"Yup. Unless you reckon it likely that he drove out here, shot himself, and threw the gun away before he fell down the well."

"Drove," Mills repeated under his breath. He scanned the area for a sign of Weston's vehicle but found none. "I don't see a truck anywhere. Was there one when you got here?"

"Nope. If he had one on the property, it wouldn't leave tracks. Been too dry."

"Yup. First rain we've had in, what, two weeks?"

" 'Bout that."

"How long you figure he's been down there?"

"Well, I figure he's been dead four, five, maybe six hours, but he didn't die right away. Too much blood. The concrete well cover's been lifted off and the pump's been shut off, leaving just the surface groundwater."

"Weston was probably servicing it," Mills interjected.

"Yup. New owners claimed they had blood coming through the line, and there's still a fair amount down there. If I had to guess-and it is a guess-I'd say he was there at least a couple hours before he died."

"So then he was shot, say, seven to nine hours ago?"

"Yup. Sounds 'bout right," Byron replied. "But again-"

"You'll know more when you can take a good look at him," Mills completed the sentence. "I know, Lou. I know. This ain't exactly our first rodeo."

"Sure as h.e.l.l right about that, Charlie. Say, when are you gonna retire anyway?" Byron teased.

"You first, Lou," Mills volleyed before heading into the farm-

house.

CHAPTER.

3.

FULLY DRESSED, STELLA sat on the air mattress, her chin resting upon her hands, and watched as Nick poked the dying embers of the fireplace. "I can't believe it. You and I have lived in the New York City area our entire lives. That's over seventy years of urban living between the two of us, and not once in that time did we even come close to encountering a dead body. We're in Vermont for less than a day-in a town where, supposedly, no one even locks their doors-and suddenly we have b.l.o.o.d.y water in the sink and a dead body in our well."

"I believe that's what's known as irony," Nick theorized.

Between the call from Shelburne and the discovery of the body in the well, Stella couldn't help but wonder if someone or something wasn't sending them a warning. "Is it irony or is it just a bad omen? I know you've been looking forward to this move, but what if this isn't the right time to be moving? What if this isn't the right house?" she asked as tears streamed down her face.

Nick leaned the poker against the brick of the fireplace and sat down beside his wife. "Hey, come on, now. I admit that when we first found that guy's body, I wondered if maybe this place wasn't jinxed. But then I pulled myself together and realized that his death was just an accident. An unfortunate accident."

"An accident that took place the same day we moved in."

"The timing sucks, I know, but I'm sure this sort of thing has happened elsewhere before. Working on a well as old as ours must come with its fair share of risks. One false move and-"

"But nothing has gone right today, Nick," she sobbed.

He slid an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. "Come on, now, that's not true. The move, the trip here, and the closing all went without a hitch. It even waited until we got here to rain. If anything, I'd say we've been pretty lucky."

"Lucky?"

"Yeah. We're alive, and we have each other. That's more than the dead man and his family have right now."

Stella suddenly felt like a selfish fool. "You know, as much as I love the way you make me laugh, there's something to be said for your more serious moments. Sometimes you really know how to put things in perspective."

"Thanks." He hugged her and kissed the top of her head. "My only wish is that we knew about the body earlier."

"So we could have saved him?"

"That, or we might have been able to shave a few bucks off the price of the house."

Stella freed herself from his embrace and punched him playfully in the arm. "Or-here's a thought-we could have bought a house that didn't come with a dead body?"

"Is that a search option on those real-estate websites? 'Corpses not included?'" he smirked.

"It should be. It seems just as important as an eat-in kitchen or an en suite bathroom."

"At the moment, I'd say it's more important."

Stella and Nick's musings were interrupted by the appearance of a man in the living room doorway. Short and stocky, his reddish beard was flecked with white whiskers, and his eyes, although a cold blue in color, conveyed a gentle wisdom. Beneath his open raincoat, the b.u.t.tons of his uniform strained slightly against his middle-aged paunch.

"Sheriff Charles Mills, Windsor County Sheriff's Office," he introduced himself. "You're Mr. and Mrs. Buckley?"

"That's right," Nick confirmed as he rose to his feet. "I'm Nick, and this is my wife, Stella."

Mills shuffled through the forms on his clipboard. "Nick? Says here your first name's Graham."

Be it her good-girl suburban upbringing or her love of the film My Cousin Vinny, there was something about being questioned by a small-town police officer that made Stella feel uneasy. Charm was her only defense. "Nick is his nickname. Get it? Nick name?" she laughed nervously.

Mills failed to crack a smile.

"Thanks, honey. I haven't heard that one since sixth grade," Nick quipped to his wife before answering the sheriff's question. "The name Graham will get you beaten up pretty quick in a New Jersey schoolyard, so I started going by my middle name, Nicholas-Nick for short."

