"No, it was almost boring there was so little of interest."

"He was telling the truth about his parents dying in an avalanche?"

"Yes."

"I'm only asking, you know. It's not like you're volunteering anything here."

"It was just such a waste of time." She turned her face toward me. "Unless there's something in yours you haven't told me about."

"No, but I've barely read it."But I bet you have. I'd even be willing to bet that Linda had been studying it for several days, since she'd called on Sunday.

I turned back to the papers, flipped through the pages, skimming information, then stopped-and focused. The word, "incarceration," brought me to an immediate halt.

Ronald J. Sanders, alias Roger Sutter, alias Randolph Simms ... Pueblo Minimum Center, Pueblo, Colorado, currently serving a five-year sentence, convicted on racketeering charges, eligible for parole on ...

They were talking about Trevor's father, in prison, in Colorado. I thought quickly. No, I would not give Linda the satisfaction. I wouldn't admit to her that Trevor's father was a jailbird. Though Linda wouldn't say it, she certainly must have thought it-that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree-and perhaps Trevor, more rotten than his father, had taken it a step further.

"Do you want to stop somewhere?" Linda asked, "or do you want to go back?"

"We should go back. Isn't Wolfgang waiting for you?"

"He won't be worried, believe me." She drove around the block, heading toward the library. "If nothing shows up in the report, nothing incriminating or suspicious, what are we going to do?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"Do you think we should let the police know what's going on?"

"No. I haven't even read this thing yet. I need some time. And the only evidence we have so far is Kelly's letter, and that's no proof of anything."

"True.... Make sure Trevor doesn't see you've got that."

"Of course I won't."

"Call me if there's anything, anything at all in the report. We have to be super careful. I don't want us tripping over any land mines."

When I returned home I sought a good hiding place for the report. Later tonight, after Trevor went to bed, I'd read it in depth. I'd decided that my discovery didn't mean a thing, that if anything, having a father in prison had taught Trevor one thing and one thing only. Don't end up there. Look how diligently he went about his business, about his life. Of course he didn't want his father's mistakes to reflect on him. That's why he'd kept it a secret.

His family had kept it a secret from me also. I wondered if Trevor had coached them, or if they regularly forgot to mention Ronald Sander's imprisonment.

And I wondered why Trevor hadn't trusted me, his own wife, with this, then realized a moment later that the background check would have been totally unnecessary if I'd fully trusted him.

I hid the envelope in my darkroom. It was the one place Trevor rarely stepped foot in, and if I needed to, I could close the door and lock it and Trevor wouldn't question me about it. He'd a.s.sume I was developing pictures.

I placed the manila envelope in the midst of other envelopes containing actual prints. I didn't have time now to look at the doc.u.ments further. It was already five o'clock and Trevor could walk in soon and would expect to find me in the kitchen making dinner. I also needed to get my thoughts together and calm myself, so I wouldn't inadvertently say something that would give me away.

I took two packages of frozen shrimp out of the freezer and poured them into a metal bowl to soak in water, then filled a saucepan with water to heat for the redskin potatoes. I washed fresh asparagus and put that aside. What else? I poured myself a gla.s.s of wine, a small one, to steady my nerves.

By the time Trevor arrived, the dining room table was set, candles were burning, and music, a piano concerto by Bach, filled the rooms. At the last minute, I turned on the gas jets for the pa.s.s-through fireplace.

Trevor was smiling as he walked into the foyer, and his arm was behind his back, hiding something.

"You must have been a good girl," he said, grinning mischievously. "*Cause Santa stopped by the office today and dropped off an early Christmas present for you."

"Santa did that?"

"Yes he did, and I'm wondering if the old elf's got a thing for you." He held out two small boxes exquisitely wrapped in gold foil and ribbon, tiny gold bells attached.

"Well, if he has a thing for me, wouldn't he have brought the presents here?"

"Subterfuge. Won't look suspicious this way."

"Should I open them now?"

He crossed his arms. "Sure, open them now, because I have another surprise for you after that."

I carefully unwrapped the smallest package. Inside was a lovely blue-velvet box. I flipped the lid to reveal astonishingly brilliant diamond-encrusted earrings. "Oh Trevor, they're absolutely beautiful, just gorgeous."

