She tossed the wipe in the trash can, jerking her chin in his direction. "Where'd that scar on your thumb come from?"

"What scar?"

"That scar right there." She pressed the curve of her nail against the pale cicatrix. Her eyes went momentarily blank. "You were...were you fishing?"

He jerked his hand away. "Come with me. I have a few more questions."

Dan brought Maris into the interview room and indicated she should take a seat. She did, slowly. He felt the weight of her gaze following his movements as he crossed to the other side of the table and sat opposite her.

"Maris, I called the motel and-"

"I was at my aunt's."

He went silent. Was she about to confess?

"After you and I were there, I returned. You'll find my fingerprints upstairs, I'm sure. I used the bathroom and then went into my old room where I slept for a couple of hours. When it got light, I went for a walk. Some of the neighbors probably saw me. Then I came back and waited for you."

"How did you get in?"

"I had an old key in my possession. I wasn't sure it would work, but it did."

"And then you rearranged the cards."

"I did not."

Dan drummed the tabletop in one quick roll, a seething hole opening up in his chest. "So I won't find your fingerprints on those cards? We took them, you know, as evidence. They're being processed. I'd be honest with me right now if I were you. Because you've lied enough."

She closed her eyes. "I know I did. I didn't know if I could trust you."

"And you trust me now that I've found out you've been lying to me? Convenient."

Maris threw her purse up onto the table. Her cell phone popped out along with a tube of lip gloss. She shoved them both back inside. "Dan-"

"Don't call me that."

"Fine. Detective Stauffer, then. We've been lying to each other. Seems that's the way we operate, you and I. A form of protection, of self-preservation, but not the types of lies that hurt people. Merely the type that keep boundaries in place. I did not touch those cards, and unless the prints are twenty years old, you won't find mine on them. I spent the night in Aunt Alva's home to try and get a feel for what had happened. I received no information. I have a key, yes, and told you I didn't. I understand how bad that looks, but would you have let me return to the house if I had told you, even though you insisted my aunt's death was one of natural causes? I don't think so. Because somewhere inside, you thought the possibility existed she hadn't, from the moment I opened my mouth to you about being called here."

He frowned at her, part of him recognizing a kernel of truth in her rant. "Are you finished? Or is there something else you'd like to confess?"

"What, like killing her? No."

Dan opened his fist and smacked his palm on the laminate tabletop. "There you go again, Maris. Don't you hear yourself? You're very keen on words, aren't you? On using them in a way you hope somebody won't catch in order to avoid a straight answer. So let's try this again. Did you kill your aunt?"

She stared him straight in the eye, a woman who had admitted to lying to protect herself, and whispered one syllable. "No."

And he wanted to believe her. G.o.d, he wanted to believe her.

"Okay," he said, "let's start from the beginning. And I'm going to take notes so there's no inaccuracy in my memory of this conversation." He slid a pad and a mechanical pencil from the drawer centered beneath the table and laid them on top. Across from him, she pulled out the lip gloss she'd tossed back into her purse a moment before and applied it quickly to her mouth. Setting the cap with a small click, she clutched the tube in her hand.

"Name."

"Maris Granger."

He wrote it down in bold block print. "Address? Again please, yes," he added, forestalling any protest. She gave it to him, and he wrote that down, too. "And you left your house there in the middle of the night because of a dream."

"Yes."

He glanced at her. "And how long did it take you to get here?"

"Three and a half hours. Maybe a little longer."

"Did you stop anywhere? Would someone remember seeing you?"

She rocked on the chair, rearranging her skirt beneath her hips. "I have no idea if someone would remember seeing me, but yes, I did stop. I had to get gas along the way. And use the ladies room, which was fairly disgusting."

Don't make jokes, Maris. "Did you make a complaint of that to someone there?"

"A pa.s.sing remark maybe when I bought a bottle of water."

"And do you remember the name of the station?"

"I paid cash for the gas. I'll look for the receipt and let you know."

Dan made the notation gas station and nodded. "Yes. You will. When you got here, you drove straight to the police department, or so you told me. How did you know where to find the building? And don't say you dreamt-"

"There were signs."

He opened his mouth.

"I mean the kind on metal posts."

