I walked out to the side terrace in the hopes of finding Bridget so I could tell her what had happened and where I was going. She wasn't there. However, Harry was. He was walking toward me, a bunch of roses in one hand, a clipper in the other. My face must have registered my misery, because he looked at me with evident surprise.

"Elizabeth! What's going on?"

Rather than launch into what had happened with Peter, I focused instead on the flowers. "Those are pretty," I said mechanically. "Who are they for?"

Harry glanced down at the roses. "Oh. These. They're for Megan." He looked uncomfortable admitting this, and I wondered if he thought I'd be upset to hear they weren't for me. "I thought they might cheer her up a little," he continued. "But I guess that's asking a lot from a bunch of roses."

"I think it's very sweet."

"Well, I'm glad you think so. Just don't tell Elsie. I cut them from the trellis. She'd tan my hide if she knew." He peered closely at my face. "What's wrong? You look like you need your own bouquet of flowers."

I shoved my hands deep into my pockets and willed myself not to cry. I focused on staring at the intricate stone design of the patio to distract myself. That lasted a whole ten seconds. Before I knew it, Harry had gently pushed me into one of the chairs and had pulled another up alongside it. Putting down Megan's roses, he took my hands in his. "Okay, kiddo, give. What's wrong? Is it Peter?"

I could only nod. I didn't quite trust my voice to come out in a decibel appropriate to human ears. I suspected that I was capable of producing only sounds discernible to chipmunks.

"Would you like me to do something about him?" he asked teasingly. "I could make it look like an accident."

I laughed hollowly and shook my head. "No, thanks. I think one violent act for the weekend is enough."

Harry's face clouded over at my words, and I cursed my insensitivity. Harry may not have liked Roni, but she had been married to his father.

"I'm sorry, Harry," I mumbled.

"Don't be," he said after a moment's pause. "Now, tell me what's going on with Peter."

I numbly launched into what was becoming a repet.i.tious story in my life. I meet someone, like him, only to get dumped a short while later for someone better. But this time I hadn't just liked someone. I'd fallen in love with someone.

My story told, I stared at my lap. I didn't want to see the pity in Harry's eyes. After a few moments of silence, I ventured a glance in his direction. He was looking at me with bemused frustration.

"You're a silly a.s.s, you know that, right?"

"How so?"

"Peter is not in love with Chloe. He dated her, but so what?"

"So what? Have you seen her? She's perfect. There's no comparison."

"I agree there's no comparison, but not in the way you obviously think. Yes, Chloe's beautiful, has a great figure, is smart-"

"This is really helpful, by the way. I'm feeling loads better. Thanks."

Harry ignored me and continued. "She is all those things, but she's not you. You still see yourself the way you were when you were twelve. Cute but not, perhaps, having reached your potential. I wish you could see yourself the way others see you."

"If I'm so wonderful, why has every guy I've dated broken up with me-usually for someone else?"

"Because you've dated idiots. Peter is different."

I shook my head. "I don't think I can take another rejection, especially from him."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Wow, you've got it bad." He pulled me to my feet. "Come on, let me take you out to dinner. I'll flirt wildly with you and make you forget all about Peter." I glanced uncertainly at him. "Don't worry," he added quickly, "I know I can't compete with Peter, so I won't even try, tempting as it is. But I insist on dinner."

I smiled up at him and nodded. "Okay, dinner it is."

"Great, just let me give these to Megan. I'll be back in a flash."

As promised, he was back in no time. He walked me to his car, making a huge production of opening the door and getting me settled inside. Then we were off.

It was after ten by the time we got back. The house was dark. As I stepped out of Harry's car, a movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I peered into the darkness. It was Peter.

He was leaning against the driver's-side door of his Jeep, his arms tightly crossed against his chest.

"Peter?" I said, my heart jumping. I crossed over to him, hoping against hope that he would pull me into his arms and tell me this whole mess was a giant misunderstanding. "What are you doing out here?"