"Uh huh, now open the other one before you start with the big wet kisses."

I unwrapped it as slowly as the first. "You know, it's still three weeks until Christmas and I don't have anything to give you back."

"Not to worry. I've been known to barter in flesh."

Again, it was a blue-velvet box, but larger than the first. Inside was an equally astounding and brilliant gold and diamond tennis bracelet, at least fifty diamonds running down its center.

"Wow," I exclaimed. "Santa must really love me."

"Yeah, he really does."

I looked at him, wanting to believe him. His face, so incredibly sincere-how could he possibly be lying? Why go to all this trouble to convince me?

We kissed and I hugged him tightly, pressing my cheek against his warm chest. Why couldn't all of this mess just go away? Why didn't I just drop it? But no, I couldn't drop anything. Someone had viciously murdered my sister, and that someone deserved to be caught and punished, whatever the reason for the crime ... and certainly before they might feel compelled to kill again.

Finished with dinner, I sat near Trevor at the end of the dining room table. I played with a stalk of asparagus, steering it with my fork around my plate like a swimming eel. Though full, I continued to nibble, because we were having such a nice time together. I reached for Trevor's hand.

He took mine in his and squeezed it, then reached for his winegla.s.s, sipping the last of his wine. "You tell me when you're ready for my next surprise."

"You're spoiling me, Trevor."

"I know."

"Okay, I'm ready. Go ahead."

"Well," he said, drawing it out. "I've made arrangements for us to spend the weekend in Aspen, a mini ski vacation."

"Really? You have the time? You can take a whole weekend off?"

"Yes and no ... just listen. First, we'll have luxurious accommodations, a private two-bedroom condo, adjacent to the slopes and a short walk into town. We'll be dining on steak and lobster and grilled calamari, chilled caviar. I know, you don't like caviar, but if you want it you can have it."

"Just the two of us?"

"In our condo, yes. For the weekend, no." I sat waiting for the obvious catch.

"We'll be the guests of Sylvia Breslin and Robert Morris."

"Oh," I said, then realizing I should appear more excited, added, "well that's wonderful. We'll have a great time. They want me along?"

"Of course. You've met Bob. I know you don't remember him, but you might when you see him again. He remembers you."

"At Linda's party. I remember you said I did, but I don't remember him. Short guy?"

"Hardly. He's six-two. Dark hair, wavy. Skin a little craggy. About forty years old. Always has a good-looking woman at his side."

"Not married?"

"Divorced some years back."

"Where will they be staying?"

"In another condo, same complex."

"Together?"

"Yes, but there's nothing going on between them. They're business partners. Actually, partners isn't the right word. It's more like-what benefits one benefits the other. a.s.sociates, I guess."

"And they ski?"

"Yes, they ski. I don't know how well, enough that we can ski together. It will be fun."

I smiled. Sure, a weekend with the woman who was after my husband. Of course, what could be more fun? And if Trevor were lying, it might have progressed far beyond that. Sylvia might have already caught him.

I cleared the dining room table and Trevor helped me, following me into the kitchen. While I rinsed dishes and placed them in the dishwasher, Trevor perused the small stack of mail he'd tossed on the kitchen table earlier.

"Something from your sister and Wolfgang. Looks like an invitation."

He brought it over.

"Open it," I said, my hands wet.

"It is. Your sister's giving another party."

"When?"

"Two weeks from Friday. She calls it a *Holiday Hiatus'."

"I had a feeling she'd try to put something together before they left on vacation. She probably didn't want to disappoint her friends."

"Kind of short notice."

"Yes, for Linda, but Wolfgang surprised her with that Hawaiian vacation. She probably thought she'd have more time."

"It would be nice for the two of us to take a trip, if I could arrange to get away. If I had the time. Things might slow down eventually. This weekend will be fun though. We can try out the new skis."

"Can't wait," I said, closing the dishwasher and setting the dial.

I hoped Trevor would go to bed early, but it was almost as if he could read my thoughts, and frustrated me by first staying up to watch a gross program about sharks and shark attacks, then wanting to make love. I kept thinking about the envelope in my darkroom, and how odd it would look when I crawled out of bed to go downstairs, when normally after s.e.x I'd roll over and fall asleep.

