"I explained your theory about Avery, too," said Bridget. It was clear it was a theory that she was still reluctant to believe. "I guess that if he could walk and did see something that night, he might lie about it out of worry that he might become a suspect, especially if he didn't have a good description." She bent her head and stared at the worn wooden floor as she processed this scenario. As she did, Colin glanced at me with worried eyes. I knew what he was thinking. It was the same thing troubling me. There was another reason Avery might have lied about seeing Roni's attacker: because he could describe her attacker.

"Bridget?" said Colin. "The three of us can stand around and guess all day and it won't help anything. Why don't we just ask Avery why he lied?"

I looked at Bridget. She stared back at me, her expression sober. "Okay," she said softly, "let's go find Avery."

When we got back to the house, Avery was in the living room. Against the backdrop of a cheery fire, he, Julia, and Megan were bent over the low coffee table, playing Scrabble. Julia and Avery teased Megan over a word choice while Megan good-naturedly deflected their barbs. Millie sat in one of the nearby fireside chairs, reading a book. It looked like a family scene out of the pages of Southern Living. In fact, so natural and effortless was their banter, it was hard to believe that instead of an average family enjoying a rainy day inside, they were suspects in a murder case.

My step faltered and I glanced uncertainly at Bridget. Coming up with the plan to confront Avery about his lie had been the easy part; enacting it, I suspected, would be another matter. At our entrance, they all looked up. Avery greeted us with a relaxed smile, and I thought with sadness that it had been a long time since I'd seen him so at peace.

"You three look like drowned rats," Julia said affably. "What in heaven's name were you doing out in this weather? It's dreadful out there."

Suddenly tongue-tied, none of us replied. We stared dumbly first at each other and then back again at Avery. Being an intelligent man, he sensed our tension. His eyebrows pulled together and he asked tersely, "What's happened?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Millie lay her book down on her ample lap. Bridget threw me a pleading look and I realized with a sinking feeling that if we were going to learn anything, it would be up to me. "Nothing's happened, exactly," I said slowly, as I sat down in one of the empty chairs. "It's just . . . it's just that I talked to Claire last night."

Avery started to shake his head as if he didn't understand, then the meaning of my words. .h.i.t him. With an apprehensive glance at Julia, he said, "Oh, I see."

Both Julia and Megan tensed at the tremor of nervousness in his tone. Megan turned to me, her face pale. "What's going on?" she asked.

Avery looked at her with pained eyes. "Nothing's going on," he said, forcing his voice back to normal. "But I think I need to talk with Elizabeth alone for a minute."

Julia said firmly, "I don't think that's a good idea."

Giving her a desperate look, Avery nodded almost imperceptibly toward Megan. Megan's eyes were focused on Julia, so she missed it. However, Millie, with her uncanny sensitivity to her patient's wants, did not. "Megan," she said in a brisk tone that left no room for argument, "please come with me. I need you to help me make tea."

Realizing that she was being got out of the way, Megan threw a curious glance at us before pulling herself to her feet and trailing on reluctant feet after Millie to the kitchen.

"What is this about?" asked Julia, her tone uneasy.

I looked at Avery.

He sighed. "I . . . I lied to the police about where I was the night Roni . . ." His words caught in his throat. He tried again. "I lied about where I was the night Roni . . . died." He did not look at Julia as he spoke. "Claire knew and lied to protect me."

Julia shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Avery's eyes fell to his lap and stayed there.

"What really happened?" I asked.

Avery's anguished eyes briefly landed on Julia before turning my way. His next words came out haltingly. "I wasn't in my room all night as I told the police. Around one thirty, I went to the study to make a phone call. My cell phone was dead and there isn't a phone in my room."

"And you called . . . ?" I asked.

Avery did not respond. He fixed his eyes on his lap again. I repeated the question. "Avery, who did you call?"

"He called me," Julia said suddenly. "He called me," she repeated quietly.

"Julia . . ." Avery began.

"Avery, it's okay," she said, but Avery interrupted her.

"No, it's not. Let me tell them."

His eyes swept over Bridget and Colin still standing stiffly in the doorway, before focusing on me. In a tentative voice, he said, "As you probably know, Julia and I were . . . were very close before . . . before I married Roni." He shrugged quickly as if to ward off hurtful memories. "When I first met Roni, I thought . . . well, I guess I thought she was wonderful."

