Then she laughed at herself. What did it matter? She couldn't let some man she'd never met rattle her so badly. Come on, Mia, she scolded herself, thinking of Belle's advice to have fun.

She relaxed her shoulders, then walked across slippery pebbles and silt to stand in the middle of the river. The current was strong and the water cold but shallow. Looking over her shoulder and seeing that there was no tree branch waiting to grab her fly, she let loose a full cast. It felt good to hear the line slice through the air as it went back. She didn't hurry. This time she waited a beat as she'd seen the man do, then pointed the rod to where she wanted her line to go. Her line slowly unfurled, then dropped the fly on the water without a splash. The current caught her fly and she saw a gray shadow in the water bolt for it. A second later her fly was sucked under the water. A fish!

She jerked the tip of her rod up to set the hook. She felt the tug again, stronger this time. Her eyes widened with surprise. She had actually caught a fish! The contact was like a jolt of electricity straight from the fish to her heart.

Her giddy elation quickly changed to panic. Her heart beat fast and her feet slid over the slippery river rocks as she followed the fish downstream. In her mind's ear she could hear Belle shouting, Keep your rod up! Give it line!

Where is Belle? her mind cried out. Mia stripped the line, pulling the tired fish in. When it got near she reached out to pull it close. At the end of the line was a sweet brook trout, not more than eight inches long. Dipping her hand in the water, she lowered and grasped the beautiful olive green fish in her palm. It was gulping and gasping wildly for air. The trout had fought too hard and was too young.

"I'm as scared as you are," she told the fish as she tried to remove the hook, but her hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold the fish, much less maneuver the tiny hook. The fish gave a hard wiggle, its mouth gasping for air. Mia looked up in a wild panic.

"Help!" she cried out. "I need some help!"

She lowered the fish so that it was in the water, and she tugged at the hook, but she couldn't get it loose from the fish's mouth. The fish gave a shudder, then lay limp in her hand. Its fish eye seemed to stare at her, imploring her for mercy.

"Can I help you?" said a deep voice from behind her.

Mia swung her head around. The man from down river stood beside her. His back was to the sun, cutting a long, dark silhouette against the glare.

"Please, I can't get the hook out! Can you take it out?"

He lowered beside her and wet his hands in the river. Then he took the trout. Cradled in his hands, the brookie looked small and fragile.

"Is the hook barbless?" he asked, referring to the cardinal rule of crushing the barb. A barbed hook would rip the fish's mouth.

"Yes," she replied, eyes on the fish. Its mouth opened in weaker gasps. She'd held it out of the water too long. "Hurry!"

He had long, slender fingers and he removed the hook from the mouth with a surgeon's dexterity. Then he gently lowered it into the water. The fish didn't move.

"Oh, God, I killed it," Mia said with a soft cry. She had come to the river to find peace after narrowly escaping death. That she could bring death to this sweet, glistening trout crushed her spirit.

"No, you didn't," he said, and his tone was gentle. "It just needs a minute to revive." He turned his head to look at her. Without his sunglasses, she was struck by the directness of his gaze. "I take it you've never done this before?"

"Not alone."

"Watch closely. What you have to do is hold the fish facing upstream in the current...like so. It forces oxygen back into its system. See the gill plates opening and closing? OK, let's see how he does."

He opened his hand but the slender fish did not dart away as Mia expected. She clutched the man's arm. "It's not swimming!"

"Give it a minute."

He repeated the gliding motion, a kind of CPR for fish. He released his hands. This time the trout twitched its tail, swam slowly to the left, then darted off and disappeared.

"There he goes, off to live another day."

"Thank God," she exclaimed, exhaling a ragged sigh. "And thank you!" Mia looked down to see she was still clutching the man's arm. She released him quickly and wiped her eyes, a bit ashamed for her emotional display. "Sorry."

They were still crouched low, shoulder to shoulder, at the water's edge. He turned his head to smile at her and it lit his eyes. "No problem."

She'd thought his face was ordinary, but she'd been wrong. She didn't remember that his nose was straight or his chin rounded or that his upper lip was thinner than his lower. The pieces came together in an attractive whole, but it was his eyes that seared her memory. They were a remarkable shade of blue, and their intensity against his tanned skin transformed his appearance from ordinary to memorable.

She felt a zing of attraction and it flustered her. Her body, which hadn't felt desire in over a year, suddenly sprang to life with one spark from those electric blue eyes. She rose on unsteady feet to a stand and looked downstream.

"Your first catch?"

"No, I've caught a fish before. An eighteen-inch rainbow."

"That's a big fish."

