Don`t Close Your Eyes

7

Music. Mist. A hulking, dancing figure swooping down on them!

Paige screamed and jerked upward. Her father caught her in his big, hard arms. "Just a nightmare, honey."

Paige took a deep breath and blinked several times. Yes, here she was in her twin bed with the pretty peach-and-green puffy quilt, her lacy curtains, her stuffed animal collection, her black-and-white cat Ripley lying by her side studying her with calm, green eyes.

"I came in because you were whimpering in your sleep. What were you dreaming?" Nick Meredith asked.

"It was all mixed up," Paige lied. "But it was scary. Something about Mrs. Hunt's murder." Paige hated lying to her father. "I dreamed about the person who killed that poor woman. So awful!" she added, imitating Mrs. Collins's voice when she'd spent the afternoon calling her friends to tell them about the murder.

"I see," Nick said slowly. "In your dream did you see that person?"

"No. Just somebody big and mean." Who likes candlelight and loud rock music, she thought with a shudder. "Did you catch him yet, Daddy?"

"No, but I will." Nick smiled and kissed Paige on the forehead. "You get ready for school, kid."

"Daddy, it's summer." Boy, he was tired, Paige thought. "Jimmy and I might hang out."

"Doesn't he know any guys?" Nick asked querulously.

"Yeah, but they swim all day. Or play baseball. Jimmy is more intellectual."

Her father's lips twitched. "Intellectual, huh? I never thought of Jimmy Jenkins as intellectual."

"Oh, but he is, Daddy. He's really smart."

"I'd still like to see you play with Barbie dolls for a change."

"I hate Barbie dolls!"

"Don't the other girls play with them?"

"I guess, but I don't have any friends that are girls."

"Make some."

Mrs. Collins hovered in the doorway. "I know some lovely young girls I could introduce her to."

Wonderful, Paige thought. If Mrs. Collins liked them, they'd probably be a dull as she was. They'd want to have tea parties rather than solve murders.

"Hey, Dad," Paige said quickly to change the subject, "Jimmy said out where Mrs. Hunt got killed yesterday there was a woman with black hair."

"Yes." Nick stood up, straightening his tie. "Natalie St. John. Her father is Andrew St. John who took out your tonsils in February."

"Pretty?"

"Andrew St. John? Not especially."

"Daddy! I mean his daughter. Is she pretty?"

"I guess. I really didn't notice."

Too casual, Paige observed. He'd noticed and he thought she was pretty. She didn't like thinking of him with any woman except her mother, but she didn't want him to be lonely, either. And she could tell he was really lonely in spite of her efforts to entertain him. "Jimmy said she probably took that lost dog home with her."

"She did. She's a veterinarian."

Paige's interest soared. "She likes animals!"

"Just like another young lady I know." He looked at the shining black-and-white cat. "I think Ripley is getting fat."

"Daddy, you'll hurt his feelings!"

"He looks devastated."

"If you think he's too fat, maybe he should go see Natalie St. John."

"She's not in practice here. Besides, there is nothing wrong with the cat except a few extra pounds."

"And he does have that annoying habit of jumping off the newel post on the stairs," Mrs. Collins put in. "He startles the life out of me when he comes springing out of nowhere."

"See, Daddy, that proves he's not too fat or he couldn't jump so well. But he does scratch his ears a lot." Paige assumed a distressed look. "I'm worried."

"You're curious, Paige Meredith," Nick laughed. "For some reason you want to get a look at Natalie St. John." He shrugged. "If I see her, I'll ask her about checking out Ripley. She'll probably say no."

"Not if she's nice she won't," Paige muttered to Ripley when her father left the room. She lovingly touched the small black spot on the end of his pink nose. "That's how we'll know if she might be the right girl for Daddy."

After Nick went to headquarters and Mrs. Collins drifted back downstairs to her knitting and her morning talk shows, the phone rang. Paige grabbed up her extension before Mrs. Collins could rouse herself from the couch. It was Jimmy. "Get in trouble?" he asked abruptly.

"No."

"Told you. Did you tell your dad what we saw at the Saunders house?"

"Are you kidding? First I'd get grounded for life because of sneaking out and going to that place. Then he'd lock me up for being crazy. He'd never believe what we saw last night. No grownup would."

"That's why I've got another plan."

Paige groaned inwardly. Jimmy and his plans. "What now?"

"We go back-"

"Go back! Are you completely nuts?"

"Let me finish. We go back with a camera! A Polaroid so we don't have to wait for the film to be developed. We take a picture of that thing in the house. Then we show your dad."

"A picture?"

"It's the only way to get proof."

Paige thought, gnawing her lower lip. "Well, it would be proof, but I don't know about going back there…"

"Look, I know you're scared because you're a girl-"

"I'm not scared because I'm a girl! I'm not scared at all!"