Julia's face bunched in pain. Seeing it, a different kind of agony crept into Avery's expression. With a cheerless shake of his head, he continued. "After we were married, I still thought she was wonderful, even when faced with evidence to the contrary. The mind can play funny tricks on you, I guess." He stared blankly at the leaping flames in the fireplace. Dragging his eyes back to mine, he went on. "Anyway, I managed to blind myself to all the ugliness, but when I saw Julia again at the reception, it was as if someone suddenly ripped the blinders away. In that one moment, I saw everything clearly: Roni's shallowness, her greediness, and her propensity for cruelty-especially with Megan. I realized what a horrible mistake I'd made and how much I'd lost when I . . . when I ended my friendship with Julia."

I remembered the change in Avery's demeanor after he talked to Julia at the wedding. He had seemed to suddenly withdraw into himself. His mood certainly caught Roni's attention, but like her, I had believed his explanation that he was merely tired. Now I saw his odd silence and desire to be alone for what it was-a man understanding what a giant mistake he had made with his life.

Julia reached over and grabbed Avery's hand. The gesture was Avery's undoing and tears welled in his eyes. Seeing that Avery was incapable of speech, Julia picked up the narrative. "What Avery is trying to say," she said with a melancholy smile, "is that he called me that night. I wasn't home yet, so he left a message. He was very upset. He told me . . . well, you don't need the exact transcript, but the gist of it was what he's just told you." Still holding tightly to Avery's hand, Julia turned her eyes on me. "When I got in from the wedding, I went straight to bed. I didn't get his message until the next morning. But when I did hear it, it scared me. Avery sounded like a man at the edge of a deep, dark hole. I was afraid that he was in danger of doing something rash."

My expression must have registered alarm, because Julia quickly clarified her words. "Not to anyone else, of course! I merely meant I was afraid he was in danger of hurting himself," she said firmly. "That's why I dashed over here as soon as I heard his message. And then . . . when I saw the police cars . . . I was terrified that my suspicions had been right and I was too late."

My mind jumped back to that chaotic morning and Julia's clearly distressed state when she arrived at Barton Landing. She'd been desperate to see Avery, but there was something else. She'd also taken a special interest in Megan.

"You were very kind to Megan," I said.

Apparently, Bridget was right when she told me that my diplomatic skills are worthless. Julia arched her eyebrow and studied me. Choosing her words with care, she said, "I was very concerned about Megan, but not in the way you seem to think. As a counselor, I've seen the terrible damage an overbearingly critical parent can do to a child, especially a sensitive child like Megan." With a swift glance at Avery, she continued. "Megan was in danger of losing herself under Roni's abuse. Even the little I saw of them together at the wedding told me that. I could see that unless something happened to change Roni's behavior, Megan's wounds would only deepen. I . . . I wanted to help her." Softening her tone, she added, "Anyone would have wanted to, really."

"Megan is very special," I said, tipping my head in agreement. "But I still don't understand. Why the need to lie about the phone call?"

Disquiet radiated from both of them; they did not look at each other. Taking a deep breath, Julia finally answered. "I think Avery had some old-fashioned notion about protecting me." She seemed faintly amused by the idea. "He didn't want me involved. It was very sweet of him," she said, flashing a brief smile in his direction, "but completely unnecessary. I can take care of myself."

Avery returned her smile, but I could see that he was unconvinced by her declaration and troubled about the revelation.

That's when it hit me: each one had initially suspected the other of Roni's murder. Avery wondered why Julia hadn't been home when he called, and Julia wondered if Avery's despair had transcended into a murderous rage.

Watching them now, as they sat with their hands entwined but not making eye contact, I realized that on a certain level, each still harbored that uneasy suspicion.

CHAPTER 21.

Any fool can tell the truth, but it requires a man of some sense to know how to lie well.

-SAMUEL BUTLER Megan entered the room carrying a wooden tray laden with lime green teacups and matching saucers. Colin rushed over to her, taking the tray and placing it on the coffee table. "Thanks," Megan said with her shy smile. "That was heavier than I expected. I'll be just a second; I'm going to help Millie with the rest."

Realizing there was no polite way to question Avery about his ability to walk, I decided my only hope was to tackle Millie on the subject. Given her obvious devotion to Avery, I hoped that she wouldn't tackle me-in actuality-for what would no doubt be considered highly inappropriate questions. "Oh, let me get the rest," I said, and rapidly set off for the kitchen before Megan could argue.

Elsie's kitchen was exactly how I would design one-if I had a couple of hundred thousand dollars to spend. She had renovated it a few years ago, modernizing the appliances without destroying its old-fashioned charm. Exposed wooden beams still lined the ceiling, and the original wide wooden planks ran the length of the floor. The walls gleamed white except for blue Spode tiles that served as the backsplash. In front of the room's small stone fireplace was a long wooden kitchen table. Millie stood at it, her broad back to me, pouring steaming hot water into a large teapot. Hearing me, she said, "Oh, Megan, can you pour the cream into the pitcher? And I think there are some cookies in the cupboard."