"Yeah, but it was with Belle, my guide. She told me where to cast and did all the hooking and unhooking."

"Ah," he said, and it was clear he understood that scenario completely. "So this was the first fish you caught solo?"

"I guess it is."

He nodded and said, "Well then, congratulations."

"I don't feel congratulations are in order," she said. "I shouldn't have been using a hook if I didn't know what I was doing. I know this sounds naive, but I could feel its life in my hands and I was terrified I was going to kill that poor fish."

"Do you think you could remove the hook next time?"

"I don't know if there will be a next time."

"Don't let this spook you. You just need experience. It's not hard, you know. Just back the hook out like you were taking out a pin. It doesn't hurt the fish."

"My hands were shaking too much."

"Do you fish here often? I didn't expect to find anyone so far in the backcountry."

"I do. To be honest, I was surprised to see you here today. This is my favorite spot."

A wry grin eased across his face. "And I stole it from you?"

She shrugged, hiding her smile. "I was annoyed at first. Especially when you started catching all those fish. But now, I'm so glad you were here."

He put out his hand. "I'm Stuart."

She smiled, liking him more, and took the hand. His palm was smooth and he had a good, firm grip.

"I'm Mia."

"Well, Mia, I best be going. I've caught some fish and rescued a fair maiden in distress. My work here is done. It was nice meeting you. See you around." He turned and started walking downstream.

Mia, too, was done for the day. She slipped out from her boots, then stuffed them into her backpack. Gathering her rod and reel, she saw her weary, shaggy fly still dangling from the leader. It was amazing that little brookie had even gone for that beaten fly. She remembered the excitement of the tug and the incredible feel of the smooth, slippery fish in her palm. She would fish again, she decided. Tonight she would practice removing a barbless hook from an oven mitt until she was confident. She just needed experience; isn't that what the man had said? His beautiful blue eyes flashed in her mind.

She turned her head and looked downstream, but like the brook trout, the man was already gone.

The following morning Mia gathered her notebook and pen and headed to town. Becky waved her over when she entered the bakery and handed her a large mug of steaming black coffee.

"I heard you met Phyllis Pace and her daddy."

"Mmm-hmm," she replied, sipping the rich brew. "Nice lady."

"Nice? That's the first time that word's been used to describe Phyllis. Don't get me wrong, she'd give you the shirt off her back. But she'd expect it washed, ironed, and folded without a wrinkle when you returned it, if you get my meaning."

Mia chuckled in her coffee.

"The Pace family is one of the oldest families in town, too. Used to be they owned the department store, but it closed a long time ago. They still own the building, though. Their name's carved right into the stone."

"She was a great help. But her father was a gold mine. What a storyteller. I could listen to him for hours."

"And he could tell you stories for hours. He's one of our oldest living citizens. Him and Mrs. Minor."

"I heard about her from Clarence. She knew Kate Watkins, right? Is there any way I could meet her?"

"Maybe, but she's ancient like Mr. Pace. She lives up on the hill on Sunset Street, right behind the train depot. Used to be she lived out in the backwoods near Watkins Cove. She was well known for fly-tying. Time was people came from all over to buy them. But her eyesight's gone. She tries, but can't make the flies like she used to. Her granddaughter took her in a while back. Mrs. Minor put up a fuss, but in the end she couldn't make it way out there all alone anymore. She's a tough old bird. It's kind of sad to see her cooped up."

"She might enjoy a visit."

"She might. I don't know if you'll have much luck. Sometimes she's clear as a bell, and other times she just sits there and stares out at nothing. You could try but I wouldn't get my hopes up."

Mia wrote the information down in her notebook. She tapped her pencil on the paper. "Becky, Mr. Pace got very upset when I asked who Kate Watkins murdered. He told me Kate didn't murder anybody. That it was all a lie."

"Really?" She shrugged. "Well, he was her friend, don't forget." "I know, but he seemed so sure. It threw me. Up till him, I never heard anyone dispute it."

"Go figure. I grew up hearing that Kate Watkins killed her lover. It happened such a long time ago. When you find out something will you share the wealth?"

"Sure. When I get some to share. Mr. Pace also mentioned something about Kate Watkins having written articles for the newspaper. Do you know anything about that?"

"Nope, sorry. Did you try the Gazette? It's just down the block."

Mia nodded. "The girl I talked to didn't have a clue. She was just some receptionist, probably a summer temp, who had never heard of Kate Watkins and couldn't care less. I'm going back there later today. I have an appointment with the woman who keeps the archives."

