"How long has this been going on?"

"A week. Maybe two. She's been havin' lots of hush-hush conversations on the phone, too, and they ain't with that deputy."

"Then who?"

Mrs. Fisher shrugged. "Beats me." She pointed at the television. "There's Rhoda in one of them scarves! Can't she see herself in a mirror? Doesn't she know how stupid it makes her look?"

And don't you know this is a TV character from almost thirty years ago, not a real person? Nick thought. How reliable was anything she said if she couldn't distinguish fiction from reality? "Mrs. Fisher, do you think your daughter is going off at night to meet a man?"

"How should I know? Seems like the kind of trashy thing she'd do, though. Be just like her to start seem' someone respectable like the deputy and then sneak around behind his back." Her face contorted and she fell into another coughing fit. Nick rose nervously as she convulsed forward, sounding as if she were going to spew forth her lungs.

"Mrs. Fisher, please let me call the E.M.S."

"Wo!" she choked. "My show's on!"

"You're turning blue! I am calling the emergency squad."

Her tear-filled eyes looked huge as she glared through her bifocals. "You do and I'll tell 'em you broke in here and tried to rape me!" she snarled in a cough-ragged voice. "They'll believe me, young feller out prowlin' late at night, me here all alone and barely dressed!"

Good G.o.d, Nick thought. What was wrong with the women in this town? First Alison demanding he not touch her, now the irresistible Mrs. Fisher in her faded flannel and pin curls threatening to yell rape. She was spluttering to a halt. "All right, ma'am," he said in a placating voice. "I was just worried about you. I didn't mean any harm."

"You're gettin' on my nerves."

"I'm sorry. I'll leave now."

"Good," she rasped. "You got a cigarette on you?"

Nick looked at her, astonished. "No. I don't smoke."

"Well, h.e.l.l." She sighed as if at the general unfairness of life. "Even if you had one, you probably wouldn't give it to me, like it would make any difference." Nick gazed at her silently. "All right. Before you go, Mr. Policeman, the least you can do is get me a beer."

Obediently Nick fetched a cold can of the cheap beer and popped the top. When he placed it in Mrs. Fisher's heavily veined hand, she didn't glance at him or the beer. She was smiling happily at the imaginary world on her television.

Paige hung off the bottom branch of the oak tree, then dropped. "You're getting better at climbing," Jimmy said.

Paige blushed with embarra.s.sment, both from the compliment and from the memory of the first time she'd tried it and fallen on her head at Jimmy's feet, promptly bursting into tears. "Thanks. What's the big emergency?"

"We were going back to the Saunders house and take a picture of the serial killer. I got my Dad's Polaroid." He held it up proudly.

"You want to go tonight!"

"Sure. We can't wait forever. He could kill more people."

"Well, yeah, but..."

"But what?" Jimmy asked impatiently. "Your dad's car isn't here, so you don't have to worry about him."

"He called and said he'd be late. Mrs. Collins got all huffy. Not to him, but she called one of her friends and went on about how she can't spend so much time here because she's got all this church work. They're getting a new preacher and there's gonna big this big dinner for him-"

"I don't care about the church party!" Jimmy turned his head. "Oh, great," he moaned as headlights flashed across the yard. "Duck!"

They both hit the dirt. "It's my dad," Paige hissed. "He'll come right upstairs to check on me."

"Then climb up the tree and get in bed. I'll wait for a while."

"And if I don't come down you'll go without me?"

"I'll have to think about it," Jimmy said importantly. Ac tually he had no desire to revisit the creepy Saunders house by himself, but he'd never admit it. "Hurry. Your dad's going in the house."

Paige jumped, grabbed the low branch, and began a quick ascent. She'd come a long way since she first started climbing the tree, Jimmy thought proudly as if he'd had something to do with her progress. He sat down in the shadow of a tree to wait.

Paige was clambering over the window sill when she heard her father explode, "Dammit, Ripley!"

She tore across her room and down the hall. "What's wrong, Daddy?"

Nick rubbed his neck while Ripley sat in humped, green eyed wariness halfway up the stairs. "Your pain-in-the-a.s.s cat jumped off the newel post onto my back."

"Daddy, he is not a pain in the a.s.s, and Mommy used to tell you not to say things like that around me." She rushed to Ripley and cuddled his stiff black body. "You've hurt his feelings."

"His claws hurt my back."

"He's sorry, but it's his favorite trick."

Nick looked at his daughter's beautiful, distressed little face and melted. "Okay, I'm sorry I yelled. But I wish he'd find another trick."

"We'll work on one," Paige a.s.sured him earnestly.

Mrs. Collins hovered near the door. "I guess I'll be on my way, Sheriff. It's very late-" She was warming up to complain, but Nick's stormy face stopped her cold. "I'll see you tomorrow, Paige."

"Yeah, bye," Paige said absently as her father closed the door behind the woman. "You look awful tired, Daddy. Are you going to bed?"

"It's not ten o'clock yet." Nick's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why the rush to get me out of the way?"

"It was just a question."

