"Not really."

I frowned, frustrated. Then it occurred to me; Sharon would never confide her problems to a man she saw as a rival for control of the company. "How about any of the women?"

"She might have talked with Lucy Kaminski. She was Big Jim's secretary for over twenty years."

"And when Sharon took over-?"

"She worked for Sharon."

"Do you know how I could get in touch with her?"

He took out the telephone book, flipped through the pages, jotted down a number and address on a piece of paper, and handed it to me.

"You wouldn't happen to have a photograph of Sharon, would you?"

He looked thoughtful. "As a matter of fact-" He reached behind him into a file drawer. "I used to have this on the shelf over there. Put it away when the glass broke."

He handed me a framed eight-by-ten photo-a group shot. Charlie stood with a woman who matched him in age and size, presumably his wife, next to a tall, rugged man and a teenaged girl.

"Big Jim was my best friend for almost fifty years."

"This is Sharon and her father?"

He nodded. "Maybe ten or twelve years ago."

Sharon had been athletic-looking, with long, mousy brown hair. Dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, she wasn't pretty, but her blue eyes sparkled. In the photo, she looked at her father with love and admiration.

"Were they close?"

Nowak nodded.

I traced my finger over the picture of Sharon. Her face seemed familiar to me. An image flashed in my mind-a woman, jogging. My eyes slid shut and the memory came back to me as clearly as when I'd actually experienced it. A woman had jogged in the cemetery the day Sumner was buried: Sharon. She must've just left the grave as we approached. No wonder the killer's vibrations had been so strong.

I opened my eyes to find Charlie Nowak staring at me. Embarrassed, I handed back the photo, cleared my throat, and asked a few more questions, but I didn't expect any other revelations. He'd already been more cooperative than I could've hoped. Still, I was glad when the secretary interrupted us with an important call. I saw myself out.

"Well?" Richard asked once we were outside.

"Definitely worth the trip." We got in the car and I told him about Sharon's broken engagement and that she lived in East Aurora, just down the road from Holland where Sumner had been killed. "I've got to talk to Sharon's secretary."

"What's next?" Richard asked.

"I'm going to see Maggie for lunch tomorrow. I need to talk with Ron Myers at the bank again, too, if you can help me out with that. I don't think that entry on Sumner's calendar referred to him, but if the police have questioned him about it, I want to know whatever he told Hayden." I rubbed at my temples.

"Still got the headache?"

"Yeah. They haven't been so bad for the past couple of days. But today . . . God, I feel rotten."

"I told you, you're pushing yourself too hard. You won't be happy until you end up in the hospital again."

I didn't want to argue with him, and sank back against the seat and headrest. But I had one more place to go. "I want to stop at the bakery."

"What bakery?"

I hadn't told him about my friend Sophie. "On Main Street in Snyder. There's someone I want you to meet."

"You sure you're up to it?"

"It's on the way. Just head for home." I hoped I'd doze off, but no such luck. I opened my eyes a few blocks from the storefront, got my bearings. "Just up ahead, on the right. It's the place with the blue sign."

Richard pulled into the half-empty lot. "So who am I going to meet?"

"A cool old lady. She told me to trust this empathic stuff."

Richard didn't roll his eyes, but he looked like he wanted to.

The place looked different in daylight. More modern. And I didn't remember all the wedding cake toppers on display on the shelves behind the glass case that served as a counter. A chunky, middle-aged man stood behind the cash register, ringing up a sale as we entered. My head was pounding. It was an effort to stand, to think. But I needed to connect with my new friend and mentor, so I waited until the customer ahead of me started for the door before I stepped forward.

"Hi. I'm looking for Sophie."

"Who?"

"Sophie Levin. I met her here last week."

He shook his head. "Nobody here by that name."

"Older lady-with a Polish accent."

Again he shook his head. Richard looked at me doubtfully.

"She lives above the shop."

"You must have the wrong place. No one's lived upstairs in years. We don't even rent it out. It's our office space."