"I was waiting for you. I didn't know where you were." His eyes flashed as they touched upon Harry before settling back on me.

"I think I'm going to turn in," Harry said quickly, glancing between the two of us. "See you guys it the morning."

"Good night. Thanks for dinner," I called after him. Peter said nothing; his eyes remained trained on my face.

"Have a nice time?" he asked, after Harry shut the front door.

"Harry took me to dinner," I said.

"So I gathered," he said, his voice hard. "I just wanted to let you know that I've checked into a hotel downtown."

My heart sank. So this was it. I wondered if Chloe was waiting for him somewhere.

"You didn't have to do that," I said weakly.

"I know."

Peter said nothing: he was probably trying to figure out a way to leave without being obvious. "Well, I think I'm going to hit the sack," I finally said.

"Right." He didn't move.

"Good night," I said, turning.

"Elizabeth?"

I turned back. I couldn't see his face in the darkness, just his shape. "What?"

He paused. "Nothing." He abruptly pushed himself off of the door. In one quick move, he yanked the door open and swung his frame inside. "Good night," he called out before slamming the door. Within seconds the engine burst to life and the car pulled out of the driveway.

"Good night," I whispered as the taillights turned onto the main road. I stood for a moment before exhaustion overtook me. I desperately needed to collapse into my bed. I let myself into the house and quietly made my way up the stairs and opened the door to my room. Peering into the inky darkness, I wondered if Megan was already in bed. Out of habit, I moved to flip on the light switch before I remembered that it didn't work.

Blindly making my way to my bed, I switched on the nightstand lamp. I saw with relief that Megan was asleep. I wasn't up to small talk tonight. My brain felt as if it were stuffed to the brim with odd bits of information needing to be sorted and filed. Harry's flowers were in a vase on her nightstand. I hoped they helped her a little.

No sooner did my head hit the pillow than one of these bits of information burst forth from my subconscious. Claire had said that she had seen Avery asleep in his bed the night of the murder. But she couldn't have. None of the light switches next to the doors worked. If Claire had opened the door to Avery's room, she would have seen exactly what I had when I opened my door just now. Nothing.

Claire had lied. But had she lied about seeing Avery, or about going to his room?

CHAPTER 19.

Sleep is when all the unsorted stuff comes flying out as from a dustbin upset in a high wind.

-WILLIAM GOLDING That night I dreamed I had been dumped into the muddy confines of a cold, desolate marsh. As I struggled to free myself from the rushes' suffocating embrace, my leg caught on something and I was dragged even deeper into the water's inky depths. Frantic, I looked down and saw Roni's necklace wrapped tightly around my calf, its brilliant diamonds gleaming eerily in the dark waters. At the other end, a hand pulled the sparkling cord with slow determination, steadily dragging me lower and lower. I clawed desperately at the necklace, trying to free my leg from its deadly grasp, all the while straining to catch a glimpse of the face beyond the hand. With a horrific crack, the necklace snapped in two and both the glittering cord and the disembodied hand faded from sight. With a pitiful m.u.f.fled sob, I broke through the water's surface and flung myself to safety.

I lay disoriented for several seconds, the sheet, damp from my sweat, twisted around my leg. With a shiver, I pulled the heavy comforter off the floor, wrapping it tightly around my body to ward off both the night's cold air and the lingering terror of my nightmare. As the images of the dream faded and my mind cleared, I became aware of two things. One, the pitiful sob in my dream had not come from me. It had come from Claire, whose low cries I could hear emanating from the room next to mine. And two, unless I was very much mistaken, the terrible cracking sound of the necklace was made by David's hand as he struck his wife.

The wall between our rooms m.u.f.fled their voices but not their emotions. David's anger was as palpable as Claire's misery. I was able to catch a few of David's words, but they told me only that he was adept at spewing run-of-the-mill obscenities.

