"Why did you want to see me?" he asked, studying me closely.

"Well..." I crossed my legs and folded my hands in my lap. "I'm a friend of Stephen Lar-"

His posture turned rigid. "I've already talked to the police," he broke in.

"I'm sure they were here." I nodded my head and tried to look nonthreatening. "Um, they have Stephen's date book, and your number was listed..." I paused as I struggled in the face of his stony expression. "Ah, I was just wondering if you did speak with him before the shooting?"

"Yes."

He wasn't exactly forthcoming with information. I was going to have to pull it out of him.

"Could you tell me what you talked about?"

"The winery."

"Did he mention the book he's writing?"

"No."

I felt frustrated. "Do you remember his questions?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I searched for an excuse other than being snoopy. "I wanted to pa.s.s the information along to his a.s.sistant. Maybe she could continue his research while he's in the hospital."

Brilliant, Jensen, brilliant. Even I almost believed the bs I was handing out. Even I almost believed the bs I was handing out.

"He asked me how long I'd been in this country, how long I'd worked at the winery, if I've been treated fairly." He stopped abruptly.

"That's it?"

Stiff lines formed around his mouth. "Yes."

I'm not the only one pa.s.sing around the bs-he was lying.

"But-"

The front door slammed open and Evita danced into the room. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a small O when she saw me sitting on her couch.

"Miss Jensen," she said, hurrying over to me, "did you come to visit me?"

Stealing a look at her father, I saw his body relax and his expression become tender as he watched his daughter.

I turned my attention back to Evita and chuckled. "I really came to talk to your father-"

Her exuberance slipped a little.

"But I'm glad that you're here," I said with a grin. "How do you like Because of Winn-Dixie Because of Winn-Dixie?"

She bounced back on the couch as her little fingers plucked at my jacket. "I love it!" she exclaimed. "I asked Papa if I I could get a dog that smiles." could get a dog that smiles."

"Ah, a smiling dog," I said with a laugh. "Everyone should have one of those."

Her head bowed. "Papa said no." Her voice was suddenly sad. "He said we might move once my aunt comes from-"

"Evita!"

She jumped and focused her eyes on the worn pattern of the old couch. "Sorry, Papa," she said, not meeting his stern frown.

Mr. Vargas abruptly stood. "That's all I can tell you, Miss Jensen."

He sounded determined, and I knew the conversation was finished.

Rising myself, I looked down at Evita. "I've got to run now, sweetie."

When she raised her eyes to mine, a sheen of tears dulled their brightness.

Fighting the urge to stroke her brown curls, I gave her a wink. "I'll see if I can't find more books with smiling dogs, okay?"

With a small grin, she bobbed her head, then scrambled off the couch and headed toward the kitchen.

I turned toward her father and extended my hand. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Vargas."

He shook my hand but didn't reply.

Accepting defeat, I walked out the door and down the porch steps. As I reached the bottom step, I heard the screen door swing shut, followed swiftly by the sound of the Vargas's front door closing.

The next sound? The click of the dead bolt being shot home.

Unwilling to face my empty house, and troubled by the scene at the Vargas home, I took a detour by Darci's, and as I drove I dialed Karen Burns again.

Still no answer-I left another message.

Darci answered the door shoeless, dressed in blue jeans and a sweatshirt. A pen stuck out from behind one ear and she looked a little frazzled.

"Hey, come on in," she said with a hug. "Is Tink on her way to North Carolina?"

"Yeah," I replied dejectedly, and followed her into the living room.

Textbooks lay in a pile on the couch, and papers scattered the floor. Her laptop hummed from the coffee table.

"I'm disturbing you," I said, taking it all in.

"Ahh, that's okay." She waved her hand toward the mess. "I'm finished. I've been studying all afternoon for my Humanities test tomorrow. If I haven't learned it by now, it's too late," she said with a giggle. "Want a beer?"

Just then, a beer sounded pretty good. "Sure."

