"You could say that." She didn't plan to tell Erin everything this minute. When she had them all together it would be different. "I'll let you go now. I don't want to keep you."

"Don't worry." Erin's voice held humor. "Library attendance dropped dramatically since the murders started. After those young people were found murdered under theGunn Inn...well, that slowed turnout significantly."

Clarissa glanced at the bedside clock, concerned she hadn't done much yet. "I read about the last murders."

"Then it sounds like we really do need to talk soon. You can come to dinner at my house, I hope."

"Of course." She wrote down directions on the pad next to the phone. "Seven o'clock it is." Clarissa's curiosity pushed her to ask more questions. "Before you go, I have a couple of questions about Ronan. Do you know what he was doing in the cemetery last night?"

"Ronan has been patrolling since the murders, trying to keep people safe."

Confused, Clarissa wrinkled her nose. "Patrolling? Is he employed by the police department?"

Erin's chuckle sounded breathy. "Not at all. He told us about you being in the graveyard last night and that he warned you away from going out alone. Please listen to what he has to say. He knows what he's talking about."

"The police sanction him playing neighborhood watch?"

"They don't know." Erin sighed. "I suppose I shouldn't have told you that. Please, for all our sakes, don't tell the cops what he's doing."

What if he was participating in something highly illegal? But if he was, could Erin, Lachlan, Jared and Micky be in on the activities? From the little she knew of them, it didn't seem likely. Ronan, though...

"Ronan's from Ireland, right?" Clarissa asked.

"He couldn't get more Irish."

"His language pattern sounds like he might be from an earlier time."

Erin laughed. "He'sdefinitely old-fashioned and has old world sympathies." Erin's voice lowered. "When you come to dinner there are a few more things you'll learn about him, too."

Clarissa didn't know if old-fashioned could be considered good or bad. She guessed it depending on which part of old-fashioned Erin meant. "How long have you known him?"

"Less than a month, but he's a good friend already. Lachlan knows him from way back and can vouch for him in case you're concerned."

Feeling a little steadier about the mysterious Irishman, Clarissa finished the conversation and they hung up. Urgency made her think about the graveyard and how she needed to get out there and take pictures. She was finished doubting. Time to get moving.

Clarissa sat in the car at the graveyard outside of town and wondered if she tempted fate.

She half expected to see Ronan here, demanding she leave the area. She figured she'd start here taking some photographs, then work her way back over to St. Bartholomew's where she'd encountered the mugger last night.

Outside the cozy warmth of her car, the temperature dropped, and although she wanted to take photos now, she felt torn between three things.Getting her work accomplished, not encountering a serial killer, and meeting up with Jim, the man who'd broken her heart all those years ago.

She watched trees sway in the wind near the black iron fence line. Like many old cemeteries, this one featured the proverbial scraggly looking, winter-barren trees, their gnarled, snow-covered branches reaching like bony fingers into the sky. Time-worn gravestones sat like old, neglected people, their ravaged gray faces worried and uncertain.

Even the white cap of snow on top of each stone gave them a special creepiness.

She smiled.

Perfect.

The cemetery possessed the ideal atmosphere for the shots she needed.Gravestones competed for attention with crypts, the graveyard not exactly huge, but not small either.

Hilly in places, the area seemed more welcoming in some ways than Pine Forest itself.

Something came to her with a jolt of surprise. She'd been here as a child and a teen but somehow the place didn't frighten her the way it did then.

Thank goodness.

Maybe whatever evil she'd felt long ago no longer walked among these resting places.

One less monster to fret over, perhaps.

She almost left the car to start work, independence demanding action. Instead she recalled Ronan's warnings. She heard a car engine approaching and seconds later a sedan approached with Jim in the driver's seat.

With a wave he gave her a cheerful smile. Half concerned she'd made a big mistake meeting up with Jim, she climbed out of the Acura with her camera bag in hand.

"Hi." Jim walked around the car, the bag slung over his shoulder laden with electronic doodads she knew he used for his ghost hunting. "You're right, this place has atmosphere. Think we'll meet up with a Freddy Kruger?"

"I hope not. One time was enough for me, thank you very much."

As they made their way through the open gate, a breeze rustled through the trees and snow floated from the treetops. They wandered through the graveyard, scrutinizing various gravestones and marveling how some older stones appeared better preserved, while newer ones sometimes didn't weather the elements as well. As she always did when she took photographs in places of the dead, she wondered if any ghosts stood and watched.

As she snapped a photograph of a Celtic cross, Jim held his electromagnetic counter in front of him. "Do you ever get any ghosts in your photographs?"

She took the shot before she answered him. "Yes, actually."

She didn't look at him, well aware he'd offer her a skeptical grin laced with his usual know-it-all bravado. "You'll have to show them to me sometime."

Although ready to take another picture, she lowered her camera. "I don't have time to show my etchings these days."

His eyebrows tilted up. "I heard over the grapevine you've been traveling a lot for your books."

She started wandering again. "That's right."

He followed, holding the meter out in front of him, his gaze pinned to the reading. "So this book about Pine Forest would be the third one, right?"

Surprised, she looked at him as they walked. "You've kept track?"

"You'd be surprised how much I know about you."

"That sounds ominous."

"Don't worry. I'm not a stalker."

A little amazed he'd paid attention to her career, she kept her gaze on him.

"Look out!" Jim reached for her, dropping his meter in the process.

She tripped headlong over a flat gravestone and started to fall. A squeak of surprise left her throat at the same time she kept a tight grip on her camera with one hand. Jim grabbed her, tugging Clarissa against his chest.

Her breath whooshed out as she landed against him and her camera jabbed into her breasts. "Ow!"

He released her immediately. "You okay?"

Chagrinned, she straightened her stocking hat. "Yes. Sorry, I'm not usually this clumsy."