A huge spoonful of pumpkin gunk landed on the paper in front of me, narrowly missing my foot.

I picked my way around the slime-ridden newspaper and sat down beside her. "I'm sorry."

The spoon made a hollow sound against the pumpkin flesh as Meghan removed the last of the fibrous pulp. She got up and went inside. I didn't know what to do; she'd never acted like this before.

She came back with a roll of paper towels and a bowl, sat down beside me again. Leaning forward, her fingers picked through the goo, extracting pumpkin seeds and dropping them into the bowl.

She turned to me. "Well, aren't you going to help?"

"Uh, let me go wash my hands."

I came back and dug into the orange muck, squirting the slippery seeds into the bowl. We'd soak them in brine and roast them in the oven.

"So, am I forgiven?"

"Don't you dare pull something like that again. Not while this is going on. I thought something had happened to you."

I felt mothered. I didn't like it.

But it wasn't her fault. "Okay," I said. "Point taken"

Then I filled her in on what Ambrose had told me about the lye. "I'm a little surprised that he told me. And last night he seemed..." I searched for a word. "...quite human." It fell short of what I meant, but I considered it a compliment.

Meghan looked at me sideways. "You're such a dope."

"What?"

"You. Are a dope. Otherwise you'd have picked up on the fact that Detective Ambrose likes you."

"Likes me? You mean, in the junior-high sense?"

"Yes. Detective Ambrose is attracted to you. Interested. Wants to get in your pants."

I stopped pawing through the pumpkin guts, stunned. "How can you tell?"

She shook her head, smiling. "How can you not? You've messed around in his investigation, been stubborn and combative, in short given him little but grief, and he's still solicitous and understanding and concerned about your safety. But, honey, that's nothing compared to the vibe between you two."

"Vibe? Really?"

She lifted her eyebrows a fraction. "You tell me."

I went back to sifting through pumpkin innards. Okay, the thought of Ambrose being interested pleased me. And maybe something about him drew my attention in an adolescent, stomach-fluttering way I'd tried to ignore. Because, I told myself, it didn't matter. Present circ.u.mstances didn't bode well for any kind of relationship between us.

On the other hand, loneliness had been a part of my life for so long it had become comfortable. Living with Meghan and Erin diffused the weight of it; we were a kind of family. But I missed the kind of intimacy I'd had with Mike. I missed the male perspective. I missed s.e.x. I'd had a string of dates here and there, but nothing with teeth. And I got the idea any involvement with Barr Ambrose would have teeth.

Scary.

But maybe good scary.

I pushed the thought away. Never mind. Let Meghan play matchmaker. I didn't have to buy into her sentimental notions, vibe or no vibe. So there.

I swished my fingers through the acc.u.mulation of slick seeds in the bowl. "We need to find out more about Walter's money situation."

Meghan gave me a look, but let me get away with changing the subject. "I checked with the lottery commission. Three years ago Walter won $1.3 million dollars. He took it in one lump sum, though, which knocked it down considerably. Maybe Detective Ambrose can tell us if it's all gone, or if Walter had enough left to provide a motive for murder."

"I meant to ask him about that. He did say he's going to talk with Debby and Jacob this afternoon. Oh, and that reminds me. Debby and Jacob are brother and sister."

"Really? Yeah, I guess that makes sense. He seems protective of her."

"I'll say. To the point of being creepy. You think they could be, you know...?"

"Sophie Mae! That's gross."

Maybe so, but those two had something beyond the usual brother-sister stuff.

Meghan stood up. "Listen, I need to go get some props for Erin's Halloween costume. I hope this all blows over by then. It's her second favorite holiday." Christmas being number one, of course.

Costumes made me think of Tootie in the photo with the guy in the bunny suit. "Oh, no. I forgot to take the photos and stuff from Walter's over to Tootie."

She stared at me. "The fourth box, the one the thief missed. We never told Detective Ambrose about it!"

"It's just some old photos, a few other mementos."

"Sophie Mae, what if there's something there that's important?"

"Like what?"

"Like I don't know. Just call him, okay?"

"Sure. I'll do it now." I stood up to go inside, then stopped.

"Meghan?"

Holding her pumpkin-slick hands out in front of her, she looked up. "What?"

"Do you think we should get a gun?"

Her face hardened. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Well ... I just thought-"

"I will not have one in this house. You know how I feel about them. A gun's not going to solve our problems; it'd just give us a false sense of security."

I did know how she felt about guns. She hated them.

"Okay. It was only a thought."

Disgust on her face, she leaned forward to gather up the corners of the newspaper, bundling the pumpkin guts inside. I went upstairs to the spare room and dragged the box of photos from under the window and into the open s.p.a.ce just inside the door. Opening the flaps again, I removed each item and set it on the floor, trying to consider each one as a clue. Everything seemed so innocuous.

