Looking up at the house, she's reluctant to go in. But it's raining, and she can't linger out here another second without showing up drenched.

She makes a dash for the porch, hearing Evangeline call, "Good luck!"after her.

Opening the front door, she prepares herself for the grim mood that will undoubtedly greet her on the other side.

Instead, she hears raucous laughter as she steps into the front hall.

That must mean she was wrong about the car out front; the detectives aren't here yet. Maybe a friend stopped by to visit Gammy. Or a walk- in client with a great sense of humor.

"That was a good one, Odelia!"a male voice is saying, and another male voice emits the kind of sigh one emits after laughing really, really hard.

Okay, two walk- in clients with great senses of humor. Both men.

Frowning, Calla pokes her head into the living room.

The first person she spots is Odelia.

Then rotund, balding, mustachioed Detective Lutz.

And finally, lanky Detective Kearney, whose Irish green eyes are dancing merrily as Calla's grandmother launches into another joke.

"How about this one? A man walks into a salami shop with a parrot on his-"

Calla clears her throat loudly.

Gammy stops talking abruptly and all three of them look over at her.

"h.e.l.lo, young lady."Detective Lutz hastily gets to his feet.

"h.e.l.lo,"Calla returns politely, then asks her grandmother, "A salami shop?"

"Never mind. Calla, you remember Detective Lutz and Detective Kearney, right?"

"Yes."She shakes both their hands, hoping they don't notice how clammy her own is.

"How have you been doing since you got back?"Detective Kearney asks. With his blond crewcut and his good-natured smile, he reminds her of someone's big brother.

"I've been great, thanks. How have you been?"

He chuckles. "Just fine. And your grandmother is quite the comedian."

"Oh, I don't know about that."Odelia shakes her head modestly.

"We spoke to your father earlier today,"Detective Lutz announces, obviously wanting to get things under way.

"You did?"Calla looks at her grandmother in surprise. "I didn't know that."

Odelia nods. "Your dad wanted to be here now, but I told him you might feel more comfortable without him here."

Uh- oh. "What did he say?"

"He said that was fine, and actually, the detectives told him they would prefer to speak to you privately."

"What about you, Gammy? Can you stay?"

She looks at the detectives.

Uh- oh again.

"It's better if we speak to you alone,"Kearney says. "Don't worry. We won't bite."

"I'll just be upstairs if you need me,"Odelia says, and disappears after planting a kiss on the top of Calla's head.

"We just want to ask you a few more questions, if you don't mind having a seat,"Detective Lutz tells her, not unkindly, but with the same no- nonsense demeanor she found intimidating back in Tampa.

He moves from the chair he was sitting in to another that's closer to the couch, saying, "We've been speaking to your friends Patsy and Bob."

"They're not really my, um, friends,"she corrects him. "More like . . . you know . . ."

"Acquaintances?"Kearney supplies, and she flashes him a grateful look, nodding.

"They were both very sorry to hear about what happened to you."

They know too, now?

Well, of course they do. How else were the detectives supposed to question them?

Calla figures it's only a matter of time before the news reaches the high school gossip mill. People are going to be asking questions she might not feel comfortable answering.

So what else is new?

"Did Sharon Logan confess to killing my mother?"she asks, hoping the answer is yes. Who knows? Maybe she's already told them what happened to Darrin, too. Then Calla won't have to- "No,"Kearney tells her, "she hasn't said anything."

"Nothing at all?"

"Not a word. No one can get anything out of her. She's basically checked out."

"Wow. That stinks."

The detectives look at each other.

"What if she never talks?"Calla asks. "Do you have enough proof of what she did so that you can keep her in jail?"

"We're working on it. Don't worry."That's Kearney, of course.

Don't worry?

What if that woman gets out of jail and comes after her again?

Noting the look on Detective Kearney's face, Calla realizes he's thinking the same thing. So much for big-brotherly rea.s.surance. "So, Calla- Lily Dale is quite an interesting place,"Detective Lutz says, as if that's news to her.

"Yes, it is,"she agrees, not sure what else to say.

"I've never personally worked with a police psychic before, but a lot of detectives do."

Kearney nods vigorously-so vigorously that Calla wonders if he's worked with police psychics himself.

"Are you using a police psychic?"she asks. "You know, on this case?"

"Oh, no. No."Lutz's chins waggle as he shakes his head. "I just want you to know that we're taking very seriously what your friends-your acquaintances-told us."

"Did they tell you something new about Sharon Logan?"

"Not exactly. But there does seem to be some kind of consensus that she might have committed another serious crime before she came after you."

"You mean, that she killed my mother? Because-"

"No, before that,"Kearney tells her. "Both Patsy and Bob mentioned-independent of each other-that they sensed another death around Sharon Logan."

"I know whose it was."

The detectives look at Calla in surprise.

She pulls the folded death notice from her backpack.

"His name,"she says flatly, "was Darrin Yates."

SEVENTEEN.

New York City

Thursday, October 11

4:59 p.m.

Sitting behind the receptionist's desk, bare except for a message pad, a pen, and a gigantic vase filled with waxy white calla lilies, Laura answers the incessantly ringing telephone again.

"Good afternoon, Overseas Corporate Funds, where may I direct your call?"

"Extension one-five- two, please."

She transfers the call and glances at the clock as she presses the next line. "Good afternoon, Overseas Corporate Funds, where may I direct your call?"

Less than a minute to go.

"Extension one-eighteen."

Transfer. Next line.

"Good afternoon, Overseas Corporate Funds, where may I direct your call?"

No reply.

"Good afternoon?"

Nothing.

Her hand stiffens on the receiver. "h.e.l.lo?"

There's a click, and then a dial tone.

Laura's heart pounds erratically . . . and for no good reason, she tells herself. When you're a receptionist whose job it is to answer the phone hundreds of times a day, a percentage of those calls are going to be wrong numbers, cranks, hang- ups, whatever.

It doesn't mean anything.

Still . . .

She'll ask the temp agency not to send her back here tomorrow. Just in case.

She looks at the clock again.

It's five.

I'm out of here.

She sets the phone system to go into automated answering, pushes back the rolling chair, gathers her things, and goes to find the office supervisor, Ellen.

"Leaving already?"she asks when Laura hands her the agency's time sheet for a signature.