I pushed the covers back and swung my legs out of bed. David scared the h.e.l.l out of me when he was drunk and mad, but that didn't mean I was going to cower under my covers while he smacked Claire around. Megan was still asleep. Thinking she'd been through more than enough over the last two days, I opted not to wake her. I looked around the room for something to use as a weapon in case David decided to smack me, too. Unfortunately, the only thing I could find was my hair dryer. I grabbed it anyway, preferring to have something in my hand when I faced him.

With my heart pounding in my ears, I eased my bedroom door open. Just as I did, David stormed out of his room and disappeared down the hall, his unsteady gait confirming his drunkenness. I sank back against the wall in relief, the hair dryer hanging from my limp arm. I shook my head-what the h.e.l.l did I think a hair dryer was going to do? Although, I suppose to a man as hair-obsessed as David, threatening to dry out his follicles might slow him down a bit.

Cautiously tiptoeing down the hall, I gently rapped my knuckles on Claire's door. There was a brief pause, during which I could hear her blow her nose, before the door cracked open an inch. One red eye peered cautiously out at me.

"Oh! Elizabeth, it's you," Claire said in a remarkably normal voice. Hearing it, my heart twisted in sadness. Claire was obviously no novice at having to hide the pain David caused. "Is everything all right?" she asked.

"Actually, that's what I was going to ask you. I . . . uh . . . I heard what happened, Claire. Can I get you anything?"

The eye blinked several times before filling with fresh tears. Letting out a sigh, she stepped back, easing the door open a few more inches. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. Her left cheek was red as well, although I knew crying wasn't the source of that irritation. Giving me a weak smile, she shook her head, saying, "Oh, that. I'm fine. Really. It was just a silly misunderstanding. I'm sorry if we woke you." She moved as if she was about to close the door, so I stuck my foot out and pushed my way into the room, shutting the door quietly behind me.

Surprised, she fell back a step. "Elizabeth! What are you doing? I said I was fine."

"Claire, I'm sorry, but you are anything but fine. I heard David hit you."

Her face crumpled at my words and she sank down onto the ottoman, the one that Bridget and I had noticed was being used as part of a makeshift bed. For some reason, that made me all the angrier. Not only was David a bullying drunk, but he'd co-opted the bed as well.

"Claire, do you want me to call the police? I'd be happy to tell them what I heard. We would get him away from you-at least for a day or so. It would give you enough time to decide what you want to do."

"No!" she cried, a note of real panic in her voice. "Not the police! Whatever you do, please don't call the police."

The violence of her reaction startled me-until I remembered her lie. I sat down on the edge of the bed and faced her. "Claire," I said as gently as I could, "I know that you lied to the police about seeing Avery that night. Is David threatening you with that fact? Just because you lied doesn't mean that he gets a free ticket to use you as a punching bag."

With a half sob, Claire buried her face in her hands. I let her cry for a minute, before moving off the bed and onto the chair beside her. Putting my arm around her, I said, "Please let me help you, Claire. You can't let this go on!"

"Can't let it go on?" she repeated with a bitter laugh. "It's been going on for years. He's not going to stop now."

"Then you make him stop. Call the police. Leave him. Bash him in the head with something heavy. Do something."

She lowered her eyes. "If I do, he'll tell the police about Avery."

My hand involuntarily tightened around the hair dryer's handle and I half wished David was still in the room. Very few things would give me as much pleasure as bashing in his adulterous, abusive head. Taking a deep breath, I said, "Claire, do you really think that Avery would want you to endure this for his sake?"

She rubbed her hands over her face. "Of course not. But that doesn't change anything. I won't go to the police."

"Tell me about that night. What happened? Why did you lie?"

Beneath my arm, I felt her body stiffen. Raising her head, she looked at me, her brown eyes wary. "How do you know about this, anyway? I'm not sure I should even be talking to you."

I nodded at the light switch on the wall. "You told Detective Grant that you went down to talk to Avery but changed your mind because you saw that he was sleeping. As none of the wall switches are working, you couldn't have seen anything by just opening the door. You would have had to go into his room and turn on a lamp. But you said you just stuck your head in, saw he was sleeping, and left."

