"I didn't know she was dying."

"You let her die believing-"

"I didn't know she was dying," he repeated, his voice cracking, threatening to dissolve. "h.e.l.l, Bonnie, she'd been dying all my life." He brought his hand to his head, pushed his hair roughly away from his forehead. "But she didn't die because of me, Bonnie. You have to know that. You have to know she didn't die because of me."

Bonnie lowered her head. "I know that," she whispered after a long pause. "I guess I've always known that." She looked away, then back at Nick. "It was just easier to blame you for her death than it was to accept the fact that she was a self-absorbed hypochondriac who abused prescription drugs and whose body simply couldn't take it anymore." She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. "It's funny," she said. "I always thought I was such a lousy liar. But I've been lying to myself pretty good for years."

And suddenly they were in each other's arms, crying on each other's shoulders.

"Don't cry," he was saying, crying himself. "It's okay now. Everything's going to be okay."

"Does Dad know the truth?" she asked when their tears were dry.

"He does now," Nick told her.

"And Captain Mahoney? Has he known all along?"

"Not in the beginning, no. I was a suspect, just like everyone else."

"But he knows now."

"Yes. But of course, the fewer people know, the safer I am. It's as simple as that."

"None of this is simple."

He waited, fixed her with his most serious stare. "Please don't say anything about this to Rod."

Bonnie folded her hands in her lap, ma.s.saged her sore wrists. The last person to give her that little piece of advice was Joan, and look what happened to her. "But he's my husband."

"Does that mean you trust him?" came the immediate reply.

Bonnie said nothing for several seconds. "Is there a reason I shouldn't?"

"The man's ex-wife was murdered," Nick reminded her, unnecessarily. "Your husband stands to profit substantially from her death, as he would from yours. We know that Joan was worried about you. We know she knew something she wasn't supposed to."

"What do you mean?" Bonnie asked. "What do you know? What are you saying? How are you involved in this? What's your connection with Joan?"

"She called me a few weeks before her death," Nick explained. "Or rather, she called Dad. She didn't know I was back at home. She told Dad she was worried about you, but she wouldn't say why, just that we should keep a close watch on you. Dad didn't know what to make of it. He said it sounded like she'd been drinking, but still, a phone call like that, out of the blue.... So I called her, went to see her, tried to find out what was going on. But I couldn't get her to say any more. One thing was certain, she was genuinely worried. I went to see Rod at the station, tried to feel him out, pretended I had some nutty idea for a series. For a few scary minutes there, I actually thought he liked the idea. Anyway, he was his usual affable self. Nothing seemed out of line. I started to think maybe Joan was talking out of the bottom of the bottle, but then the next thing I knew, she was dead. And you were the prime suspect in her murder."

"I didn't kill her."

"I know that."

"But you've been keeping an eye on me."

"For your protection."

"So it was you I saw in the school yard that morning." Bonnie pictured her brother emerging from the shadows of the nearby trees.

"You've got good eyes. I had to get out of there pretty d.a.m.n fast."

"Was it also you who paid Elsa Langer a visit?"

He nodded. "After you said you'd been to see her, I thought it might be worth checking her out. Unfortunately, she was pretty much checked out already."

"So where does that leave us?"

There was a long pause. "There's only one person who had both motive and opportunity, no alibi, and a missing thirty-eight."

"You're saying you think it's Rod?"

Nick looked toward the floor. "I'm saying it's a real possibility."

Bonnie shook her head vigorously, despite the dizziness it induced. "I can't believe it. I've lived with the man for over five years. I can't believe he could kill anyone."

"You don't want to believe it," her brother said.

"You actually think Rod murdered his ex-wife, that he might be planning to kill me and our daughter?" The words sunk into the pit of Bonnie's stomach like stones into water.

"Who else stands to profit by your deaths?"

No one, Bonnie had to admit, although she refused to do so out loud. "But how can I stay here if I believe that? How can I keep living with him?"

"You don't have to," Nick told her. "You can take Amanda, move out."

"Where would we go?"

"You could move in temporarily with Dad."

Bonnie shook her head. "I can't do that. Rod is my husband. He's Amanda's father. I refuse to believe he had anything to do with Joan's death. I refuse to believe he'd do anything to hurt Amanda or me."

"I hope you're right. But I'd get Rod to cancel the insurance policies he has on you and Amanda, just in case. And if he refuses, I'd get the h.e.l.l out."

In the meantime, I'd get Rod to cancel the insurance policies he has on you and Amanda, Bonnie repeated in her mind, the words gaining momentum with each breath she released, until they were careening out of control, slamming painfully against the base of her brain.

"What's the matter?" Rod was asking now, rushing to Bonnie's side, kneeling on the floor in front of her chair. "You went white as a sheet."

"I want you to cancel the life insurance policies you have on Amanda and me," Bonnie told him, staring straight ahead, afraid to look at him.

"What?"

"I want you to cancel-"

"I heard you," he interrupted, pushing himself back on his feet, taking several steps into the center of the room. "I just don't understand where this is coming from all of a sudden."

"It's not all of a sudden," Bonnie said. "I've been thinking about it for weeks. I'm not comfortable with the whole idea, and I want you to cancel the policies." And if he refused? she wondered. What would she do? Could she really pack up her daughter and her belongings and move out?

"Consider it done," Rod said.

"What?"

"I said consider it done."

"You'll do it?"