"Okay, okay, don't wet your pants." Paige caught her breath. Had he seen her wet jeans last night after all? No. It was just an expression. "So you're not scared," Jimmy went on. "Fine. You just don't want to get caught, so I'll take my dad's camera and say I was there all by myself. I won't even mention you. That way you can be in on the action without getting in trouble."

"You'd do that for me?" Paige asked.

"Yeah. We're partners. Partners cover for each other."

Paige was thrilled. Jimmy thought of her as his partner! She was frightened to go back out to Ariel Saunders's house, terrified of seeing that awful creature again, but if she didn't, Jimmy might no longer think of her as his partner. That was even worse than being scared silly.

"So are you coming with me?" Jimmy asked.

"Of course," she answered with cool assurance she didn't feel.

"Good, because we have to do something," he said dramatically. "There's a killer in that house, a madman, and we're the only ones who know about it."

Seven o'clock the previous evening Natalie finally had called Lily at Oliver's house. "Natalie, my sister was murdered," Lily had wailed. "Her throat was cut. And that note-the one about the throats and an open tomb-the sheriff thinks that was left on her body by the killer. But you knew that, didn't you? That's why you took the note from me. You knew my sister had been murdered. How?"

"I didn't know, I just suspected. How are things at home?"

"It's so strange around here," Lily had said. "Dad is alternately raging or morose. And of course we've been graced with the presence of Viveca and Alison. I should be grateful. Viveca has a calming effect on Dad, but her syrupy concern drives me up the wall. And Alison! I don't know how someone manages to be so creepy by doing so little. If Dad marries Viveca and Alison Cosgrove becomes my stepsister-"

"Don't worry about that now."

"I can't help it." Lily's voice raced and shook. "She is just madly in love with Warren. Or whatever she thinks love is. She looks like she wants to tear off his clothes every time she glances at him. It's sickening. I used to tell Tam that Alison was fixated on Warren, but Tam didn't believe me. At least she pretended not to believe me. Even her innocent eyes couldn't have missed Alison nearly drooling over Warren now, though. And don't tell me I'm imagining things!"

"I wasn't going to say anything. Good heavens, Lily, don't get mad at me because you don't like Viveca and Alison."

"I'm not. I just wish they'd go home. For good."

"How's Warren doing?"

Lily had drawn a fresh breath and swept on at breakneck speed. "He seems lost but not out of shock or grief. It's like he's feeling his way along, deciding how he should act based on our reactions. It isn't normal, Nat! Something is wrong where he's concerned. His wife has been murdered, for God's sake, and he just watches my father like a little boy waiting to get yelled at!" She had paused. "If you ask me, it's guilt."

"Guilt for what?"

"That's the question. Guilt for not loving my sister? Or guilt for something worse? Nat, maybe he murdered her!"

Lily had gotten on a dangerous track. Natalie changed directions. "Do you need any help tomorrow? I know Warren will handle the funeral arrangements-"

"No, he won't!" Lily had burst out. "He said he'd leave everything up to Dad and me because we'd do a better job. Better job my ass! The creep just doesn't want to be bothered!"

"Lily, you're really wired," Natalie had said gently. "I'm having my father phone in a prescription for tranquilizers. They'll be delivered and you will take one."

"I don't want-"

"I don't care what you want. You sound like you're going to start screaming."

"My sister has been murdered!'

"I know. I'm not criticizing you. I'm just saying you're falling apart. I want you to take a tranquilizer and try to get some sleep," Natalie had said firmly. "I'll do anything I can to help you with the funeral arrangements tomorrow. Deal?"

"Okay, deal," Lily had said resignedly. "Thank you, Natalie."

After she hung up, Natalie had thought of how strong, how assured she'd sounded. But she didn't feel strong and assured. She was shaken and afraid she wouldn't be the help Lily needed so desperately.

After the call had come her dream, her panic attack, and her frightening trip to The Blue Lady pavilion. After Nick

Meredith rescued her, then lectured her, he had dropped her off at her house, and she'd hoped her father would not be awake. As she tiptoed down the hall, she'd heard him snoring. Thank God. She could never explain this exploit to him. She had immediately unloaded her gun and locked it back in the suitcase. Then she spent the rest of the night awake, coldly shaken by her encounter with someone claiming to be Tam, someone saying they wanted to kill her. What in the world was going on? Who would impersonate Tamara? Who would continue taunting her knowing she was armed?

The next morning Lily called at nine. Natalie had not gotten a moment's sleep. "Still want to help me today?" Lily asked.

"Certainly." Natalie tried to sound alert and as chipper as possible although her eyelids felt heavy. "What do you need for me to do?"