"That'll be Nada Turner. She would know if anyone did. She also runs the historical society. She's a widow and lives in that pretty yellow house at the end of Main Street. She talks about turning it into a bed and breakfast, which would be nice, but I doubt she ever will. She spends too much time with the historical society and fighting to preserve our town. She's the one to go to with questions about the past. Nothing has ever happened in this town that she doesn't know about."

"Really?" Mia skipped a beat and sipped her coffee. Then a small smile curved her lips. "I thought that was your specialty."

Becky had the grace to laugh. "Tell you what. I'll call Lucy Roosevelt. That's Mrs. Minor's granddaughter. See if she can arrange a time for you to meet her grandmother."

"Thanks, Becky. I feel like I'm unraveling some mystery."

"You're Sherlock Holmes and I'm that Watson fella."

"Well, Watson, I've another mystery I need to solve. I met someone today. Out on the river."

"Who's that?"

"That's what I want to ask you. His first name is Stuart. I didn't get his last name. He's around forty, I'd guess. Tall, dark hair."

"Oh yeah, him. He came in here a few times. Not often. I guess he doesn't have much of a sweet tooth. I know the local guides are none too happy with him."

"Why not?"

"He's bringing a big outfit like Orvis in. He keeps a pretty low profile. Kinda like you did when you first came. But we warmed you up." She took a long sip of coffee, her eyes dancing over the rim of her mug. "He's a good-looking fella."

She tried not to smile. "Is he? I didn't notice."

Becky laughed short. "Sure you didn't. You know, I hear he's single."

Mia was inordinately glad to hear that. "Don't get the tongues wagging, Becky. I'm not. At least not yet."

Becky seized on this, leaning forward across the table. "I didn't want to pry but I don't see a ring. So, what's your story? Are you getting a divorce?"

Mia looked into Becky's sympathetic eyes. She was the kind of woman people told their life stories to, and often did. Mia nodded her head. "As soon as I can."

"And that's why you're here?"

"It's what brought me here, but not why I'm here, if that makes sense. I'm getting strong and healthy, doing a little soul-searching. You see, I'm a..." Mia hesitated, feeling the words on her tongue. "I'm a breast cancer survivor."

Becky stared at Mia, taking that information in. Then she looked down at her coffee. "I'm glad to hear you pulled through. You know my leg?" She looked up again and searched Mia's face. When she nodded Becky said, "I have ALS."

Mia's confusion must have shown on her face because Becky went on to explain, "That's Lou Gehrig's disease."

Mia's heart sank. She knew it was a degenerative disease. That it involved the neurons of the brain and spinal cord. She also knew there was no cure. She opened her mouth to speak but she couldn't find the right words. She had a sudden sympathy for her friends who'd slunk off when they heard about her cancer.

Becky saw her struggle and added quickly, "I just got the diagnosis. Me and Skipper, we've got hope."

Mia saw that hope shining in her eyes and was only ashamed at her own self-pity after her recovery. She reached out to put her hand over Becky's. "Then I do, too. Listen, I have loads of time. If you want to talk to someone, or you just want to watch TV or drink a glass of wine with a pal, anything at all, you'll let me know, won't you?"

"Oh, sure," Becky said in her breezy manner, cutting off all sympathy. "Don't worry about me, though. I have Skipper. He comes to have lunch with me every day. And he brings me flowers like he did when we were first married. Can you believe what a sweetheart he is? You let me know if you need me for anything, too."

The Gazette was housed in another redbrick building on Main Street. The white-trimmed windows held posters of historical issues of the small-town newspaper dating back to the early 1900s when the railroad brought celebrities to town.

The young receptionist with the vacant smile was on the phone when she walked in, and it was obvious the call was personal. She hung up, took a sip of coffee, then rose to announce her arrival to Mrs. Turner. A minute later, a tall woman in a pale gray suit with a high-collared, white cotton blouse came into the reception area. Her graying hair was cut short with full bangs that fringed her thick tortoiseshell glasses. She was a formidable woman. Mia thought she had to be six feet tall in her stocking feet.

"I'm Nada Turner," the woman announced, putting forth her hand. "How can I help you?"

Despite her imposing appearance, the woman's manner was open and straightforward.

"Hi, I'm Mia Landan."

"Yes," Nada acknowledged, and Mia knew she'd heard all the recent gossip. "Missy tells me you're interested in Kate Watkins."

Mia looked over to see the receptionist listening intently and thought Missy was a perfect name for the flighty girl. "That's right."

"May I ask why you're interested in her? Are you writing an article about her?"

"No, nothing like that." Mia realized she had to get past another of Kate's gatekeepers. "Do I need a reason?"