The one thing that caught my eye was the photo of Walter with his parents, two brothers, and the woman I'd first a.s.sumed was his sister. But Tootie had mentioned only her sons: one dead from cancer, one dead in an accident, and now one dead from drinking drain cleaner. And Mrs. Gray had only talked about Walter's brothers. There was no sister. Now I looked closer at the picture. Two of the brothers stood with their arm around the girl, Walter's around her waist and the other man's encircling her shoulders. I turned the picture over and slid down the felt-backed piece of cardboard. No notations on the reverse of the picture to indicate who the subjects were or when it had been taken. Sliding the cardboard back in place, I turned the frame over again.

I was willing to bet the girl was Cherry, who'd married Walter and then abandoned him. Who wrecked his youth and stained his self-confidence for years.

The photographer had fit everyone completely into the frame of the black-and-white picture, head to toe, so the faces didn't hold a lot of fine detail. Still, I recognized Walter. The gray hair was dark, may have even been black then. The jowls that had developed later in life were missing, and brilliant laughter shone from his face. I'd never seen him look this happy when I knew him. I held the photo closer. Something about that young handsome face looked familiar, and not just because I knew the face when it was older and sadder. The angles and planes of the bones under his skin. I looked at the brother on the other side of Cherry, the one whose arm rested across her shoulders. That had to be w.i.l.l.y, the one she'd fooled around with while Walter studied at the University of Washington during the week. Not surprisingly, he had the same chin, the same brow I found so familiar in Walter's image. So did the third brother, though he looked thinner than the other two, almost gaunt.

I put the picture back into the box, along with the spa.r.s.e collection of mementos we'd inadvertently rescued from Walter's little house. His face hovered at the edge of my thoughts, a constant image nibbling for attention. Something about the similarity he shared with his brothers.

Downstairs, I called Ambrose. He wasn't in, so I tried the number he'd given us for his cell phone. He answered on the second ring.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Hi. It's Sophie Mae."

"What happened?" Urgency rode through his voice.

"Nothing happened. I just forgot to tell you something, and thought I should. I mean, it's probably not important, in fact I can't imagine that it is, but Meghan said I should call, and-"

Ambrose let out a sigh.

"Are you busy? I can call back later... or you could call me back. I mean-"

"No, that's okay. I thought something was wrong. What did you want to tell me?"

"Oh. Well, there was another box we took from Walter's, and it wasn't stolen. I'd tucked it away from the other three, and I don't think the thief realized it was one of the boxes we'd packed up while we were over there." "

"And you forgot to tell me about it?" He sounded incredulous.

I did. I just flat-out forgot. So did Meghan. It doesn't have any paperwork in it. In fact, it doesn't contain anything other than pictures and a few other things that I thought his mother might want. That's why I packed it up in the first place, to take it over to Tootie. I thought I'd take it this afternoon."

On the other end of the phone Ambrose considered this. "I'll be back in my office after two, no, better make that two-thirty this afternoon. Can you bring it by?"

I sighed, thinking of everything I had to do. "Yeah. I'll drop by after two-thirty."

"All right. Bye."

And he hung up. I stood with the phone in my hand, wondering if he'd been so abrupt because he was mad at me again. It bothered me, how much I didn't want him to be mad at me.

"What did he say?" Meghan asked from the kitchen.

"He wants to see the stuff before I take it over to Tootie. Hey, come take another look at these pictures and tell me what you think." I went over and started laying the pictures out on the hardwood floor at the bottom of the stairs.

Meghan perched on a step beside me, her gaze flicking from picture to picture. She picked up the one of Walter's parents with the three boys and the girl I'd been looking at earlier. "Is that Cherry? The one Mrs. Gray told you about?"

I nodded. "I think so. Somebody there reminded me of someone I've seen recently, but I can't figure out who."

"Which picture?"

"Just look. I don't want to influence what you see."

"Well, Cherry looks familiar to me, but I'm not sure why. Is that who you mean?"

"No" I picked up the picture and squinted at it. The harder I looked the less clear the features became. "I probably want to find a clue so badly I'm making one up," I said.

Meghan gave me an understanding smile and began stacking the pictures. I remembered Walter's baby photo upstairs on my dresser.

"I'll be right back," I said and went up to retrieve it.

Meghan leaned over the open box, returning the last of the photos. I handed her Walter's baby picture to add.

Looking at my watch, I said, "If I hustle..." but trailed off at the sight of Meghan's face as she stood up. She'd gone pale. She stared at Walter's picture with a combination of fascination and dread.

"What's wrong?" I asked, moving to her side.

"Where did you get this?" Her voice shook.

"It's just a baby picture of Walter. It was on that shelving unit with the rest of them. Meghan, what's wrong?"

She looked up at me, biting her lower lip. "This isn't Walter. This is Richard."

THIRTY-ONE.

"RICHARD?".

She nodded.

"Not Walter?"