"That where you two are from? Jersey?"

"No, Stella grew up on Long Island, and we lived in the city seven years before moving here."

Mills's eyes slid to the air mattress and its snarl of mismatched blankets. "You got into town yesterday?"

"No, today," Stella stated flatly. "Just a few hours ago."

Mills glanced, in turn, at the air mattress, the champagne bottle, Nick, Stella, his wrist.w.a.tch, and again at the air mattress. "So about four o'clock," he suggested, the color rising slightly in his cheeks.

"Yeah, around then," Nick grinned.

"And did you notice anything strange when you arrived?"

"No, I don't think so. Did you notice anything, honey?"

"Hard to say, since I'm not sure what normal is around here. Oh! Not to say that you people aren't normal-um, Vermonters, I mean"-Mills raised an eyebrow-"but, um, if you mean normal as in did the place look the same way it did the last time we saw it? Then yes. Yes, it was normal."

"The body in the well belongs to Allen Weston, owner of Weston Wells and Pumps."

"That's the company that was supposed to install the new well pump," Nick stated.

"Then you knew Allen Weston?"

"Never met the guy."

"Did you speak to him over the phone?"

"We had been advised to have the old well filled in and drill a new one," Stella jumped in. "But what with the closing and moving fees, we honestly couldn't afford to do it. So the seller agreed to pay for a pump upgrade just so that we'd pa.s.s inspection. He's the one who hired Weston-actually, since he lives out of state, he got the real-estate agent to handle everything on his behalf."

Mills looked around appreciatively. "That's right. This is the old Colton place, isn't it? How is good old Barry anyway?"

"No idea," Nick answered. "We didn't meet him either."

"Huh? Well, I guess the lawyers take care of everything now, don't they? Yup ... last I heard of Barry, he was living in California, working at some highfalutin' computer place. He still there?"

"Our closing doc.u.ments list him as living in Colorado," Stella said.

"Colorado. Is that right? Guess our mountains were too small for him ... hmph." Mills scratched the back of his head and tried to regain his train of thought. "So, you never met Allen Weston, but you knew that he was going to be here today."

"We knew someone from his company would be here, yes," Nick corrected. "We didn't know it would be Weston himself until yesterday."

"Oh?"

"The pump was originally going to be replaced yesterday afternoon, but I got a call from the real-estate agent-"

"What's his name, by the way? This real-estate agent?" Mills interrupted.

"Her name," Stella corrected, "is Alice Broadman. She's with Vermont Valley Real Estate."

"Go ahead," Mills instructed Nick, with a nod of the head.

"Anyway, Alice called me yesterday to say that the appointment had been moved to this morning, and that due to the last-minute cancellation and the urgency of the situation-we were closing this afternoon-Mr. Weston would be installing the pump himself."

"Did she tell you why the appointment had been changed?"

"No. She just a.s.sured me that the new pump would be installed and tested before the end of closing."

"Tested," Mills pondered aloud. "Weston would have needed to run the taps inside in order to test the new pump. Was Alice Broadman going to meet him here to let him in?"

"No. She was busy with the closing and some errands I had asked her to run for me. She asked if it was okay for her to stop by here first thing in the morning, unlock the door for Weston, and then have him lock up when he was finished with the work."

"Is that what you did?"

Nick shrugged. "The house was empty. I didn't see a problem with it."

"Was the house locked when you got here?"

"Ye-" Nick started to answer but then recalled his visit with Maggie Lawson. "Wait-the front door was, but the back door wasn't."

"It wasn't?" Stella asked from her spot by the fire.

"No. I didn't think much of it at the time, but it was definitely unlocked."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. I clearly remember opening the door to talk to Maggie, and all I did was turn the k.n.o.b."

"Maggie?" Mills questioned. "Maggie Lawson?"

"Yeah, she lives up on the main road. She's our nearest neighbor. She came by to introduce herself."

"Yep, that's Crazy Maggie. When I first got the call I thought it was trouble at her place. Didn't think it was here."

"Crazy Maggie?" Stella echoed.

"Yup, that's what we call her. She's a strange 'un."

"Strange how?"

"Just plain ol' strange-no other way to say it. She's pretty harmless, though, so long as you don't get her riled up."

"What happens when you rile her up?"

"Well, she pret' near came at Mrs. Colton with a shotgun once. And Ray Johnson says she poisoned his dog."

"Poison? She gave us cupcakes. I licked the icing off my fingers when I found out I couldn't wash my hands!"

"Idn't give much thought to that. If Maggie's mad at you, she'll let you know about it, and she sure as heck wouldn't be bringing you cupcakes."

"That's comforting," Stella said sarcastically as she stood up and moved beside her husband.

"So the back door being left open," Nick returned to the business at hand. "Why is that important?"