He hesitated and looked at me. "What if I misunderstood? Maybe I shouldn't say anything. But if what he said is true, it could be important."

"It could be important, really important." I wished he would just come out with it.

"I don't want to get in trouble talking to you. I need this job." He hesitated again. "But I want to help. I want to do anything that will help you find Les' murderer. Not that I'm saying that Nancy is his murderer, but..."

"This must be so hard on you. Take your time," I said, hoping he would hurry up.

"Okay..." He shook his head. "Here's the story." He began like he was driven. Like he needed to get this out to someone, to me. "Les had overheard Nancy talking to a resident a few days before he died. He was mopping the floor in an alcove on the first floor. Les heard her mention to him about putting Hawthorne Hills in his will."

Oh my gosh! My eyes must have gone wide open. He watched me. I knew I had to contribute. "Seems like something she shouldn't have been involved in," I said, stating the obvious. "Please go on."

"Then she told this resident that to avoid some kind of tax, he could put her name in his will and she would transfer the money to the Home."

I leaned forward in my chair. "That sounds like some pretty serious corruption. Why didn't Les report Nancy to the owner of the Home?"

He nodded. "Seems like it. He wanted to do more investigating first. Les also heard Nancy set up a time to meet that evening in his apartment."

"Did Les give a name?"

Viktor looked down at his watch, then continued without answering my question. "So that evening, Les watched Nancy enter the resident's apartment. His was a garden level apartment. Les stood outside, freezing his butt off." He looked up at me. "So he related to me." Viktor cleared his throat. "Les saw the two embrace. More than embrace." He stopped for a few seconds and looked down at his hands. "It was...it was..." Then he stopped. "I think I've said enough. I need to think more on this."

"I understand." I hesitated. I wish he had gone on. After a few moments when I saw that he wasn't going to say anymore, I said, "Thank you, Viktor, for talking to me. Can I call on you again?"

He didn't answer right away. "Okay."

"You're very kind."

He started shuffling the papers on his desk. I stood up and left his office.

I walked up the steps and buttoned my coat in the lobby. Viktor was so close to giving me a name; why had he decided against it? If I had pressed him on it, I felt he would have ended our conversation immediately. He already seemed hesitant to meet with me again. Something must have him too scared to talk; perhaps he really, really needed to keep this job. I passed Dr. Lee's office. His light was on, but the room was empty. I needed to talk to him. I left through the front door with a feeling of accomplishment. It was possible this scam was the reason for Les' murder, if Nancy knew that Les suspected or knew anything... What might she have done?

Crack! Crack! I heard a loud crackling noise overhead. Startled, I jumped aside a good foot. Several large, wicked icicles, hundreds of pounds in weight, landed right where I had been. A wave of intense nausea jolted through my body. My feet slid sideways on the ice that glazed the ground, then I fell, knocking all the air out of my lungs. I let out a gasp, and swore under my breath. I looked up and saw a shadow pull back from the overhang on the roof.

Nausea turned into fear. Fear crept through my body.

Ignoring my pain, I picked myself up and ran back into the lobby. The thumping of my heart in my ears was all I could hear. I pushed the elevator up button repeatedly. The elevator was on the third floor. I kept pushing it and then ran to the stairs and up to the top floor, taking them two by two. Out of breath, I looked around for an exit out to the roof. I couldn't find one. Damn!

I knew someone had chopped the icicles down. This was no accident. Someone wanted to scare me, or even worse, kill me. If I hadn't jumped... A cold shiver ran through me. I took the elevator back down to the lobby and went out the front door, looking up to make sure there wouldn't be any icicles coming down on me.

Still shaken by the experience, I got into my car, my back and hip throbbing, and sat there for a few minutes running the window defroster. A layer of ice had accumulated on my windshield. My heart still pounded in my chest. What, did Hawthorne Hills specialize in perfect crimes? Of course my body would have been discovered before the ice had melted, but it would have looked like an accidental death just as Les' did. I felt unnerved and a terrible exhaustion descended over me: mental, physical, and emotional exhaustion.

There was a bang on my window. I jumped. Martin. His car was next to mine. I lowered the window a couple of inches.

He had a big smile. "Kay, are you coming up to see us? I picked up a chocolate almond cake at Marissa's." He lifted the box up to the window. I could see Marissa's logo on the box.

I got out of the car to scrape the ice and tried to give him a smile. "Thank you, Martin. You're sweet, but not today." I finished scraping the windshield. "I'm sorry, I've got to go. Talk to you soon." His smile wavered.