I decided I'd have to wait until Trevor was asleep himself, then sneak downstairs. If he woke up later on, I could always say I was restless or something. He probably thought I was half crazy anyway, the way I'd been acting lately, and wouldn't see anything I did as too unusual.

At close to midnight, I eased out of the covers and put on my robe and slippers. I tiptoed carefully around the bed and into the hallway, then grasping the stairway banister, slowly descended the stairs. Eerily bright moonlight streamed through the windows. I'd almost made it down to the first floor when a stair creaked. I stopped, listened for sounds of movement coming from the bedroom. Nothing. I inhaled a deep breath, let it out slowly.

My darkroom was located below our bedroom, or more specifically, below the master bath. My studio was directly below the bedroom. If I made too much noise Trevor might hear me, or think we had a prowler. But Trevor didn't own a gun, so at least I didn't have to worry that he'd shoot me and call it an accident later.

I entered the studio, then closed the door and locked it. That in itself would look odd if Trevor did get up and search the house for me. I never locked my studio door, and rarely locked my darkroom since Trevor knew better than to open it if I was working in there. I changed my mind and unlocked the studio door, but kept it shut with the overhead light on.

I closed the door to the darkroom and turned the lock, switched on a small fluorescent lamp, then found the envelope. I sat on a stool, my elbow resting on the counter near the sink.

I drew out the contents of the envelope, dusted off the counter with my arm, then laid the papers down.

I returned to the part about Trevor's father, noticing that he would be eligible for parole in the next year. How did Trevor feel about his dad? Would he be glad if he made parole? I thought for a moment about my own father. What if he had been involved in something shady? Would I have loved him any less? Or would I have instead worried about him, tried to figure out the reasons behind his convoluted thinking, his lack of respect for the law, and his failure to foresee the probable consequences of his actions.

I couldn't ask Trevor about any of this, but I was glad I knew. Before, Trevor always seemed to me so a.s.sured and confident, so unscarred by life, and sometimes-not cool exactly-but too removed from the difficulties of ordinary people. Now, it appeared, that wasn't true.

His credit was good, but I'd known that before. That alone said a lot about his character, about his respect for others, about the value of his word, and, of course, the stability of his financial position.

He'd said he had attended college in Sacramento, and that was true, though I had a.s.sumed-was it something he'd said?-that he'd graduated. Now I could see that he hadn't. Why lie about that? Pride? To appear on the same educational level as his business a.s.sociates, his friends? Actually, I could think of several extremely successful men who'd never attended college at all, my father for one, and who instead of hiding the fact, had bragged about it.

Well, whatever the reason, it wasn't a huge deal.

He didn't have a criminal record. He had been issued several tickets, many for speeding, when he was younger. He'd once owned a boat, a small speedboat it appeared.

I was happy to see he hadn't been married before. He wasn't divorced and lying about it, or a bigamist running off to Denver to visit his other wife.

I wondered. Did he ever visit his father in prison? Was it only accidental that he'd moved from California here to Glenwood, in the same state his father was imprisoned? In the time I'd known Trevor, he'd gone to Denver many times, but always, I thought, for business. Perhaps he'd driven a bit farther, to Pueblo.

I continued to read all the minutia of his life, his previous employment record, including his first job as a busboy, the genealogical records of his family, the who, the when, and where of their lives. Trevor probably didn't know a tenth of this, and if he had, most likely would have forgotten it by now.

But I didn't find anything that would make Trevor a likely murder suspect. In essence, I was no further along than before.

I lifted my head, thinking I'd detected a noise outside in the studio. Holding my breath, I watched the doork.n.o.b, waiting for it to turn. When it didn't, I eased from the stool and pressed my ear against the door. Finally, after several minutes had ticked by without event, I returned to the stool and slid the papers back into the envelope, placed it on the shelf, and unlocked the door.

The studio door remained shut, as I had left it. I flipped off the light to the darkroom, then the studio, and quietly entered the hallway. Turning my head to peer up the stairs, I tiptoed past them to the kitchen to pour myself a gla.s.s of milk-as good a reason to be up as any-in case Trevor was, indeed, awake.

I opened the refrigerator and drew out the milk carton. No, I decided, it didn't appear there was anything in the report that would cast a dark shadow on Trevor. I did wonder, however, why Linda had been so secretive about Wolfgang's report.