"Well, there's the matter of Tam's clothes. Will you go with me to her house and help me pick out an outfit for burial? And I need to go to the florist to select a blanket for the coffin-" Her voice broke.

"Lily-"

"I'm okay. I stayed at Dad's last night. The tranquilizer helped. I got a little sleep." She took a deep breath. "I left my car with you so would you mind picking me up?"

"Actually, I can't drive a four-speed. I left your car at Tamara's and Sheriff Meredith drove me home. I'll pick you up, then you can get your car at Tam's."

Lily emerged from the Peyton home before Natalie could even honk the horn. When she got in the car, she didn't look like the same lovely, jaunty woman who had picked up Natalie for lunch less than twenty-four hours earlier. Her blond hair hung sleep-flat, her skin was pale, and her eyelids were puffy from crying. She wore jeans and a light shell-pink sweater but no makeup and no jewelry.

Lily didn't need any more worries. "You told me you slept, but you don't look like it," Natalie said gently.

"I slept a couple of hours near morning. I remember it was just starting to get light. Dad stayed up all night listening to music. 'Clair de Lune' again and again. It was Tam's favorite song. She used to ice skate to it when we were kids." She scrutinized Natalie. "You're not looking so well yourself."

Natalie longed to tell Lily about what happened at The Blue Lady. Even during the years when they'd lived in different towns, she'd always called Lily to discuss anything exciting or upsetting. But what could she possibly say? "I went to the pavilion last night and your dead sister talked to me. Actually, she quoted the. Bible and told me she wanted me to be with her"?

"God, Nat, what's going through your mind?" Lily asked sharply. "The look on your face… What's happened?"

"Nothing. I'm just tired."

"You're more than tired. You look scared to death."

She'd been terrified last night and she was still frightened today, but she couldn't tell Lily the truth. Sharing would be a relief for her, but knowing someone was pretending to be her murdered sister would be horrifying to Lily. Natalie wouldn't put her through more suffering. "Yesterday was a big shock for me, too, and I couldn't sleep so I tried to calm myself down with alcohol. I drank too much," she lied. "I felt sick for a moment, but I'm okay now." Lily continued to stare at her skeptically and she changed the subject. "Are you sure Warren won't mind us taking over the funeral arrangements?"

"I told you-"

"I know. You think he doesn't give a damn."

"When you see him, you'll know what I mean."

But Lily looked surprised when they reached the house. Warren opened the door, a hollow-eyed figure wearing an old sweatshirt and a day's growth of beard. He held a coffee mug. The coffee smelled like espresso. Warren smelled like gin. Clearly he'd put in a hard night.

"Lily, Natalie," he said expressionlessly, his shadowed eyes bloodshot. "Thank you for coming to help with Tamara's clothes. I wouldn't have the faintest idea what she should wear. Would you two like some coffee?"

"I would." Natalie didn't really want coffee but preparing a cup for her would send Warren out of the room. When he disappeared into the kitchen, she turned to Lily. "He looks fairly bad to me, Lily."

"Obviously he didn't sleep. And he drank too much, also. But I still don't believe he's feeling real grief."

"Lily the mind reader."

"Well, can't you see that he doesn't care?"

"No."

"You don't know him as well as I do."

Natalie sighed. "Lily, please, just don't give him a hard time today. Tamara wouldn't want you to."

"I'd intended to say as little as possible to the jerk."

Warren reappeared with the coffee and Lily and Natalie went directly upstairs to the master bedroom. A few delicate floral watercolors hung on the creamy white walls and a quilt with a wildflower pattern in pink, peach, yellow, and green covered the king-sized bed. "Beautiful quilt, isn't it?" Lily said almost to herself. "Tam made it, of course. She was so much more artistic than I am."

"You got the business sense." Natalie opened the closet door. "And the fashion sense. Help me pick out an outfit."

Tamara's wardrobe bore little resemblance to Lily's. All her summer clothes were muted tones, her winter in gray, black, or navy blue. "My sister didn't own one piece of red clothing," Lily said, shaking her head slowly. "Mom's influence. She wanted Tam and me to look like little nuns. Tam, as always, wanted to please. I, as always, rebelled."

"You each wore what was right for your personality."

Lily thumped down on the bed. "Damn it, Natalie, will you stop sounding so reasonable and placid? I'm not going to fly into a million pieces if you show a little emotion. I am going to jump up and down and scream if you don't."

Natalie turned away from the closet. "I'm sorry if I'm annoying you. I don't know how to act. I don't want to do anything to make things worse for you."

"You couldn't possibly make things worse except by acting like some impassive woman I don't know. I need my good old emotional, expressive Natalie right now."

"Okay. I'll be emotional and expressive. I won't be old."