"Yeah, sure." Nick rubbed his neck again. "I'm staying up. I have some things to think over. It's time for you to get ready for bed, though. I'll be up in a little while to tuck you in."

Fabulous, Paige thought dismally. How long was "a little while"? Paige slumped up the stairs holding a reluctant Ripley. Shortly after eleven Nick gave his sleeping daughter a kiss as Jimmy Jenkins crept silently from the lawn and began pedaling for home.

There would be no trip to the Saunders house tonight.

At the clinic Natalie often put in eighteen-hour shifts that included performing three or four surgeries. Even after one of these days, she did not feel as tired as she did when she and Lily said good night to the last of the mourners, finished cleaning up the kitchen, coaxed a silent Oliver away from the stereo and into bed, and fixed a pitcher of martinis to take to the big, old-fashioned back porch.

They both kicked off their shoes and relaxed on old, slightly musty chaise longues. "This is the only place in the house Viveca hasn't remodeled," Lily said, wiggling her toes. "I remember when Mom bought this furniture for the porch. Ten matching pieces! She was horrified by her extravagance but at the same time so excited. That wasn't too long before she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis." Lily took a deep breath and added fiercely, "I will never allow Viveca to get rid of this stuff, even if I have to pile it all up in my bas.e.m.e.nt."

"I'm sure Viveca wouldn't trash it if she knew how much the furniture means to you."

Lily gave her a long look. "I asked you not to be sweet and reasonable."

"I thought I'd give it a try." Natalie took a sip of the chilled gin and vermouth. "Okay. If she even attempts to remove it, I promise to come and lash myself to this chaise longue. If it goes to the dump, so do I. How's that?"

Lily burst into laughter. "I appreciate the pa.s.sion, but it might be wasted. Viveca would have you both hauled off. She doesn't like you any better than she does me."

"Does she like any females besides Alison?"

"I think she liked Tam."

"Really? Did she know Tam didn't like her?"

"I don't know. Tam was always polite. Too polite. Viveca had begun to push her around. I wish Tam hadn't been so gentle. If she'd had more spirit, she would have left Warren and she wouldn't be dead."

Natalie tensed slightly but forced herself to sound casual. "I thought you were considering that Alison might have killed Tam."

"If she did, it was because of Warren. But Dad won't even consider the idea that she's guilty. He's convinced Warren murdered Tam."

Natalie let silence spin out for a few moments while she and Lily each sipped their drinks and looked at the fireflies glittering around the large lawn. "What do you suppose Alison meant when she said she knew things?" Natalie asked finally.

"Nothing. Alison is crazy."

"But your father looked so upset."

Lily flashed her a stormy look. "Of course he was upset! He's cut to pieces over Tam. Then the day of Tam's funeral here's Alison making a scene, trying to kill herself!"

"That suicide attempt was nothing but melodrama."

"Probably. But she would have hurt herself and she's Viveca's daughter and Dad loves Viveca, although why in G.o.d's name I'll never know and..." Lily wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand like a child. "Tam's murder did something to Dad, Natalie. I mean, of course he's devastated with grief, but he's also just different. I can't explain how. I do know he'll never be the same."

"No one is the same after suffering a tragedy."

"You don't understand what I mean."

But Natalie did understand. Tamara had not died in a car wreck or of a disease. She had been viciously murdered, causing something fundamental in Oliver Peyton to change. Was he now capable of murder, too? Is that what Lily was saying?

Lily swiped at more tears. Natalie believed if she pushed her any further, she would fall apart. "I hope you're not going in to work tomorrow, Lily."

"I am. I can't bear sitting around by myself all day."

"We could do something."

"I need to go back to the store, Natalie. I need my routine."

"You look exhausted, but I won't argue with you. Work is the best panacea for some people." Lily didn't answer, her mind clearly elsewhere. "I think I'll go home now. I'm tired."

Lily forced a wan smile. "Thanks for your help today and all through this."

"We're friends. I'm always here for you."

Natalie left Lily sitting on the porch having a second martini. When she got in her car, though, she realized that in spite of her fatigue, she didn't want to go home and thresh out the day with her father. She felt like driving.

The night was cool but still held a note of summer's sultriness. Natalie rolled down the car windows and listened to music as she cruised through the quiet streets of Port Ariel. In winter the downtown section was deserted at night. In summer many stores stayed open and tourists peppered the sidewalks. She noticed three standing in front of the beautifully lighted bay window of Curious Things. Farther down the block a few people trailed into Trudy's Diner. Probably locals, Natalie thought. Tourists liked the more expensive restaurants along the sh.o.r.e, although the food was no better and not so plentiful.

After a while she glanced at the car clock and was surprised to see she'd been driving in a big circle for forty-five minutes. Someone would surely call the police to report a car repeatedly driving by. Besides, she was getting sleepy.

On her way home, Natalie pa.s.sed The Blue Lady. She slowed down, staring at the big, dark pavilion. "I don't want to be alone anymore, Natalie," she remembered the eerie, disembodied voice saying with a note of threat. "I want you to join me."