As Martin walked towards the entrance to the Home, I saw Robert Peterson coming down the front steps and turn the corner. Was it Robert's shadow I saw on the roof? Was he the one who broke the icicles? But why would he?

Still shaken, I got back into the car. Holding the steering wheel tight, I started for home trying to stay calm. All I wanted to do and could think about was getting into a hot shower and washing this nightmare away. But when I reached my block, I made a quick U-turn, almost sliding into the curb, and headed straight down Maple Street to the police station.

When I arrived, I asked to speak with Sudbury Falls' Chief of Police.

Kirk came out to the reception area. "Kay, you're back. What's wrong?"

Fear must have shown in my face. "I'm not doing well." He looked at me with concern. "Come back to my office."

He closed his door and pulled out a chair for me. I sat down. "Now, tell me, what's wrong? You look terrible."

"I was just at Hawthorne Hills Retirement Home. Someone tried to kill me!" I blurted out.

He hesitated, with a look that was a mixture of concern and disbelief, then said, "Who? How so?"

I told him about the icicles and seeing the shadow on the roof.

His look of skepticism did not lessen. I saw him eye the coffee pot and go over to fill up a cup. "Want some?"

I shook my head.

"You'd better start from the beginning," he said.

I told him about looking into Les' death and our suspicions of murder, since the others with peanut allergies weren't affected. About the jar of peanut butter hidden in the back of the cupboard after Nancy and Sheila's denial that it was ever used in the kitchen.

He sat and listened attentively. Our last coroner, who I helped put in prison two months ago, had also listed a murder victim as an accidental death as well. Of course, he had been in on the murders.

"I don't know. Maybe they hadn't gotten to those particular food items yet. Kay, this case is closed. Killing a person with peanut butter..."

The phone rang. "...Come on, it seems unlikely." He picked up the phone. "Yeah, I haven't forgotten my appointment. I'll be leaving soon." He glanced at his watch.

After Kirk hung up the phone, I told him about Les' suspicions of Nancy and certain male residents.

"Any evidence of this?"

I remained silent. Like the missing peanut butter jar, there was no evidence to prove my story about Nancy either. Kirk looked up to the ceiling. His attitude was plain. He wasn't willing to reopen the investigation. Sweat ran down from his forehead.

"Kay, you were lucky with the ginseng murders. That doesn't mean that you are solving a sensational crime here as well. Not every accidental death in Sudbury Falls is murder."

"Lucky?" How condescending. "I came up with almost every piece of evidence in that case through hard work and diligence." I felt like adding...and you got all the credit. This guy owed me and he knew it.

"Sorry, Kay. I didn't mean it that way. I know how you have helped in the past, but now please leave this to the police. Stay away from Hawthorne Hills for a while." He raised an eyebrow at me. "It's safer for you that way."

I looked at him squinting a little. The way he said it. "Stay away from Hawthorne Hills for a while." Did he know something wasn't right and wasn't letting on, or does he just want me to forget all of this and quit being a pain in his side?

We sat in silence for a few moments, looking at each other. "As far as the alleged attempt on your life, we can send an officer over to the Home to search the roof, but icicles falling, in the dead of winter, isn't a strong case. This is Wisconsin. And you saw a shadow, not a person, specifically. A shadow could have been a squirrel on the roof or a bird flying overhead."

I stood up. This wasn't going anywhere. Then I thought, why not? "A new neighbor moved into Ted Michael's house next door. Robert Peterson. Do you know anything about him?"

"Robert Peterson. That's who I have my next appointment with," he looked down at his watch, then stood up, putting on his jacket, "in ten minutes at City Hall. I'd better not be late."

"About what?"

"Kay..." he paused, "the mayor wants me to meet him."

"The mayor? Who is this guy?"

"Some rich philanthropist from...."

"Chicago."

"Maybe they want to get some money out of him. Sponsor some projects. Who knows?" Kirk started putting on his jacket. "Hope Marissa caters the meeting."

"I suppose the mayor would like to cultivate a wealthy philanthropist."

"Right. It's not every day a big shot moves to our town. Did I mention, he's the new owner of Hawthorne Hills Retirement Home?"

No! "What?"

"Robert Peterson signed a letter of intent to purchase the Home a month ago. The owner, a friend of mine, wants to retire. The acquisition is to be completed next month."