Lily grinned. "That's more like it." She screwed up her face. "How about that powder-blue suit by your right hand? I know it doesn't really matter because the casket will be closed given the state of her face, but she liked that suit. We'll put Mom's pearls with it."

Natalie hesitated. "The suit is perfect, but the pearls? They were a birthday present from your father and they're worth a fortune."

"I took Mom's diamond earrings. The pearls are Tam's."

"Your mother wanted one of you to wear the pearls. She wouldn't have liked for them to be buried forever."

"Do you have a direct line to the afterlife?" Lily asked half humorously. "First you know Tam wants me to be kind to Warren. Now you know Mom wants me to have Tam's pearls. Did you stay up all night communing with the dead?"

"Lily!" Warren said severely from the doorway. "Have a little respect for your sister. This is no time for jokes."

"It's exactly the time for jokes," Lily snapped. "If we don't laugh, we'll cry." She paused. "At least some of us will."

Warren 's eyes narrowed. "And what does that mean?"

"Nothing," Natalie intervened. "Could you call the florist and tell her we'll be there soon? I don't suppose you want to go with us, do you?"

"No. I don't know anything about flowers. I don't even like them. I think we should ask for donations to the suicide hotline in lieu of flowers."

"Tam loved flowers and she didn't give a damn about the suicide hotline," Lily fired back.

Warren looked incensed. "There you go, giving all the orders as usual. You see, Natalie, this is why I'm not getting involved in the funeral arrangements." He turned and stalked downstairs.

"Lily, Tamara organized the suicide hotline," Natalie said.

"She only organized it to please Warren. Writing grant applications, making public pleas for donations, was pure misery for her. Besides, I want her to have flowers," Lily fumed. " Warren just wants to stick her in the ground as quickly and cheaply as possible." Good lord, Natalie thought. Were all funerals so fraught with familial antagonism?

"Okay, you can fill the funeral home to the roof with flowers, but please try to get along with Warren for the next few days."

"No. I hate him."

"Lily, you sound like a petulant five-year-old."

Lily ignored her and Natalie could have been angry with her if she hadn't known the petulance was simply a manifestation of unbearable grief. While Lily seethed on the bed, Natalie finished assembling clothing for Tamara, insisting that the pearls be excluded. She placed everything in a shopping bag.

Lily took one last look around the room. Her gaze lingered on a silver-framed wedding picture of Tamara and Warren. In the photo Tamara looked young, lovely, and unsure of herself. Warren smirked-impeccably handsome and self-satisfied. "It was a beautiful wedding," she said softly. "Tam thought Warren was so wonderful then."

"She thought Warren was wonderful until the day she died," Natalie said softly. "She was happy, Lily. Warren did not make her miserable."

"I guess you're right. I don't like him and I don't trust him, but Tam loved him. I just hope he was worth her love."

The phone rang once. Warren must have picked it up. "We're ready to go," Natalie said. "They'll be expecting us at the florist's."

She descended the stairs first. The lush carpet muffled her footsteps. When she reached the bottom, she saw Warren sitting in an armchair with the phone receiver in his hand. His head was slightly lowered, his face turned away from the stairs. "I can't. Not today. Not for several days," he said. Something in his tone made Natalie freeze. After a brief pause he went on. "I don't want you to come to the funeral. You weren't friends with Tamara. It might look suspicious." Silence. "I need to see you, too, but-" Silence again, then a sigh. "All right. Tonight." He glanced up and saw Natalie. A burgundy stain bloomed across his face. "I must go now," he said formally. "Thank you for your condolences."

After he hung up, Natalie glanced behind her. Lily stood there, rigid, her hazel eyes simmering with hatred.

Nick Meredith swiveled his desk chair around and looked out the office window. Another beautiful, crystal-clear day in Port Ariel, where the air was pure, the scenery spectacular, the crime rate low. He'd spent his childhood in a tough Bronx neighborhood where learning how to fight was essential for survival. When he was twenty, his younger brother had been stabbed to death on a street corner. Fifteen years later his wife Meagan had been shot to death in a liquor store. So he'd left New York City and brought his little girl to a place that was safe, a place where murder was nearly unheard of…

Until now.

Not all the toxicology reports on Tamara Hunt had come back yet, but Nick didn't really consider them important. Someone dragging a razor-sharp, smooth-bladed knife across her slender neck had killed Tamara Peyton Hunt. According to the preliminary M.E. report, she bore a three-inch single incised wound at the base of her neck, directed backward, medially and downward. The carotid artery and external and internal jugular veins had been severed. Bruising appeared around the throat, indicating that the victim had been grabbed from behind and held while the fatal wound was administered. The state of rigor placed the time of death between eight and ten p.m. the previous evening. The pattern of lividity showed that the body had not been moved. There were no signs of sexual assault and no skin had been retrieved from beneath the victim's fingernails. Human hair not belonging to the victim had not been recovered, although ca nine hair was found on the hands and around the neck.

