STELLA GOT INTO the pa.s.senger seat of the Smart car and, despite the seventy-degree weather, began to shiver.

Nick slid into the driver's seat and put an arm around his wife. "You okay?"

"Yeah, it's just ... that woman's life is ruined. And it's all because we had to get involved."

"We might have helped to bring things out into the open, but the only one who ruined Alice's life is Alice."

"I know she's responsible for her own decisions, but she might have taken those secrets to her grave if we hadn't outed them. Now her husband might leave when he finds out, and she might go to jail, and her kids ... oh, her kids."

"She couldn't have kept it all a secret forever, hon. But this is exactly why I suggested we take a hike this afternoon. I had a feeling when we went to see Alice that the ending wouldn't be a happy one." He pulled his cell phone from inside his jacket and began pressing b.u.t.tons.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling Mills to tell him to send his men over here."

"Oh, no, Nick! Don't call him now."

"Why not? Once he talks to Alice, we're free to go back to camp, go on our hike, and have a leisurely dinner with Alma. Isn't that what you wanted-to move into our house and put this mess behind us?"

"I did. I do, but ..."

He pressed a few more b.u.t.tons before flinging the phone into the center console in disgust. "You're in luck. I can't get a signal."

"See? Divine intervention. Let's just go see the Brunelles, and then we can call Mills afterward with all our findings."

"You want me to wait? And let Alice pack up her kids and skip town?"

"You heard her. She's not going anywhere."

"And you believed her? Hon, she lied to a mortgage company, her husband, her kids, and the whole community. Oh, and-h.e.l.lo-she's a murderer."

"I don't think she is."

"Why? Because she says she isn't? Newsflash: prison is full of people who claim they're innocent."

"I know that. I'm not naive. But Alice being the murderer doesn't quite fit. It leaves too many unanswered questions."

"Like?"

"Like why was Weston's truck parked in the woods? Alice knew when our closing was going to take place, and she also knew that we weren't stopping by the house beforehand."

"So?"

"So, if Alice was the killer, she didn't need to delay discovery of the body while she made her getaway. No one was going to the house until the closing was finished, and, if someone did, they would no doubt call ahead, since Alice was the only one who held the key."

"Then Weston hid the truck himself."

"If so, it wasn't to hide from Alice Broadman. Weston's secretary called Alice personally to confirm his arrival at the house that morning. He could have parked his truck in Utah and Alice still would have known he was at the house. No, if Weston hid his truck, it's because there was someone out there-someone other than Alice Broadman-that he didn't want to see. And I suspect that person is the killer."

"I don't know, Stella. I think you're putting too much emphasis on the truck. Alice as the killer just seems right me. What about that threat she made toward Bunny?"

"Alice's life is falling apart, Nick. She's going to lash out, and since Bunny is the one who ratted her out, she's an obvious target."

Nick shook his head slowly. "I don't know ..."

"Okay, maybe I'm wrong about Alice, but I think we should at the very least talk to everyone in town and explore all the possibilities before we send the police breathing down her neck."

After a long pause, Nick pulled a face and started the car. "Which way to Jake Brunelle's shop?"

"Other side of town, by the trailer park."

He nodded and pulled onto Main Street. "So, just to check: Alice is still guilty of mortgage fraud, right?"

"Yes, Nick," Stella chuckled. "Yes, she is."

Jake Brunelle's shop occupied a former train maintenance depot on the edge of town near the park. Bearing no address, signs, or other markings to distinguish the building, Nick pushed open the shabby, weather-beaten front door, allowing Stella to poke her head inside.

Betsy Brunelle, wearing a tight black sweater dress, red lipstick, and several coats of mascara, sat at a desk fashioned from an old door and two sawhorses. At the creak of the front door, Betsy turned away from her computer screen and peered over her shoulder. "If you're looking for Brunelle Construction, you're in the right place."

"Thanks, we weren't sure," Stella explained.

"You're not the first. We've been meaning to put up the sign," she motioned to a cardboard box the size of a queen mattress that stood against the wall behind her. "Something else always comes up, though."

The couple stepped inside and closed the door behind them.

"Hey, you're that guy I b.u.mped into this morning!"

Nick flashed his wife an I-told-you-so smirk before leaning forward to shake Betsy's hand. "Yes, I am. Nick Buckley, and this is my wife, Stella."

Betsy combed her shoulder-length chestnut-brown hair with her fingers before reaching a bangle-braceleted arm over her makeshift desk in greeting. "I'm Betsy Brunelle, Jake's wife."

"We know. Alma and Sheriff Mills told us your name when you stopped into the Sweet Shop yesterday morning."

"You were there yesterday? No, you couldn't have been. I would have noticed someone like you."

Stella cleared her throat and fought the urge to gag.

"I was there, sitting at the counter. You weren't in for very long, though-something about an estimate."

"That's right. If I hadn't wrestled Jake away from Sheriff Mills, we would have missed it, too. So you were at the counter, huh? I can't believe I didn't see you. I must have been in a terrible hurry not to notice a handsome new man in town."

Stella once again cleared her throat. "Sorry, something keeps tickling me."

