"You're divorced?"

"Yes."

"And the child? Who, at this time, has primary custody?"

She drew in a long breath. Now that she was in the door, it was time for the truth. "I am the child, Mr.

Rooney." With her hands clutching her bag, she kept her eyes on his. "Monroe was my married name. I don't use it anymore, as I've taken back my maiden name. It's Byden. I'm Kelsey Byden."

She knew the instant it clicked. His hand hesitated, his rhythmic stirring skipped a beat. His pupils widened, so that for a moment his eyes seemed black instead of green.

"I see. You'd expect me to remember that name, and that case. Of course I do. You look remarkably like your mother. I should have recognized you."

"I hadn't thought of that. You'd have seen her quite a lot back then. You had her under surveillance."

He didn't miss the faint distaste in her tone. "It's part of the job."

"This particular job took a sharp turn. My father hired you, Mr. Rooney?"

"Ms. Byden-Kelsey-it's difficult for me not to think of you as Kelsey," he said, measuring her and his own heart rate as he spoke. "Custody suits are never pleasant. You were, fortunately, young enough not to be involved in the more difficult aspects. I was hired, as I'm sure you know, to document your mother's ... lifestyle in order to strengthen your father's case for full custody."

"And what did you discover about her lifestyle?"

"That isn't something I feel free to discuss."

"A great deal of it's public record, Mr. Rooney. I can't believe you're bound by client confidentiality after all this time." Hoping to influence him, she leaned forward, let some of the emotion she was feeling leak into her voice. "I need to know. I'm not a child who needs to be protected from those difficult aspects any longer. You must understand that I feel I have a right to know exactly what happened."

How, he wondered, had he looked at that face and not seen? Looked into those eyes and not known this was Naomi's child? "I sympathize, but there's very little I can tell you."

"You followed her. You took pictures, notes, you made reports. You knew her, Mr. Rooney. And you knew Alec Bradley."

"Knew them?" He inclined his head. "I never exchanged a word with Naomi Chadwick or Alec Bradley."

She wasn't about to be put off with so shallow a technicality. "You saw them together-at parties, at the track, at the club. You saw them together that night, when he came to the house. You were, technically, trespassing when you took the pictures that convicted her."

He hadn't forgotten it. He hadn't forgotten any of it. "I walked a thin line, agreed. And perhaps I crossed it in my zeal to do my job." He offered a small smile while his memories swarmed through his mind. "With today's technology, I could accomplish the same thing without the question of trespass." He paused, took a moment to lift his mug. "But the line still gets crossed, Kelsey. It's crossed every day."

"You formed an opinion of her. I imagine part of your job would be to remain objective, but it would be impossible not to form an opinion of someone when you're monitoring her life."

He began to stir his coffee again, even though the heaping spoonful of sugar he'd added had long since dissolved. "It was over twenty years ago."

"You remember her, Mr. Rooney. You wouldn't have forgotten her, or anything that happened."

"She was a beautiful woman," he said slowly. "A vibrant woman who got in over her head."

"With Alec Bradley."

Annoyed with himself, Rooney set the spoon aside, staining his blotter. "With him, yes. In the public record you spoke of, Naomi Chadwick was arrested for the murder of Alec Bradley, and convicted."

"And your photo of the shooting helped convict her."

"It did." He remembered, vividly, hoisting himself up into the tree, his camera bumping against his chest, his heart pounding. "You could say I was in the right place at the right time."

"She called it self-defense. She claimed that Alec Bradley threatened her, intended to rape her."

"I'm aware of her defense. The evidence didn't support it."

"But you were there! You must have seen if she was afraid, if he seemed threatening."

He folded his hands on the edge of the desk, like a man about to recite a well-rehearsed prayer. "I saw her let him into the house. They had a drink together. They argued. I can't now as I couldn't then testify to what was said between them. They went upstairs."

"She went up," Kelsey corrected. "He followed her."

"Yes, as far as I could tell. I took a chance and used the tree, thinking they would go to her bedroom."

"Because he'd been in there before?" Kelsey asked.

"No. Not that I had observed. But this was only the third night I had gone onto the property, and the first that I knew the rest of the household was absent."