I left the police station and drove home, my mind full, thinking about how close I came to being skewered and about Viktor and Robert Peterson. So Peterson was to be the owner of Hawthorne Hills. He was turning up everywhere: on Elizabeth's doorstep, at the retirement home when someone tried to kill me, and at City Hall to meet with the mayor and chief of police.

What was his agenda?

Chapter Nine.

Monday, December 29 The windows rattled as the dawn sky bore a purple hue. I watched Phil next to me, the gentle rising and falling of his chest, listening to his breathing. Twenty-eight years with this man as of today. I had never loved him as much as I did right now. He was truly a good person, honest and loyal. Phil opened his eyes halfway, and caught me scrutinizing him. I smiled.

"Good morning," he whispered. His warm smile made me feel good. He put his arm around me. "Happy Anniversary, Hon. I love you."

We kissed. "I love you, too."

"Kay, you know, I've never been happier being anything but your husband."

I put my head on his chest, moved a little closer until the curves of my body fit into his, and fell back asleep to the rhythm of his heart beat and the wailing of the wind outside.

An hour later, on my way to the bathroom, I heard the thud of a car door closing. I looked out the window, past our driveway, over to Elizabeth's. Pristine snow had covered everything during the night. Elizabeth's car backed down to the end of her driveway, and then waited while a snowplow passed, simultaneously clearing the street and trapping Elizabeth behind a wall of muddy snow. After a pause, she gunned her engine, sending her car over the snow mound and then turned the corner. Today was her once-a-week work day. This past autumn she had cut her work schedule down to accommodate her courtship of three different men. Her work schedule cuts remained in effect even though she had narrowed the field down to just one.

Then I heard another car engine start up and saw Robert Peterson backing down his driveway. He looked like he was in a hurry and took the corner Elizabeth had taken at a clip. Was he following her? I supposed there were only two ways to go: right or left, but...

Phil yawned. "Kay, what time is it?"

I looked at the alarm clock. "Almost nine o'clock."

"That late!" He bolted out of bed.

I went downstairs and made a pot of coffee. I loved the warmth of my kitchen. It felt reassuring, especially after yesterday.

Phil came down the stairs. "Kay, I'm going to be gone much of the day. The boys and I are going to have a long practice."

"Today?" On our anniversary? I had hoped we would spend the day together at the art museum, anywhere. A moment's pause. "Okay, I won't plan on you for lunch."

Realization dawned on Phil's face. "Kay, I'm..."

The phone rang and I picked it up. "Kay, happy anniversary to you and Phil!"

"Thank you, Deirdre!"

I smiled at Phil and covered the mouth piece of the phone. "Deirdre says, 'Happy Anniversary.'"

Phil smiled sheepishly and picked up his coffee cup. "Tell her thanks," he said, and went into the other room with the newspaper, looking back at me as he left the room.

I told Deirdre that I was planning to spend some time this morning searching the internet since Phil would be out most of the day practicing for their gig. She invited me to bring my laptop over and share the fresh scones she had just made. She too would be doing some searches of her own.

I hung up the phone and finished my coffee. Phil came into the kitchen. "I'm going over to Deirdre's in a little while."

"Do you want to take your shower first, then?" Phil asked as he poured himself another cup of coffee and sat down at the table.

"No, you can go first."

I took sugar out of the cupboard and a container of mascarpone cheese and everything else I needed to make lemon curd out of the refrigerator: eggs, a couple of lemons, and butter.

Phil sipped his coffee while he watched me cook.

I zested and juiced the lemon and whisked the eggs, sugar, and butter together.

"Kay, let's go somewhere special tonight for our anniversary!"

"That'd be great," I said as I put the mixture on top of a double boiler. "Where do you want to go?"

He stood up. "Gatsby's." He put his empty cup into the sink. "Think I'll jump into the shower."

"Sure." I snickered. Somewhere special indeed. Phil just wanted to scope out the venue where his band would be playing New Year's Eve.

After cooking the lemon curd over low heat for several minutes, I set it over ice to cool, then quietly hurried upstairs to try and surprise Phil in the shower. Too late; he was already dressing.

When I was ready, I gathered everything, and made my way over to Deirdre's, walking up her herringbone brick path that was laced with snow. I couldn't stay long as I had lots to do today, which included going to the clinic. What would be my excuse to get into medical records to look up Lola's file? Last time, when I was investigating the big ginseng conspiracy, I had nearly gotten caught when I broke into an office to collect a coroner's report. This time, I would try to get at the records using a "legitimate" excuse.

Deirdre must have seen me coming and opened the front door.