"Right." He wrote a word in the margin of the pad but then realized with a start he'd written Maris, which he crossed out with such force the lead broke. He pushed out a bit more with a click to the back of the pencil. "But you came looking for me."

"I did."

"Why?" When she didn't answer, he looked up. "Why?"

Her smoke-gray eyes widened. "I saw you. I heard your name. I knew where I should be able to find you."

Dan's breath rushed out his nose. "We'll leave that for now. What time did you arrive here?"

"I don't know exactly. Within a few minutes of when the man at the front desk called you to let you know. You could check with him."

"And at what point did you decide the best course of action would be to lie to me? Right away, or did you size me up and determine I might just be gullible enough for you to pull it off?"

Maris yanked her purse from the table into her lap where it landed with a jangle of coins and keys. She pulled out the latter. He eyed them through narrowed lids. "Going somewhere?"

"Are you arresting me, Dan-Detective?"

He tapped the eraser once on the table, causing the lead to rattle in the pencil casing. "I am not. Not yet."

"Good. I'm leaving." She stood, hooking purse straps over her shoulder. Her shadow flickered up the wall behind her. Dan glanced at the overhead fluorescents in an instinctive search for the cause and found the illumination unwavering.

"I'm sure you'll call me when you have some real news to impart, Detective Stauffer. Some accurate news."

He stood as well, wanting to s.n.a.t.c.h her into his arms and stop her. Instead, he held the pad close to his chest and watched her go. After the door had closed behind her, he tossed pad and pencil onto the table. The pencil rolled to the edge and caught before toppling over. He looked down at the yellow page on which he'd been scratching his notes. Scrawled across the bottom in a shaky hand so unlike his normal script as to be nearly unrecognizable were the words listen to her.

Chapter 11.

Maris marched across the graveled lot toward the path leading to the naturalist's residence, arguing in her head against both fear at the escalation of events and her anger at Dan. She knew the statistics. Most murders were not arbitrary occurrence. Most killings took place between people who knew each other one way or another, and the police always looked to the husband, wife, family member first. A homicide involving poison was personal. Random poisoners didn't exist. Since there were no other family members to look at, she was the natural choice. Maris doubted the investigation would ever get as far as a neighbor or a customer because the police viewed her as the most likely suspect, and all efforts would be expended toward proving that. Dan was just doing his job, despite all the misgivings she sensed in him. He was quite good at his work, and the mistakes he'd made did not sit well with him. Like sleeping with her. A big one, that. He'd strive even harder to get at the truth, even if it wasn't the correct truth.

At the door to a one-story addition on the naturalist's home, built to accommodate a small shop, Maris turned the k.n.o.b and went in. Overhead a small bell jangled, announcing her arrival. A woman in her mid-fifties perched on a stepladder at the far side of the room paused with an armful of books and looked back at her.

Maris stopped dead, a warm thrill running through her at recognition of a kindred spirit. It had been years since she'd experienced such knowledge. "Hi."

The woman stepped down off the ladder and dumped the books onto a nearby counter. She hurried across the floor and took one of Maris's hands in both of hers, squeezing lightly. "Welcome," she said, then caught herself on whatever she'd been about to say next before adding, "to Alcina Cove Nature Preserve."

Still, the woman didn't release her hand. Maris smiled. "Thank you."

The woman searched her eyes. "I'm Felicia. Felicia Woodward. You're not new to the area, but it's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Almost twenty years since I left with my family."

Felicia dropped her hand and strode back toward the counter with a wave of her fingers, indicating Maris should follow. "Welcome home, then."

"That was what you were going to say first, isn't it? Welcome home."

Felicia's laughter rang clearer than the bra.s.s bell hanging above the door. "It was."

Maris trailed after her. Felicia stepped behind the counter and pulled out two mugs and a pair of tea bags. A small teapot on a hotplate already sent steam into the air.

"Too early for alcohol and no need for it either, so tea will do," Felicia said as she poured the water. Maris watched in fascination the brisk efficiency of the woman's movements.

"I'm Maris Granger. Alva Mabry's grand-niece."

With a finger pressed to the lid of the upended pot, Felicia gave her a long look. "She's gone, isn't she?"