She shivered. Who would have hidden in the dance pavilion and threatened her in Tamara's voice? Clearly it couldn't have been Jeff Lindstrom. He could only have enlisted the aid of someone else. Who? That light, lovely voice. She'd already considered Alison. Her voice had the same pitch as Tam's and she'd been around Tamara enough to know how she sounded. Who else could it have been? Dee Fisher, whom her father had accused of stealing drugs and Viveca had suggested as a murder suspect? Natalie vaguely remembered Dee from high school. She'd always been surly and unfriendly. Natalie had barely spoken to her then and had no idea what her voice would sound like now. Maybe she could make it sound like Tamara's.

And of course there was Lily. Who better to imitate Tam's voice but her twin sister? But that was impossible. Why on earth would Lily want to scare her?

She shook her head as if she could shake away the confusion and turned into the driveway. It was empty and the open garage door showed that it was empty inside, too. Her father wasn't home. Earlier he had called Lily and told her he'd given Alison a mild sedative. She was sleeping at home. He wouldn't still be at Viveca's, Natalie thought. Maybe Ruth's. She smiled, trying to think of how he would explain himself if he spent the night. She wouldn't make it easy on him in the morning. She would ask a lot of questions and demand answers, turning the tables. She could almost see him red-faced and stumbling for words, then bl.u.s.tering in outrage.

Natalie climbed from the car and walked to the front door, taking in a deep breath of lake-scented air. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the moon reflected almost perfectly in the still water. In fact, the night seemed unusually quiet, almost breathless, as if it were waiting for something to happen. Something cold and dark settled in Natalie's chest and the nerves along her neck tingled. Something didn't feel right.

Ridiculous. This wasn't The Blue Lady. This was home. She was just tired and her imagination was running away with her. Still, she jangled her keys, trying to find the one that usually came immediately to her fingers. She looked over her shoulder again. A long stretch of empty lawn ran downhill to the moon-silvered water. No one walked along the sh.o.r.e. No sounds or lights came from Harvey Coombs's house a hundred yards away. Nothing was strange, yet she was frightened. She felt as if something in the dark watched and hungered.

Hungered! What had brought that word to mind?

Beads of perspiration were popping out on her forehead when she swung open the door. " Blaine?" she called shrilly. The dog usually raced to greet her. Tonight there was no sign of her. " Blaine!" Quickly she stepped inside, slammed the door and locked it.

"Lock the bad thing out," she muttered breathlessly, then closed her eyes. What was she saying? She sounded like a child. Still, her palms slicked with perspiration and her heart raced.

Finally her cold fingers found the switch for the entrance hall light. She flipped it on and gasped. At her feet lay the black dress she had worn to the wake last night, ripped and torn into an almost unrecognizable ma.s.s of cloth. Beside it was a small pool of red. She bent and touched it, then sniffed her finger. The coppery smell of blood.

" Blaine!" she called loudly, springing up on shaking legs. " Blaine, where are you?"

A trail of red spots down the hall toward the bedrooms. Natalie took a few more hesitant steps. Her shoe touched a broken picture frame. She picked it up. The gla.s.s was shattered. Inside the twisted frame were scratched remains of a photo of her and the dog Clytemnestra that had sat in her father's study for over twenty years. In the photo her eyes had been gouged out. Just like Tam's, she thought in frozen horror.

A calm, distant voice told her she should turn and leave the house immediately. The voice of reason. Instead she followed the spots of blood like one hypnotized, certain they led to Blaine. Was the dog merely injured? Or was she dead?

Pain shot through Natalie at the thought of the gentle, amber-eyed dog lying motionless as her life drained from a slit throat. Anger followed the pain, white-hot fury at someone who would come into this house and hurt- She halted in her bedroom doorway, her gaze flashing to the flickering on her vanity. Four fat candles threw wavering yellow light around the room.

On the bed lay her silk kimono, carefully spread without a wrinkle, the sash tied in a neat bow. At the neck of the kimono rested a clean, hollow-eyed human skull, a fresh red rose caught between its clenched, yellowed teeth.

15.

Natalie stood transfixed for what seemed an endless time. Then she snapped back to reality. She turned on the overhead light, blew out the candles, and called police headquarters. Then she unlocked her suitcase, withdrew the gun she'd promised Nick she wouldn't use, and went in search of Blaine.

She felt eerily composed as she moved slowly down the hall, pa.s.sed through the seldom-used dining room, and crossed the living room, flipping on lamps as she went. When she came to the sliding gla.s.s doors leading to the terrace, she turned on the outside lights and finally drew a deep breath.

Blaine stood chained to the metal lamp pole. A muzzle covered her face. She trembled and crouched in fear.

Natalie covered her hand with the edge of her suit jacket so she wouldn't disturb fingerprints and pushed open the door. She rushed to the dog, removing the muzzle that was much too tight, then hugged her and murmured to her as she ran expert hands over the dog's body searching for injury. Blaine winced when Natalie touched her left side. She didn't believe a rib was broken, but perhaps it was cracked or bruised. The dog must have put up a struggle, although there was no blood around the mouth. Apparently she hadn't bitten anyone.