That funny feeling was back in the pit of my stomach. "Did she ever live here?"

"No one's lived upstairs-not since the last tenant died some ten years back."

"Was she electrocuted?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. That was before we bought the property. Can I interest you in some fresh bread? We've got a nice rye."

"No, thanks."

Richard nudged me. "Come on. Maybe the place you're looking for is in the next block." He sounded like the placating professional again.

The man behind the counter merely shrugged.

We got back in the car.

I'd met Sophie-spoken with her. She wasn't a figment of my imagination.

So where the hell was she, and why was I so confused?

CHAPTER 16.

Tuesday dawned gray and cold. The headache was still with me. I couldn't even remember if I'd joined Richard and Brenda for dinner the night before. The evening was just a blank.

My breakfast consisted of three pink tablets. For a while it seemed to quell the pounding. What kept me going was the thought of seeing Maggie again.

Richard called Ron Myers and begged a favor-an appointment for me at eleven. Since Myers was actively campaigning for Richard to deposit all his money with Bison Bank, he was more than happy to grant me an interview, hoping to solidify a deal.

Meanwhile, Brenda had scheduled an appointment for her and Richard to look at a clinic downtown. She was hot for them to volunteer their time and skills somewhere, but he didn't seem enthusiastic. I couldn't tell what was going on with him. What he said he wanted and what he really wanted seemed to be two different things.

I was putting on my shoes when Brenda ducked her head inside my door. "Phone call for you."

"Female, I hope," I said, thinking of Maggie.

"No such luck."

Who the hell could be calling me?

I followed her into the kitchen, picked up the extension. "Hello."

"What's going on?" Sam Nielsen's voice. "Suddenly you and your brother are suspects in the Sumner murder case."

My mouth went dry. "How did you get this number?"

"Directory Assistance."

"I'm not listed."

"Your brother is. I remembered your face five minutes after you left my office yesterday. The geeky photographer on our school yearbook. You still play basketball?"

"Yeah. Tell me why we're suspects."

"More your brother. The rumor around Orchard Park PD is that you're some kind of psychic."

Holy Christ. Hayden hadn't promised he wouldn't talk about me. I'd just assumed . . . .

Nielsen was still speaking. "-that it was you who found Sumner's body parts out in Holland. Possibly put them there. Do you want to comment?"

"No."

"How about off the record?"

My hand tightened around the receiver. "Why should I believe you?"

"I protect my sources."

I didn't know what to say. I had to warn Richard. We needed to contact his attorney-cover our asses.

"Hayden seems to think you haven't told him all you know," Nielsen continued.

Maybe I should've told the cop more. Maybe- "What makes you think I'll tell you?"

"Picture this headline: Psychic Finds Sumner Remains. That's not the kind of information you want circulated, now is it?"

The pounding in my head increased. I'd been back in Richard's life a couple of weeks and already I'd ruined it, just when he'd returned to Buffalo, getting ready to resume his career. "What's this going to cost me?"

"Just information."

"Like what?"

"You got a suspect for the murder?"

"Nothing concrete."

"We could help each other." He sounded sleazier than a Vegas lounge lizard.

"I don't have enough facts to make an accusation."

"We could work together to get the evidence. Come on, Jeff-we're old high school buddies."

"I remember you, too. You thought I was a geek, and now you want my cooperation?"

"My editor's on my case. He wants a new angle-now," Nielsen said.

I swallowed. To placate him, I'd have to throw him a tidbit. "Concentrate on Sumner's former lovers."

"You think a woman did that to him?"

"Doing the deed and responsibility for it aren't necessarily the same thing."

"Sounds like a long shot to me. Come on, Jeff-give me a name."

"I can't. Not yet."

Nielsen was quiet for a few moments. "All right. I'll give you a couple of days to think about that headline. How it could change your life. I'll be in touch."

The connection was broken.

I hung up the receiver, stared at the wall phone.