And, finally, Tamara Peyton Hunt had been eight weeks pregnant.

Nick remembered when his wife Meagan had told him she was expecting. She'd been finishing her master's degree in English. He'd just made detective second grade. He'd been at work when she called and said abruptly, "Nick, you're going to be a father," then hung up. He'd immediately called home, but there had been no answer. When he arrived back at the apartment for dinner, Meagan was furiously stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce. She'd looked at him almost fearfully with her big brown eyes. Then she saw the yellow roses and the bottle of sparkling cider topped by a bow he carried, and she'd burst into happy tears.

He hadn't told her how much he wanted a child because he knew becoming a college professor was so important to her. He didn't want her to feel pressured to interrupt her education. He later learned she hadn't talked about how much she wanted a child because he was the eldest of seven children. She thought he was sick of kids and she didn't want him to feel pressured. But the day Paige was born was the happiest of their marriage.

Had Tamara Hunt wanted this baby as much as Meagan had wanted Paige? From everything Nick had heard about her, she had. Desperately. How about her husband? Warren Hunt seemed more of a mystery than his wife was. Everyone they'd questioned had wonderful things to say about Tamara. They talked about her sweetness, her generosity, her devotion to her husband. No one seemed willing to volunteer much about Dr. Hunt except that he seemed to have a fairly successful practice and he dressed well. Glowing comments, Nick thought wryly.

"We going to question Warren Hunt today?" Ted Hysell asked.

Nick swiveled back in his chair, looking at Hysell's eager face gazing at him from the doorway. The guy tried to hide his excitement over the case beneath a stern veneer, but it wasn't working. Even though he'd known Tamara Hunt and supposedly liked her tremendously, he was delighted to be working a murder case. Maybe if Nick had spent ten years on the police force and never encountered a serious case, he'd feel different, too. But Tamara was only slightly younger than Meagan had been, and so much he'd heard about her reminded him of Meagan-Meagan, too, kind and loving and murdered with the world ahead of her.

Hysell's enthusiasm rankled and Nick stared at the man for a moment. He would like to take someone else with him, but Hysell had seniority among the deputies. Nick forced away emotion. "Give Hunt a call and make sure he's home. Don't let him put you off, but don't scare him, either."

"Give him the 'it's just routine' routine, right?"

Hysell beamed at his own clever turn of phrase. Nick nodded, sighing within. Hysell annoyed the hell out of him.

Twenty minutes later they pulled into the Hunt driveway. Nick saw Jimmy Jenkins standing in his own driveway watching avidly while from somewhere outside, his mother bawled reprimands to one of the other children. He waved briefly at Jimmy, who returned something like a salute. Jimmy was a pistol, Nick thought. Bright, funny, obsessed with that smartass TV cop, and seemingly with Paige. Nick didn't mind them being friends. He just didn't want them to be best friends. He wasn't sure Jimmy's influence was all that healthy on an impressionable eleven-year-old girl.

Warren Hunt opened the door promptly. He wore neatly pressed khaki pants, a pale blue oxford shirt, expensive loafers, and CK cologne. He was clean-shaven and his dark brown hair was still damp from the shower, but the whites of his eyes bore a network of red lines and his well-kept hands shook slightly. "Good morning, Sheriff," he said affably, smiling broadly. Then doubt flashed in his eyes and he turned down the smile a notch. "Come in."

"Thanks," Nick said. "This is Deputy Hysell-"

"I knew Tamara," Hysell interrupted. "Lovely girl. I'm a few years older. We met skating. She was better than I was. And pretty as a picture. Sweet, too." Is it possible for this guy to shut his mouth? Nick stormed mentally. "This is a real tragedy, Warren."

Warren Hunt looked blankly at Hysell, clearly having no idea who this chatterbox was. Nick ignored his deputy. "Do I smell coffee?"

Relief shone on Hunt's face. "Yes. Would you like some?"

"Sure would. Black."

"Deputy…"

"Hysell. I'd like some, too. Cream. Or milk, but not too much. No sugar."

When Warren went into the kitchen, Nick forced himself to sound mild. "Hysell, let me do the talking for now." Hysell immediately looked sullen. "I'll give you a signal if I want you to spring something on him."

Some of the deputy's irritation dissipated, although Nick hadn't specified what Hysell was to "spring" on Hunt. It didn't matter. Hysell walked to the fireplace and fell into a deep study of an oil painting hanging above the mantel, an act clearly meant to communicate nonchalance to Hunt.