He kept his hands linked, his eyes calm and level on hers. "Several minutes passed. I nearly climbed down again. But then they came into the bedroom. She entered first. It appeared that they were still arguing."

He remembered the look on Naomi's face, the way it had filled his viewfinder with beauty, with anger, with disdain. And yes, he remembered, with fear.

"Her back was to me for a short time." He cleared his throat. "Then she spun around. When she came back into view she had a gun. I could see them both, framed in the window. He put his hands up, backed away. And she fired."

The chill ran through Kelsey like a blade. "And then?"

"And then, Kelsey, I froze. I'm not proud of it, but I was young. I'd never seen ... I froze," he repeated. "I watched her go to where he'd fallen and lean over. And I watched her go to the phone. I got out of there and sat in my car until I heard the sirens."

"You didn't call the police?"

"No, not immediately. It was foolish of me. It could have cost me my license. But I did go to them, took in the film, made my statement." He loosened his hands, abruptly aware that his fingers were aching from the pressure. "I did my job."

"And all you saw was a beautiful, vibrant woman who got in over her head and shot a man."

"I wish I could tell you different. Your mother served her time. It's over."

"Not for me." Kelsey rose. "What if I hired you, Mr. Rooney. Right now. Today. I want you to go back twenty-three years, take another look at the case. I want to know all there is to know about Alec Bradley."

Fear sprinted up his spine, stiffening it. "Let it rest, Kelsey. Nothing can be solved, and certainly nothing can be changed, by picking at old wounds. Do you think your mother will thank you for making her relive all of that?"

"Maybe not. But I intend to go back, step by step, until I understand. Will you help me?"

He studied her, but it was another woman he saw, a woman sitting pale and composed in a crowded courtroom. Composed, he remembered, except for the eyes. Those desperate eyes.

"No, I won't. I'm going to ask you to think this through, consider the consequences."

"I have thought it through, Mr. Rooney. And I keep coming back to one conclusion. My mother was telling the truth. I'm going to prove it, with or without your help. Thank you for your time."

He sat where he was long after the door closed behind her, long after he'd willed his hands to stop trembling. When he was steady, he picked up the phone and dialed.

Her next stop was the university. The long wait in her father's cramped office calmed her considerably.

It was always a balm to be surrounded by books, the scents and sounds of academia. That was why it always lured her back, she supposed. In this world learning was the primary goal. And every question had an answer.

Philip entered, chalk dust on his fingertips. "Kelsey. What a wonderful way to lift my day. I'd have been here sooner, but my seminar ran over a bit."

"I didn't mind waiting. I was hoping you'd have a few minutes free."

"I have the next hour." Which he'd been planning to use to prepare for his final lecture of the day. But that could wait. "If you can spare the rest of the afternoon, I'll treat you to an early dinner when I'm finished."

"Not tonight, thanks. I still have another stop to make. Dad, I need to talk to you."

"I don't want you to worry about your grandmother. I'll deal with that."

"No, I'm not worried about that. It's not important."

"Of course it is." He took her by the shoulders, his hands moving up and down her arms. "I won't tolerate this kind of a breach, nor her using your heritage against you." Furious all over again, he turned to pace the narrow confines of his office, as he would while contemplating a thesis. "Your grandmother is an admirable woman, Kelsey. And a formidable one. Her blind side is the family, and her tendency to confuse her own set of standards with love."

"You don't have to explain her to me, or excuse her. I know that, in her way, she loves me. It's just that her way hasn't always been easy." Had never been easy, Kelsey corrected. "I also know she isn't used to being crossed. This time, she'll either come to accept what I'm doing with my life, or she won't. I can't let it influence me."

He paused, picked up a smooth glass paperweight from his desk. "I don't want you to be at odds."

"Neither do I."

"If you and I went to see her, together ..."

"No."

Sighing, he took off his glasses, polishing the lenses out of habit rather than need. "Kelsey, she's no longer young. She's your family."

Oh, she thought, the buttons loved ones push. "I'm sorry I can't compromise on this. I know you've been shoved right into the middle of it, and I'm sorry for that, too. She can't have what she wants, Dad.