Rod shrugged. "Actually, I've been thinking about canceling them myself. I'm paying a h.e.l.l of a premium on the d.a.m.n things, and it doesn't really make sense when we could be using that money elsewhere." He paused, smiled weakly. "You are planning on getting better, aren't you?"

Bonnie smiled, then laughed, then cried. How could she have doubted him? she wondered. It was this d.a.m.n inner ear infection. It was fogging her brain, not allowing her to see things clearly.

Immediately, Rod returned to her side. "Bonnie, what is it? What's happening? Talk to me, honey. Tell me what's going on."

Bonnie collapsed into Rod's arms, sobbing against his shoulder. "I'm so tired," she cried. "I'm just so d.a.m.n tired."

Rod put his arm around her, lifted her gently to her feet, led her toward the stairs. "Let's get you into bed."

"I don't want to go to bed," Bonnie said, hating the whine in her voice. "You just got home; I want to hear about your trip."

"You'll hear about it later. I want to check in at the studio anyway for a few minutes."

"You're going out?"

"Just for a little while. I'll be back before you wake up, I promise. And then we can have the whole weekend together, and I'll bore you to tears with tales of my Florida exploits." They reached the top of the stairs. "And I want to speak to this Doctor Kline when he calls, because enough is enough. If he can't do something to make you feel better, we'll find somebody who can." Rod guided Bonnie into their bedroom, started unb.u.t.toning the front of her dress.

"Kiss me, Rod," Bonnie begged softly, her cheeks slippery with tears.

He kissed the side of her mouth, then each eyelid in turn before moving to her lips. She felt his lips on hers, as soft as a cotton ball, she thought, as he slid her dress off her shoulders. She heard it fall to the floor, his hands already unhooking her bra. Did she have the strength to make love? she mused, wondering if this was his intention, as he sat her down on the bed. He brought her feet up, lay her back against her pillows, brought the bedspread up over her shoulders. Clearly, making love was not his intention. "Get some sleep, honey," he whispered, moving to the curtains, pulling them closed, returning the room to the darkness Bonnie had lately grown so accustomed to. She watched his shadow slip from the room, then closed her eyes.

When she woke up, it was almost four o'clock. She looked around the empty room. Where was everyone? Then she remembered-Sam and Lauren would be finishing up at Diana's, Amanda was at day care, Rod was at the studio. Still? she wondered. Hadn't he promised he'd be back before she woke up? "Rod?" she called, pushing back the bedspread and swinging her feet off the bed. "Rod, are you home?"

No one answered.

The phone rang. She picked it up before it could ring again.

"Is this Mrs. Wheeler?" the voice asked.

"Yes," Bonnie answered.

"Will you hold for Dr. Kline?"

"Yes," Bonnie said, wiping the sleep from her eyes, smoothing her hair, as if she wanted to look presentable for when he came on the line.

"Mrs. Wheeler," he began. "I have the results of your tests."

"Yes?"

There was a slight pause. "It appears that there's a high level of a.r.s.enic in your bloodstream, Mrs. Wheeler. I'm not sure how-"

"What?" Bonnie demanded, sure she must have heard him incorrectly. "What did you say?"

"Your blood samples reveal a significantly high level of a.r.s.enic in your system," he repeated, his tone deceptively businesslike. "I don't understand it, frankly. An amount this high can't be accidental."

"What are you talking about?" Bonnie yelled. "How could there be a.r.s.enic in my bloodstream?"

There was silence. "Try to stay calm, Mrs. Wheeler."

"Are you suggesting that someone is trying to poison me? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"I'm not trying to tell you anything, Mrs. Wheeler. I was hoping you'd be able to tell me something."

"I don't understand," she said, then faltered, her mind racing too fast for her words to follow. "How.... where...?"

"a.r.s.enic can be found in any number of household products," Dr. Kline told her. "Insecticide, rat poison, weed killer."

"But wouldn't I know if someone were adding poison to my food?" she demanded. "Wouldn't I taste it?"

"a.r.s.enic itself is tasteless. It's entirely possible you wouldn't know you were taking it. At any rate, we can discuss all this later. Right now, I'd like you to check into the hospital."

"What?"

"I'm affiliated with Boston Memorial. I can arrange for you to be admitted...."

"I can't," Bonnie said adamantly. "I can't go to the hospital now. I can't leave my daughter."

"Mrs. Wheeler, I don't think you understand the seriousness of your situation. We need to treat this quite aggressively, get the poison out of your system."

"I can't go into the hospital. Not yet," Bonnie told him, trying to make sense of everything he'd said. Was it possible? Had someone really been trying to poison her? "I can't leave my daughter. I won't leave her."

"Try and make some arrangements for her. In the meantime, have your pharmacist call me. I'll give you a prescription for a stronger medication. The antibiotics you've been taking aren't strong enough, although they're probably the reason you're still alive." He paused. "And don't eat anything that you don't see prepared in front of your eyes."

"But I haven't eaten anything in ages," Bonnie told him. "Just tea, and chicken soup."

"Homemade?"

"No, a friend brought some over." She pictured Josh Freeman's handsomely disheveled features. I thought you could use a friend, he told her. I know I could.

"Is there any of that soup left?" he was asking.

"What?"

"Is there any soup left?"

"I don't know."

"If there is, you should have the police a.n.a.lyze it."

Bonnie was having difficulty keeping up with the conversation. Was he hinting that the soup Josh brought over had been poisoned? "This is ridiculous," she said. "I was sick long before my friend brought over the soup."

"Do you remember the first time you got sick?" Dr. Kline asked.