Claire's face paled. "Oh, G.o.d. How stupid of me."

Through the door, I thought I heard the sound of a creaking floorboard. Was someone in the hall listening? Had David returned? I eyed the door anxiously, wondering when he would come back. I wanted to find out why Claire lied, but I knew that once David reappeared, she'd clam up. "Claire, maybe we should go somewhere else," I began.

She raised confused eyes to mine before my meaning sunk in. "Oh, don't worry about David. He won't be back. He's downstairs drinking himself into a stupor. I usually have to go down in the morning before everyone else wakes up and drag him back to our room."

"Oh," I said, relaxing my grip on the hair dryer. "Maybe you should tell me about that night."

Claire said nothing for a long moment. "I guess you're right," she finally said. Taking a deep breath, she looked at me, the beginnings of a steely resolve flickering in her eyes. "I suppose I should start with the fact that Roni was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g my husband."

I tried to react with genuine surprise at this, but Claire saw through me. "Christ. Are you kidding me? You knew? Does everyone know?"

"No," I said hurriedly. "I happened to overhear something between them and, well, wondered. That's all." I couldn't tell her that it had actually been Bridget's deduction that David and Roni were having an affair. To do so would only add salt to the wound.

Claire eyed me skeptically but continued. "I figured it out about a month ago. David came home late one night, drunk as a lord and reeking of that G.o.d-awful perfume of hers. He claimed he was at a client dinner. Obviously, I didn't believe him, so I checked his secretary's appointment book. There was no mention of it, and she writes down everything. Well, that was the proverbial straw for me. It made me sick. For the love of G.o.d, she's his sister-in-law! It's practically incest! I mean, I knew that David had . . . well," she broke off, embarra.s.sed.

"Did Avery know?" I asked, hoping to save her from another embarra.s.sing confession about her marriage.

"I don't think so. But seeing the way Roni went after Harry-hearing her threaten him-I couldn't take it anymore. I wasn't going to sit idly by while she destroyed another person in this family. After I brought David upstairs that night, I went back down to tell Avery everything. But . . . but when I got to his room, he wasn't there. His light was on, but the room was empty. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but later, after we found out that Roni had been killed, Avery told that detective that he'd been in his room all night. I didn't know what to do!" She grabbed my hand hard and looked at me, her eyes beseeching. "I didn't want to tell the police the real reason I went to talk to Avery-it would give Avery a motive for her murder! And on top of that, he'd lied about being in his room!" She dropped my hand and looked away. "Besides, if he did kill Roni, well, who am I to blame him? There were times when I could have cheerfully murdered her myself. That's when I decided that I would back up Avery's lie. I would protect him."

"How did David find out?" I asked.

"He was awake when I came back up. I was still angry and I stupidly told him that I'd gone to tell Avery but he wasn't in his room. I told David that I still planned on telling Avery. I'd had it. But then later, David realized that Avery had lied about being in his room all night and what that meant. David is many things, but he's first and foremost an opportunist. He threatened that if I told anyone about the affair, he'd tell the police about Avery's lie."

In my mind's eye, I saw David lean in toward Claire during Detective Grant's questioning of her. At the time I thought there was something menacing in the movement; it appeared I had been right.

"So once you saw that Avery's room was empty, what did you do?"

"That's when I heard the thump. It sounded like it came from upstairs. I thought that David had fallen. He's done that before. He's always too drunk to hurt himself, of course, but I didn't want him waking everyone else."

"So you ran back upstairs and then what?"

"And then nothing. David was in bed. If he had fallen, he'd already pulled himself back into bed. Anyway, I decided to wait until morning to talk to Avery. I went to sleep soon after."

I sat quietly, thinking about what she had said. "Did you see anything or anyone when you were downstairs?" I asked.

"No. Well, other than seeing Chloe in the kitchen when I went downstairs. But she wasn't in the kitchen when I came back up."