"Actually, it's just me, but I'm happy to help."

At the sound of my voice, Millie whirled around, clearly startled. I couldn't fathom why. "Oh," she said, her voice now brisk and professional. "Yes, thank you. I just need some cream."

I opened the refrigerator's chrome door and pulled out the container of cream. Pouring a generous amount into the green-and-white pitcher, I watched Millie from the corner of my eye as she busied herself with the teapot.

"So, how is Avery doing?" I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.

Millie's movements slowed as she considered my question. "I think he'll be okay," she said, dunking several tea bags into the pot. "Of course, terrible shocks like these can be a real setback to a recovery."

"I'm sure they can," I agreed, placing the pitcher of cream on the counter, "but his recovery was going well before . . . before all of this, right?"

Millie turned to face me, her eyes unreadable. "He was doing quite well. Why do you ask?"

I shrugged. "No reason, really. I just wondered. He's always been so active. I imagine living in a wheelchair is very hard for him." I took a gamble and continued. "Now that he's able to walk on his own again, it must be a huge relief for him."

Millie set down the heavy teapot with a loud thump and stared at me in disbelief. "What are you talking about?" she asked, shocked. "Where did you ever get the idea that Avery-I mean Mr. Matthews-can walk?"

"I . . . I don't know, really," I stuttered. "I guess maybe when he almost went after David the other day. It . . . it seemed like he was trying to stand up."

Millie let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Trying to stand up?" she repeated, eyeing me in amazement. "Are you serious? That man could no sooner stand than I could . . . well, than I could land on the cover of the Sports Ill.u.s.trated swimsuit issue." She shook her head in disbelief at me. "Did you really think he was trying to stand up? And do what? Fight David?"

I felt my face flush under her bemused scrutiny. Millie shook her head again. "Trust me, Mr. Matthews needs that chair. At least for now he does." She shrugged and added, "But, truth be told, I wouldn't have blamed him had he tried to go after David. He's almost as bad as she was."

I didn't need to ask Millie whom she meant by "she." I opened a box of shortbread cookies and spread some out on a small blue plate. My empty stomach growled at the sight of them. I grabbed one and took a large bite. "David is a pain in the a.s.s," I agreed, once I'd finished chewing. "And I know it isn't nice to speak ill of the dead, but Roni wasn't very nice, either." I shoved the rest of the cookie in my mouth and took another.

"She was pure poison," Millie agreed with force. "Mr. Matthews is well rid of that woman, but if you ask me, he never really loved her. How could he love someone like her?" Pausing, she added, almost to herself, "Now that she's gone, I think he'll realize that."

"Well, I just hope that he finds some peace soon," I said, once I'd finished the second cookie. Still hungry, I dug into the box and grabbed two more. "He's such a nice man."

"He's a lovely man," she said softly.

Something in her tone distracted me from the shortbread cookies-no small feat there. Pausing with the cookie halfway to my mouth, I considered her. Could her devotion to Avery go beyond that of a dedicated nurse? "I wonder if he'll remarry," I mused, with what I hoped was a casual tone.

"Oh, I think he will," Millie said with brisk a.s.surance. "He's the type that needs a woman in his life. The right kind of woman, mind you, especially now that it's just him and Megan. Now that's a girl who needs a steady woman's influence in her life."

"Maybe he'll marry Julia," I suggested innocently. "After all, I believe they used to date."

Millie's head jerked up and her thin, red lips pulled down. "Julia?" she repeated doubtfully, her eyes inadvertently straying to the doorway to the living room. "No, I don't think that's likely." She shook her head as if to confirm the absurdity of the idea. "No. If he really cared for her then he'd have never left her in the first place. Besides . . ."

Whatever Millie was going to say was lost in the arrival of Bridget. She burst into the kitchen and Millie's professional mask slipped back into place. Placing the teapot, pitcher of cream, and plate of cookies on the tray, Millie quickly excused herself and returned to the living room.

"Did you learn anything?" Bridget whispered.

"Well, Millie was pretty adamant that Avery can't walk," I admitted.

Bridget rolled her eyes. "I told you I was right about that! I don't know how you ever came up with that idea in the first place!"

I still wasn't convinced, but I held my tongue. "There's something else. I think Millie might have feelings for Avery, feelings that go beyond that of professional interest."

"You're kidding!"

"No. You should have heard the way she was talking about him just now. And when I intentionally mentioned that he and Julia might get back together, she got upset. I wonder if Avery has any idea."

Bridget stared thoughtfully at the door through which Millie had exited. "I wonder, too" was all she said.