I stacked the textbooks on the coffee table and sat on the couch. Darci returned a moment later carrying two bottles and handed me one. I thanked her and took a long drink of the cold, amber liquid.

Settling at the other end of the couch, she tucked her legs underneath her. "Have you heard from Bill today?"

"Nope," I replied with a shake of my head. "He's been suspiciously quiet. The only activity has been the patrol car cruising by now and again."

"You haven't called him?"

"No," I said, leaning back. "I decided it's best to let that that sleeping dog lie." I sipped my beer and mulled over a tactful way to bring up the Vargas family. Darci had lived in Summerset all of her life, and thanks to her friend Georgia, she knew the dirt on everyone. "What do you know about the Vargas family?" sleeping dog lie." I sipped my beer and mulled over a tactful way to bring up the Vargas family. Darci had lived in Summerset all of her life, and thanks to her friend Georgia, she knew the dirt on everyone. "What do you know about the Vargas family?"

Smooth, Jensen, very tactful-not.

"Not much," she said, tilting her head and gazing at me. "Why?"

"How long have they lived here?" I asked, ignoring her question.

"Hmm." She regarded me thoughtfully. "About ten years. I might be wrong, but I think they came to Summerset shortly after the winery opened. From Texas."

"Good memory."

She lifted a shoulder. "They were the first Latino family to move here."

"Were there any problems?"

"Maybe when they first came." Darci narrowed her eyes. "I remember overhearing Mom and Dad talking about an incident at Stumpy's...some redneck shooting off his mouth."

"Were they hara.s.sed?"

"Not that I heard." She paused and drank a long swallow of beer. "You know how it is-any change and there's a lot of talk at first, then it all dies down and people move on to the next thing."

"Were Mr. and Mrs. Vargas born in the U.S.?"

"How would I know?" She giggled. "Why all the questions?"

"Oh, I don't know." I struggled to come up with an excuse, without telling Darci about Stephen's date book. "Ah, the shooting happened at the winery, Mr. Vargas works at the winery."

Her eyes shot wide with surprise. "You think he's a suspect?"

"No," I replied, doing some fast backpedaling, "but there might be a link. You said the Vargases were originally from Texas-"

"I said I think think they moved here from Texas," she interjected. they moved here from Texas," she interjected.

"Yeah, well, Stephen said that from here he was headed to Texas."

Darci studied me with skepticism written on her face. "That's pretty weak."

I gave my hand a toss. "I'm just trying to make sense of what happened."

"I see." Darci threw an arm over the back of the couch and arched an eyebrow. "I thought you were staying out of it."

"I am," I explained, nodding vigorously, "I am. But I can't help wondering..." I let my voice trail away.

"Speaking of Stephen-how's he doing?"

"No change."

"Have you ever read one of his books?" she asked, making a sudden shift in the conversation.

"No. Have you?"

"Yeah, I'm reading one right now. You know what I noticed?" she asked thoughtfully.

"What?"

"He does meticulous research." She held up one finger.

"Okay." I wasn't sure what point she was trying to make, but knowing Darci, there was one. It would just take some time for her to make it.

Holding up a second finger, she said, "He quotes numerous sources."

"That's good," I replied, at a loss what to say.

Her third finger shot up. "He takes on some tough subjects. The book I'm reading now deals with the mob." She scooted forward, dropping her hand. "Think about it-the subjects he's covered-I bet he has more enemies than you do."

I started to raise my bottle to my lips, then lowered it. "Thanks a lot."

"You know what I mean. He's been writing a long time. He's had more opportunity to tick people off. You just started a couple of years ago," she said brightly.

Rolling my eyes, I finally connected her dots. "And one of these enemies followed him to Iowa and shot him?"

She nodded her head emphatically. "Right."

"So now I have a hit man after me?"

"Yeah."

"That's comforting," I muttered. "Why?"

She c.o.c.ked her head. "Why what?"

"Why would the hit man be after me?"

"Hmm, well..." Her pretty face puckered in a frown. "I haven't figured that out yet."