Warren entered the room carrying two mugs of coffee. Hysell took his with merely a nod. Nick sipped and smiled. "Good." Hunt looked relieved again. Nick sat down on the couch. "Sorry to inconvenience you this morning, Dr. Hunt. I know you're probably busy with funeral arrangements."

Warren took a seat on a wing-backed chair. "Actually Tamara's father and sister are handling all that. They wanted to and I thought it might be therapeutic."

"I see. Well, I just have a few questions for you, things you told me yesterday but I need to confirm." Nick gave him an offhand look. "Everyone was pretty upset after just getting the news. I want to make sure I have everything straight."

"Certainly. I understand." Warren seemed to relax and crossed an ankle over a knee. "How can I help you?"

"I understand that you were attending a three-day convention in Cleveland."

"Yes. It began Thursday morning at nine. I left Wednesday evening and stayed at the Hyatt where the convention was being held. Saturday night we had a banquet. I planned to wrap up a few things Sunday and be back here by five or six o'clock. Then I got the call about Tamara…" He took a deep, shuddery breath.

"Why didn't your wife go with you?"

Warren blinked at him. "What?"

"Why didn't your wife go with you to Cleveland? Wouldn't she have enjoyed shopping, dining out, that kind of thing?"

"No." Warren 's fingers began to tap lightly on the arm of the chair. 'Tamara was shy, almost reclusive. Oh, if the trip had just been a little weekend excursion for the two of us, she would have loved it. But she didn't want to be thrown in the midst of all those people. There was a cocktail party Wednesday night and the banquet Saturday. She hated that kind of thing."

"I see." Nick withdrew a notebook from his pocket and pretended to check it, although he knew its contents by heart. "The banquet was held the night of your wife's murder."

"That's right."

"You sat between Dr. Forbes Evans and Dr. Charles Feldman."

"Yes."

"You arrived at seven and left around ten."

"Yes."

"Hmmm. Well, here I have a problem because Dr. Evans says he returned to his room around eight-ten and you were getting ready to leave."

"Forbes is elderly. He was exhausted and embarrassed about darting away from the banquet so early, so I said I was leaving, too. But I didn't."

"That was considerate of you. But Dr. Feldman says he actually went back upstairs with you at eight-twenty."

Warren 's tapping fingers went still. "He's mistaken."

"His wife says he called her around eight-thirty from his room."

"I don't know when he called his wife, but we did not leave the banquet that early. Anyway, what difference does it make?"

"Time of death, Dr. Hunt. The M.E. places your wife's time of death between eight and ten."

"That's fairly vague."

"Unfortunately in real life they can't be as accurate as on television where the M.E. can place time of death within fifteen minutes." Nick gave him a casual smile. "Impossible."

Warren smiled back woodenly. "Of course."

"Nice ship model you got here," Hysell intervened. Nick had an urge to bash him over the head with something heavy.

Warren Hunt looked completely confused. "Ship model?"

"Here on your mantel. It's the Mercy, isn't it?"

"The Mercy? Why, yes, I believe it is. Had it so long I forgot."

"Did you build it?"

"Build it? No. I have no interest in ships. Tamara picked it up somewhere." He looked at Nick. "Now what's all this about Tamara's time of death?"

Nick took a deep breath, trying to maintain his cool. He'd have a few choice words for Hysell when they got outside. He was also furious with Warren Hunt for playing dumb with him. Did he actually think that would work? "The time of death is very important, Dr. Hunt. You see it's fifty-five miles from here to Cleveland. You could drive that in less than an hour, which means if you and Dr. Feldman left the banquet at eight-twenty, you could have been back in Port Ariel by nine-twenty."

"By nine-twenty? Yes, I suppose I could. But why?" Warren 's eyes widened. "So I could slash my wife's throat?"

"It's a possibility we have to consider," Nick answered calmly.

"But that's preposterous! I was at the hotel all evening."

"Did anyone see you after you left the dining room?"

"I don't know. Surely someone did. A colleague. A maid. I believe I ordered a brandy from room service around eleven. No, that was the night before. Anyway, I called my wife at ten. My message is on our answering machine."

"But you didn't call from your room at the Hyatt. We checked the phone records."

"You did? Why would you do that? Oh, this ridiculous suspicion of me." Warren shook his head as if baffled and slightly amused by Nick's stupidity. "I called from my car phone, Sheriff Meredith."

"That would explain it," Nick said agreeably.

Warren managed another shaky smile. "Yes, you check my car phone records and you'll find a record of the call."

"Good." Nick paused. "Except you said you were in your room all evening."

Warren 's smile disappeared. "Well, I was. But I went out. Briefly." Nick looked at him questioningly. "To see a friend."

"And what would that friend's name be?"

"Is this really important, Sheriff?"

Nick finally gave him a hard stare. "I thought I'd already conveyed its importance, Dr. Hunt. Your wife was murdered last night. We're talking about your alibi."