"Would you like some water? I can-" She stopped what she was doing. "Wait one minute: water ... well ... .you own the place where they found Allen Weston's body, don't you?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Oh, that poor man. I swear this state needs stiffer gun laws. When anyone with a driver's license can get themselves a handgun, well, I can't believe we all aren't being murdered in our sleep."

"Weston was actually shot with a hunting rifle," Nick corrected.

"Really? Well, I don't think much of that either. Jake grew up here. He goes out every weekend during deer season, but I don't see what the attraction is." Betsy looked at Stella. "I grew up outside Boston, so when I want to unwind, I hit the mall for shopping therapy, if you know what I mean."

Stella laughed politely. "Tough to do that around here, though."

"Oh, I drive to Rutland, or if I'm really ambitious, over the border to New Hampshire. I refuse to resort to wearing flannel and rubber shoes."

"I think I'd have a tough time with that, too."

"So," Betsy sat back down. "Don't tell me: you're here because you need someone to finish that well work Weston started."

"Yep, you, um, you guessed it."

Betsy opened up the calendar on her computer and started looking at dates. "I might be able to squeeze you in next week."

From where Stella stood, prior to the coming Monday, the Brunelles' calendar had been relatively empty. The remainder of the calendar, however, had filled in nicely. A result of Weston's premature demise?

"I'm not sure that would work," Nick responded. "The whole property is cordoned off-even to us-and I'm not sure when we'll be able to get back in."

Betsy took her hand off the mouse and placed it on Nick's. "Really? You mean you came all the way up and haven't been able to move in or to carry your lovely bride over the threshold?"

"Nope. Didn't even get to unload the moving van."

"That's terrible. And all because of a silly hunting accident?"

"The police aren't totally convinced it was an accident."

Betsy suddenly removed her hand from Nick's. "But you said Weston was shot with a hunting rifle."

"He was."

"What? They think it might be suicide?"

"No, more like murder."

"That's impossible. This is a small town. No one even bothers to lock their doors at night. Who would even think to do such a thing?"

"Don't know, but from what we've heard, Weston had plenty of enemies in this town. Even-no, I shouldn't say it ..." Nick scratched his head and looked down at his feet.

Betsy's brown eyes grew wide with curiosity. "Say what?"

"No, I can't."

"Go ahead and say it."

"Well, you and Jake were mentioned as possible suspects. Seems people think you both had an axe to grind with Weston for taking business away from you."

"That's ridiculous. Sure, he was our compet.i.tor, but our business is still doing very well. This is Vermont. Around here, most contractors don't even return your phone call. If you show up for the estimate and start on time, you're halfway to success."

Stella watched as Betsy's ancient computer monitor launched into a screensaver of handsome cowboys engaging in a variety of rodeo activities. "According to Hank Reid, Weston was pretty good at keeping his appointments. What's more, Weston advertised that he had the manpower to get the job done quickly. If a man like Hank Reid fell for Weston's fancy ads and promises of fast service, I'm sure others must have, too."

"Maybe, but they'll all wind up like Hank Reid: in court with Weston but back doing business with us. The fact is, Weston was a liar and a cheat. People may have fallen for his lines at first, but they eventually wised up."

"It doesn't matter any longer whether they wise up or not now, does it?"

"Well, I-I guess not. But if Weston were still alive, the customers who switched to him would figure out the truth behind his promises and realize what they had with us."

"So you admit that you lost other customers," Nick said with a smile.

Betsy leveled a stare that could have burned a hole through his chest. "Okay, yeah, we lost some customers to Weston. But the ones who switched weren't our best customers anyway. They were the ones who always tried to nickel-and-dime us and drive our prices down. The good ones-the ones who know that good work takes time-remained loyal."

"Still, even losing your 'lesser' customers must have hurt your bottom line. Why else would you have closed up all winter?"

"How did you-? Wait, Hank probably told you that, too."

"Does it matter? We could have found out from anyone."

"Fine. Yes, we did close for business this past winter, but spring and summer put us back on track. In fact, we were so busy that I hired Elizabeth Randall to help me in the office on weekends."

"You had that much business?"

"A couple of bigger jobs, yes. She managed the phones and did some filing, which gave me some time away from this place." Betsy eyed the walls with disgust and then leaned across her desk. "Do you two work together?"

Nick and Stella shook their heads.

"Then you wouldn't understand, but Jake and I live in the apartment upstairs. Living and working in the same place and with the same person? It gets old-fast. I don't care how great your marriage is, it takes its toll."

"I can't imagine how difficult that would be," Stella sympathized. "If I saw Nick every moment of every day, I'd go crazy!"

Nick gave her a hurt look before jumping back into the questioning. "Why isn't Ms. Randall here now? It's a Sat.u.r.day."

"I had to let her go."

"Because business slowed down?"

"Um, well, our big jobs drew to a close, yes. But it wasn't all about the money, you know. She had some ... rotten habits. Want another piece of advice? Don't work with friends, either. The things your girlfriend does that normally make you laugh can cause you headaches in the office."

"Duly noted," Stella remarked.

"So, not to be insensitive, but now that your big jobs have finished up, Weston's death is sure to come in handy."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you've probably already gotten some calls from Weston's customers."