MARTY WALKER LOOKED down at the body draped across the same picnic table where Garrett Bloom had died, beside the half-demolished mental hospital. The sunrise cast amber beams through the treetops and turned a wide swath of Lake Mendota bloodred.

The corpse was nude, unmarked, and intact. Beside it on the ground were a pile of clothes, a purse, and a canvas satchel.

He'd examined the ID and knew the woman's name. It was the only certainty in the whole thing. "Now who in the hell," Marty asked no one in particular, "is Betty McNally?"

"She ran an art gallery and was obsessed with the Lo-Stahzi," Julie Schutes said as she came down the hill.

Marty turned and scowled at her. "And how do you know that?"

"I have sources."

"Or a police scanner."

"Well, that too. But once I got the name, the rest was easy. She teaches pottery, reads tarot on the side, and sells bad art at good prices. And she was once arrested for trying to steal a rare book on the Lo-Stahzi from campus."

"And she's dead in the same place we found Garrett Bloom," Marty said, and shook his head. "Don't suppose you know how they're connected?"

"Hey," one of the technicians said, "this satchel is soaked with blood. And look at this." He carefully held up a long, thin knife before slipping it into an evidence bag.

"If the blood's human, get it typed right away," Marty said. He looked steadily at Julie. "Do you happen to know Garrett Bloom's blood type as well?"

"No, but I can find out."

"Don't bother. It's A-negative."

Julie's eyebrows went up. "You think this woman was killed by the same man who killed Bloom?"

"No," Marty said, and held up an evidence bag with a pill bottle inside. "This woman killed herself with an overdose, I'm pretty sure. This bottle was in her hand, and she'd thrown up some of them. And she did it at the same place Garrett Bloom was killed, with a knife that could've killed him in her possession."

Julie said, "Okay, wait, I want to get all this down."

"Oh, no," Marty warned. "This is all off the record. I could be way off base. But if the knife matches the stab wounds, and if the blood in that satchel turns out to be Bloom's, then we may have his real killer."

"Not the Matre woman?"

"No comment," Marty said, "until I get the forensics report."

"So where's his heart, then?"

Marty turned and looked out at Lake Mendota. "Maybe she dumped it out there."

His cellphone rang. He answered and listened in growing disbelief at the report from officers at Lake Wingra. Two morning joggers had found the drowned body of the actor Kyle Stillwater.

RACHEL AND ETHAN arrived at the diner just after the doors opened at 6 a.m. They had not changed or showered, and Ethan was still shirtless, so they drew stares when they entered. Helena looked them over and said, "I don't want to know about it right now. But I do want to know. Especially since I've had to get ready to open by myself."

"It's a fair trade," Rachel said with a smile. "Just ... can you call Clara or Roya in to help this morning? I'm beat."

Helena looked at Ethan. "Have you two worked out your issues, then?"

Ethan, his arm across Rachel's shoulders, pulled her close against him. "Negotiations are proceeding."

"Uh-huh."

The door slammed open, and Patty cried, "Rachel!" Before Rachel could react, the girl wrapped her in a hug and spun her around. "I've been trying to find you!"

She scrunched up her nose at the muddy smell and stepped back. Then she took in Ethan's bare-chested presence. To Rachel she said, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Rachel said with a laugh. "I'm glad to see you too. I was worried about you. You said you met someone and then you never answered my calls."

She blushed. "I'm sorry, I was just ... I want you to meet somebody," she said, and ran back outside. A moment later she brought in a tall, dark-haired boy.

"This is Andrew," Patty said. "Everybody calls him Ace."

"Hello," Ace said, looking down nervously. Rachel realized that thanks to her disheveled appearance and his own nervousness, Ace didn't recognize her. She went along with it, saying, "Nice to meet you. I'd shake your hand, but I might leave a tadpole in it."

"Oh, you'll be seeing plenty of him," Patty assured them. "This one isn't made of water vapor and silt."

"She keeps saying stuff like that," Ace said. "I have no idea what it means."

Rachel winked at him. "It's all right. It's a private joke." Then she turned to Ethan. "I'd offer to make you breakfast, but if the health inspector came by and saw me in the kitchen in this condition, he'd close us down."

"That's okay," Ethan said.

To Helena, Rachel said, "We're going upstairs to take a shower. You sure you've got it under control?"

Helena couldn't help smiling. "I'd say all's right with the world."

RACHEL AND ETHAN lay in bed beside each other, their noses touching, her leg across his waist. The sheets were damp with sweat from their exertions. She sighed and ran a fingertip along his jaw, feeling his stubble.

"Did that really just happen?" she breathed.

"You'll have to tell me."

"That's the first time I've ever ... ever come away from the water."

"How was it?"

She closed her eyes and sighed with amazed contentment.

"I'll take that as a positive response," he said, and kissed her. "Give me about twenty minutes, and we'll try it again."

"You know, you were very brave last night," she said.

"Bravery had nothing to do with it. It was instinct."

"Right," she said mock-knowingly.

"Besides, you saved the day. You dove in after him. I just followed you."

"I don't know what I was thinking. Instinct?"

"Instinct. Still, without you, we'd be dead. You saved both of us, just like you did those girls in the cellar."

They kissed, their tongues caressing as their hands sought familiar areas. With a soft trill, Tainter jumped onto Ethan's side of the bed and nuzzled the top of his head into the man's neck.

Ethan broke the kiss and laughed. "Is he trying to get me out of bed?"

"I think he's saying he accepts you."

He reached over his shoulder and scratched the cat behind his ears. "I like you, too, Tainter." He kissed Rachel. "And I love you."

"I noticed. I love you too."

He stretched, and Rachel luxuriated in watching the muscles of his chest and arms flex. "I don't ever want to get out of this bed. Except to go to the lake with you."

She felt a little twinge of the old fear. "You're still sure you don't have a problem with that?"

"Still sure. You never lied to me, and you never kept secrets. I don't have a problem."

She kissed the tip of his nose. "I don't know if I'll ever give them up. I don't know if I'll ever want to."

"I'll never ask you to."

She was about to tell him her other secret, that she was the mind behind the Lady of the Lakes blog, but before she could, he kissed her again. She slithered closer and pressed her body to his, and was surprised to feel him stir against her again. She would take that as a sign that, for now, she should keep that secret. Although she might leave him a clue here and there.

Besides, like her mother always said, every relationship needs a little mystery.

POSTED BY THE Lady to the Lady of the Lakes blog: Take a moment to thank your partners today, people. Finding someone loyal enough to follow you down into hell and then make sure you both get back is a rare and precious thing. Don't take it, or them, for granted. And remember that the world you see around you might not be the only world out there. Tread lightly, do good for others, and cherish the ones who love you.

BY ALEX PRENTISS.

Dark Waters.

Night Tides.