Warren Hunt's carefully shaved upper lip now sported beads of sweat. "All right. But I'd appreciate your keeping this information confidential." Nick remained silent. "A female colleague- of mine was at the conference. Dr. Lorraine Glover. We decided to meet for a drink at a little bar away from the hotel."

"Why not the hotel bar?"

"We wanted some place more private."

"More private!"

Warren 's face had turned bright red. "Well, you see…" He took a deep breath. "Oh, hell. Now isn't the time for lies. Lorraine and I had an affair two years ago. It's not something I'm proud of. It's the only time I've ever been unfaithful to my wife, but Lorraine and I just… well, we just did something stupid."

"And you were going to do something stupid again?"

"No! It was just a drink for old times' sake. But back when we were having the affair, another psychologist named Henry Simon found out about it. The man is a toad. A dis grace to the profession. Anyway, he'd been after Lorraine for years and he didn't take rejection well. When he found out about the two of us, he told everyone. Lorraine 's husband almost left her."

"And Tamara?"

"She never heard about us."

"Another advantage to her being such a homebody. And a good reason for you not to encourage her to attend the convention."

Warren gave Nick a sickly smile. "Yes. I am guilty of discouraging her from attending these functions. But as I said, all Lorraine and I intended to do was have a drink. We just didn't want to be seen and start the gossip mill again. I was on my way to the bar to meet her when I remembered my ten o'clock call to Tamara, so I called from the car. Our answering machine here at the house recorded the call at 9:57. I returned to the hotel around eleven."

Nick wrote in his notebook mostly to make Warren nervous. "I understand why you didn't want to volunteer that information, but I'll have to ask for more. I need Dr. Glover's address and phone number."

"I can't give you that. It would be a violation of privacy."

Nick looked up. "Dr. Hunt, you still don't seem to comprehend the importance of establishing your whereabouts at the time of your wife's death. Now I understand you wanting to protect this woman's privacy, but given the circumstances, if you refuse to tell me how to contact her so I can verify your story, I'm going to assume you're lying."

"I am not lying."

"Then prove it."

Warren glared at him. A muscle in his jaw flexed. Finally he said, "Okay. But you cannot call her at home. Call her office. I don't know the number, but it's on High Street in Columbus."

Nick jotted down the information then snapped shut his notebook. "Sorry that had to be so difficult."

"So am I," Warren said stiffly. "Is that all?"

"For now." Nick stood. "I know you'll be around if I have any more questions. Hysell, let's be on our way. Dr. Hunt looks tired."

"Sure, Sheriff."

They paused at the door. "Once again, Dr. Hunt," Meredith said, "I'm sorry I had to put you through this. Such an awful thing, particularly with Tamara being pregnant."

Warren Hunt's face went slack. "Pregnant?" he repeated vacantly.

"Why, yes. Eight weeks. Didn't you know?"

Warren opened and shut his mouth twice. On the third try something emerged. "We hoped." Flat. "After all these years."

Hysell took Warren 's hand and shook it vigorously. "A tragedy, Warren. No Tamara, no pitter-patter of little feet."

Color drained from Warren Hunt's face and his eyes seemed to lose their focus for a moment. Nick thought he was going to pass out. Then he stiffened, muttered a curt good-bye, and slammed the door behind them.

"Well, at least we know he didn't know anything about a baby," Hysell said as they walked away from the house. "He didn't strike me as a guy who wanted a baby, either."

After they got in the patrol car and crept away from the curb, Nick opened his mouth to blast Hysell for interrupting his interrogation with that nonsense about the ship model, but Hysell began before Nick could get out a word. "That phone call he made to the house doesn't prove anything-"

"Except that he called his home from his car at 9:57. But, Hysell-"

"Oh, and did you hear him? 'It's the only time I've ever been unfaithful to my wife.' " Hysell imitated Warren 's perfect enunciation. "Bullshit!"

Nick glanced at him. "You know something I don't?"

"I've been hearing rumors about our Dr. Hunt's sex life for years. They're part of the reason Oliver Peyton can't stand him."

"Are they just rumors?"

"No. I've had my own suspicions and they just got verified."

"Now we know he'd had an affair with Lorraine Glover. I'll have to check her out. But, Hysell, I want to talk to you about-"

"Not just that Glover woman! Someone right here in Port Ariel." Nick raised an eyebrow. "You ever heard of Charlotte Bishop? Max Bishop's daughter? Max owns Bishop Corporation. They make parts for boats. He's had a couple of bad strokes, but he still controls the business."

"I know who Max Bishop is, Hysell. Everyone in town knows who Max Bishop is. And Charlotte was married to that actor-"

"Paul Fiori. He plays Eddie Salvatore on Street Life."