"I guess this means we're back to square one," I said, popping the last cookie into my mouth.

"I wouldn't go that far," Bridget said. Anna scurried into the kitchen, followed by Elsie. Catching the smell of the cookies, Anna immediately flung herself at me, plopping down at my feet, her furry expression hopeful. Elsie poured herself a gla.s.s of water and surveyed us with a bemused expression.

"What's the matter with you two?" she asked.

"We're trying to solve this whole thing with Roni," Bridget answered.

"But Harry's home," Elsie replied with a grateful smile. "You've already done your job."

"Not completely," said Bridget. "We still need to find her killer so we can be done with Detective Grant and all his crazy suspicions."

Elsie shook her head. "No. I want you to stop. I wanted Harry cleared of this crime and that's the reason I asked you to get involved. Now I want the police to focus on someone outside this family. The idea that one of us could have committed such a heinous crime is ludicrous. But someone did, and the murderer is still out there! I don't want you two risking your necks trying to find him or her. This person is deranged and dangerous! I will not let you expose yourselves to more danger. Harry is home. We can now leave it to the police to solve."

"But Elsie," Bridget argued, "you're forgetting that someone planted Roni's necklace in Elizabeth's room! We still have to clear her name! And the only way we are going to do that is by finding the killer." Bridget drummed her fingers on the granite countertop. "What we need to do is find out who wrote that note to Roni. Whoever put that note in her purse is the killer."

My mind jumped back to the night of the wedding as I sat across from Roni and watched her pull out her pink purse. Her pink purse. What had I seen . . . ? And then the memory of Elsie covertly stuffing something into a pink purse flooded over. My eyes flew to Elsie's. She was looking at me over the rim of her water gla.s.s, her expression bland. Beneath my feet, the floor seemed to tip and tilt. The cookies in my stomach threatened to pop back up and my lungs felt as if they'd shrunk three sizes. Bridget chattered on with her plan to find Roni's killer, oblivious to my churning emotions. "We need to go to the Jefferson. After all, the note was written on their stationery. Maybe the staff might be able to help us," she said.

"Are you all right, Elizabeth?" Elsie suddenly asked, setting her gla.s.s on the counter. "You look pale."

I forced myself to meet her eyes. Her expression was normal. I suspected mine was anything but. Taking a step toward me, she said, "Honey, what's wrong? Do you need to sit down?"

"No!" I said, backing away. "No. I'm okay. I feel a bit queasy. I probably need some fresh air, that's all." Stumbling backward, I fled the kitchen. Bridget watched my retreat with a perplexed expression. Elsie's expression, I noticed, was less mystified.

I hurried to the foyer, telling myself that lack of sleep was turning me into a melodramatic paranoid. Bridget trailed after me.

"Elizabeth? Really, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I said in as normal a voice as I could muster. "I like your idea of going to the Jefferson. In fact, I think we should go now." I tried to keep the desperation out of my voice.

Bridget misinterpreted my rush to leave. Her face brightened. "Really?" I nodded dumbly. "So do I. I have a good feeling about this," she said. "I bet we're going to find the killer's ident.i.ty today."

The hairs on my neck bristled at her words and I had a sudden fervent wish that we wouldn't.

The rest of the day was a blur. Colin, Bridget, and I arrived at the Jefferson, where we followed Bridget around as she alternately interviewed, badgered, and threatened the hotel's bewildered staff. They had no more information than what Detective Grant had already learned-that the electronic keys are useless after checkout. The picture of David that Bridget brought with her also failed to strike a chord of recognition with the staff. The only information we gained that was of lasting use is that desk clerks find it highly annoying when their little bell is rung incessantly.

I didn't speak much on our outing; I was too busy trying to prevent myself from thinking. It's hard to make conversation when you're focusing on keeping your mind a peaceful blank. Thankfully, Bridget talked enough for three people, so my silence wasn't noticed.

It was late by the time we returned to Barton Landing, the three of us having decided to eat dinner in the city. Bridget and Colin tried their best to convince me to join them on the patio for a drink with Blythe and Graham, but I refused. I was exhausted and I didn't want to talk anymore about finding Roni's killer.

I said good night to them and dragged myself upstairs, eager to crawl into bed. I pushed open the door to my room and saw that Megan was lying on her bed reading.

Seeing her, my mind finally unthawed and the thoughts and realizations I'd kept buried all day burst forth. The truth had to come out. It was time.

At my entrance, Megan smiled and put her book on the nightstand. "Hey there," she began, then peered closely at my face. "What's wrong? You look terrible."

I sat down heavily on my bed. "Megan, I don't know how to tell you this, so I'm just going to say it."