And if we're honest, I've never been what she wanted."

"Kelsey-"

"I'm Naomi's daughter, and she's always resented it. I can only hope that in time she'll come to accept that I'm just as much your daughter."

Carefully, he folded his glasses and set them on his cluttered desk beside a timeworn copy of King Lear. "She loves you, Kelsey. It's the circumstances she's fighting."

"I am the circumstances," she said quietly. "I'm the motive, the reason, the child two people wanted long after they didn't want each other. There's no getting past that."

"It's ridiculous to blame yourself."

"Not blame. That's the wrong word. But do I feel a certain sense of responsibility? Yes, I do," she said when he shook his head. "To you, and to her. That's why I'm here. I need you to tell me what happened."

Suddenly weary, he sat, rubbing his fingers over his forehead. "We've done this, Kelsey."

"You gave me an outline, a sketch. You fell in love with someone. Despite some family disapproval on your side, you married her. You had a child with her. Somewhere along the line things went wrong between you."

She moved over to his side, hating to hurt, needing the truth. "I'm not asking you to explain all of that.

But you knew the woman you married, you had feelings for her. If you were willing to fight her for the child, to go to court, to hire lawyers and detectives, there had to be a reason. A strong one. I want to know what it was."

"I wanted you," he said simply. "I wanted you with me. Selfishly perhaps, not altogether reasonably.

You were the best part of us. I didn't believe growing up in the atmosphere your mother thrived in was right for you. Was best for you."

Had he been wrong? he asked himself. Had he been wrong? How many times had he asked himself that one question, even after everything that had happened had borne him out?

"Your grandmother and I discussed it at great length," Philip continued. "She was violently opposed to Naomi having primary custody of you. In the end, I agreed with her. It wasn't an easy decision, but it was one I believed in. Part of it was selfishness, yes, I can't deny it."

He looked up at her, at the woman, and remembered the child. "I didn't want to give you up, to become a weekend father who would eventually be replaced by the next man in Naomi's life. And the way she lived during those months after the separation seemed deliberately designed to challenge me. Her attorneys must have advised her to behave discreetly, so she did precisely the opposite. She courted the press, incited gossip. I detested the idea of hiring a detective, but the documentation was needed. I left that matter up to the attorneys."

"You didn't hire Rooney directly?"

"No, I-How do you know his name?"

"I've just come from his office."

"Kelsey." He reached out and gripped her hand. "What is the purpose of this? What do you hope to gain?"

"Answers. One answer in particular." She tightened her fingers on his. "I'll ask you. Do you believe Naomi murdered Alec Bradley?"

"There isn't any doubt-"

"That she killed him," Kelsey said tersely. "But murder. Did she murder him? Was the woman you knew, the woman you loved, capable of murder?"

He hesitated, feeling his daughter's fingers threaded through his. "I don't know," he said at last. "I wish with all my heart that I did."

Kelsey's final meeting of the day was with her mother's lawyers. She'd gleaned little more there, coming up hard against the unassailable wall of attorney-client privilege. She left the plush offices dissatisfied and determined.

There was always another avenue, she reminded herself. Every problem had a solution. All you needed were the factors, the formula, and the patience to see it through. A pity, she thought, that she'd always done so much better in philosophy and the arts than in math and science.

If she was discouraged, it was because she was tired. Too tired, she had to admit, to face Naomi with made-up tales of how she'd spent her afternoon.

She drove through the gates of Longshot instead.

If Gabe wasn't home, she'd go on to Three Willows and make some excuse-a headache, perhaps-and retreat to her room.

Another white lie, Kelsey? she asked herself grimly. If she kept it up much longer, she'd not only become good at it, she'd accept it as normal behavior.

She started toward the house, but instead of knocking, she simply sat down on the front steps and watched the evening bloom.

There would be sunlight for another hour or two, she mused. She wondered if the whippoorwill that sang outside the window of her room had a mate nearby. The call would come simultaneously with dusk-sweet, liquid longing.

The flowers were thriving here, bursting through their bed of mulch to color and scent the air. Dainty primroses, sassy pansies, a trellis that would soon be covered with the spicy perfume of sweet peas.