Eddie Salvatore. Wasn't that Jimmy Jenkins's hero? He'd have to ask Paige. "What about Charlotte?"

"Fiori dumped Charlotte when he made it big, so she came slinking home a few months ago," Hysell went on confidentially. "Well, one day I saw her coming out of Hunt's office!"

Hysell fell silent after dropping that bombshell. Nick glanced at him. "That's it?"

Hysell looked insulted. "No. About a week later I was at The Hearth with Dee having dinner. Dee Fisher, that's who I've been going out with the last few months. She's a nurse. Got fired from the hospital, but it was all a mistake. She's a lot of fun. We like The Hearth-"

"Hysell!'

"Okay. I went to the rest room. You know the restrooms at The Hearth are back through this long hall. So I'm going back and I see Charlotte and Hunt talking. I wouldn't have thought too much about it, but Hunt lowered his head and took off fast and Charlotte nearly pounced on me. Acted like she was thrilled to see me."

"You know her?"

"Sure. Didn't I say so? Well, actually I was a friend of her brother Bill. Maxwell William Bishop II. Not junior, the second. He was okay, though. I met him in Boy Scouts. He was nothing like Charlotte. She was gorgeous and she knew it. She never forgot she was Max Bishop's daughter, either.

Uppity as all get out. Anyway, her brother Bill got killed in a car wreck a few years ago. A damned shame."

Nick waited. Finally he asked, "What does any of this have to do with Charlotte and Hunt?"

"Yeah, well, when I was a kid, I spent some time at the Bishop house. Charlotte wouldn't wipe her feet on me then. Acted like I was invisible or something. But that night at The Hearth we were just long-lost pals. And she kept going on about how she'd just run into Dr. Hunt. On and on. What do they call that? Protesting too much? That's when I got suspicious. Today the ship model clenched it."

"The ship model?" Nick asked, bewildered.

"The one on Hunt's mantel. That's why I called attention to it. I know you got pissed, me interrupting that way and all, but when I realized what it was, I got all excited and I wanted to hear what Hunt had to say about it when he got taken by surprise. You told me to spring something on him and I did."

"He said the model was something Tamara picked up a long time ago."

"Yeah, sure it was. Listen, that was a model of the Mercy. That's the ship that wrecked off the coast here. Ariel Saunders was this.beautiful young gal who saw the shipwreck and saved the captain, Zebediah Winthrop-"

"I've heard the story about a hundred times since I'we been here."

"Okay. Well, Bill Bishop built a model of the Mercy. That model."

"The one on the mantel?"

"Yeah."

"Hysell, there must be dozens of models of the Mercy around here."

"Sheriff, I helped Bill build that model. We spent weeks on it. Besides, our initials were on it-M. W. B. and `I. Z. H. Charlotte must have given the model to Hunt."

"Are you sure she didn't give it to Mrs. Hunt?"

" Charlotte wouldn't give anything to any woman, much less her dead brother's model ship. I bet if old Max knew it was gone, he'd have one final stroke. He worshipped Bill, and Charlotte was jealous as hell. That's probably why she gave the model away. She could strike back at Daddy and at the same time give Hunt something she thought would mean something to him, something he thought meant something to her."

Nick's opinion of Hysell's powers of observation, deduction, and psychoanalysis were escalating by the minute. Maybe he had a more valuable deputy here than he'd thought. "Wouldn't Mrs. Hunt notice the initials?"

"They were tiny and sort- of hidden. A little faded after all this time. You'd have to really be looking for them. Besides, I can't believe she'd put it all together. Bill has been dead for years, and I'm sure Tamara didn't know my middle name. She wouldn't know who `I. Z. H. was."

"Hysell?"

"Yes, Sheriff?"

"What does the Z stand for?"

Hysell hesitated. He hated answering this one. "Zebediah." He grinned and added sheepishly, "I think everyone in this town is crazy for that Ariel and Zebediah story."

"I got that impression when I heard it twice the first day I was in town." He frowned. "Do you believe Hunt would have asked Tamara for a divorce?"

"He could have, but it probably wouldn't have done him much good. Tamara was a devout Catholic. And she was pregnant. She wouldn't have given in without a fight. Hunt could have gotten a divorce eventually, but not without a lot of time and struggle. And scandal. Charlotte 's already been through all that and it's my guess she wouldn't consider Warren Hunt enough of a prize to go through it again."

"So you think Warren Hunt murdered his wife so he could have Charlotte Bishop?"

Hysell looked surprised. "Maybe, but this situation called for immediate, decisive action."

"And you're saying Warren Hunt isn't capable of that?"

"Let's just say I think Charlotte Bishop is." Hysell paused. "You know, I think Charlotte Bishop is capable of just about anything."