Nora Roberts - High Noon

But this guy, he made her feel like a goddess, like she was indispensable and indestructible. Nothing bad would ever happen to her when he was with her. He'd promised."

"But it did," Glynis said softly. "The worst happened."

"He never contacted you after her death?"

"No."

"Where are her cameras?" Phoebe asked.

"I don't know. She kept them at the mystery man's. She had two, and for a while I checked eBay, the pawnshops, the secondhand stores. Just in case he sold them. It'd be nice to have them back, those pieces of her."

"You'd recognize them?"

"Yeah, at least if I had my hands on one of them I would. She painted this little pink rosebud on the bottom of her equipment. Like a signature. Pink roses were her favorite."

"Pink roses like on the grave where Roy was chained." It was energizing, Phoebe thought, to have that much confirmed. "Lancelot's our guy."

"Yeah. Now we just have to find a blue-eyed hard-body who can cook and lives on the west side. Or did three years ago."

"Add in cop. How does the cop from the west side meet the sad princess from Gaston Street?" Closing her eyes, Phoebe tried to think it through. "She did charity work, attended snazzy events. A lot of cops moonlight as private security. And let's see who's turned in their papers in the last three years-cops between thirty and forty because he's going to be young, and he's not going to have time to pull tours while he's planning his revenge."

"If we're walking down the right road, she would've had that second cell phone on her when she went into the bank. Her personal effects would've gone to the husband."

"Yeah." Missed that step, Phoebe realized, and nodded appreciatively at Liz. "You're right, and if so, he'd have checked the incoming and the outgoing. He'd know. Better let him simmer first, take this other angle. Then we'll go back on him."

Phoebe glanced toward the eastern sky as she got into the car. The storm wasn't going to wait much longer.

"It could be other law enforcement, it could be military, even paramilitary," Phoebe said. "But everything points to cop to me. Gary Cooper-sheriff. He doesn't lose, not Grace Kelly or his honor. That's the way it was supposed to be. But on what could symbolize a wedding day, the day Angela Brentine was reclaiming her independence, taking the next step toward becoming her lover's wife, she's killed in a gun battle. Killed by the bad guys, sure, but also-in the subject's mind-because I stood by-the townspeople-and didn't take action, or didn't allow action to be taken. Guilt by cowardice is part of the theme of the movie."

"You were neither guilty nor cowardly," Dave said.

"To him, I'm both. And he's obsessed about this for three years.

Plenty of time to work it all out. Lancelot not only cuckolded the allpowerful king, but was Guinevere's champion. He saved her when

Arthur could or would not. This guy sees himself as the hero, more importantly, Angela's hero. And he can't accept the failure, or the fate.

There has to be blame. I'm to blame.

"Next, the grave where he killed Roy. Jocelyn Ambucean was a young bride-to-be. She died days before her wedding, drowned in the river during a storm. She was, it's said, running away to Tybee Island and her lover rather than go through with the marriage arranged by her father. He likes the symbols-angel watching the grave-Angela-the grave of a woman running toward true love, the pink roses. He likes giving me clues. He wants, at the end of it, for me to know why. I have to know why for it to matter enough."

"I'll get the names for you."

"Joshua Brentine. He's not going to want to admit his wife was cheating on him. It's insulting and demeaning. His pride is worth a lot more to him than the lives of two strangers, or anyone else who might be a target."

"Admitting isn't the same as confirming." Dave cocked his head. "If he believes you already know."

She smiled. "No, it's not, thank you for reminding me. I believe I can make him think I have more than I do."

"I'll call down, see how long it'll take to get the information you need."

"Thank you. I'm just going to call home while you do that, let them know I might be late."

She stepped out, had barely pulled out her phone when Dave stuck his head out of his office door. "Computers are down in Human Resources. New system, apparently. Could take a few hours."

"Well, Jesus, aren't there paper files?"

"And going through those doing a search like this would probably take longer than waiting for technology to flip back on. Go on home, see your family, get some dinner. They're going to let me know as soon as they're back up."

"All right, all right. Why don't you come on with me? Have some of that dinner, too?"

It was tempting, but she looked exhausted. "Rain check. I'm going to grab a little time at home myself with a beer and the ball game. If you're right on this, it's going to break for us, and break quick. Go recharge a little."

The minute he stepped outside, Dave cursed himself for not tapping Phoebe for a ride home. Even with only three blocks to go, he'd be lucky to get home on foot before the storm hit.

Hell, while he was at it, he might as well curse himself for not taking her up on the dinner invitation. He wanted to see how Ava was holding up for himself. Wanted to see…

Lousy timing, again, he reminded himself. She, all of them, were in the middle of a crisis.

She'd been engaged the first time he met her. He'd had absolutely no business falling in love with her. None. But he had. Hadn't done anything about it, he reminded himself as he hunched his shoulders against the wind. Stayed the family friend. Good old Dave.

Talked himself out of believing he was in love with her, after she'd been married a few years, had a baby. Yeah, he'd talked himself out of it, and gotten married himself.

And Ava got divorced.

Lousy timing, right down the line. With a healthy portion of guilt on his part. Because no matter how much he told himself he'd wanted to make his marriage work, no matter now much he told himself he'd tried his best, he knew there'd always been Ava.

Now, just when he was beginning to think, to hope, maybe, just maybe, she and everyone in MacNamara House were in crisis. What choice did he have but to stay the family friend? Good old Dave, who was heading home to his empty house to nuke a HungryMan.

Cue violins.

The wind whipped along, sending tree limbs bending and swaying as he clipped down the sidewalk, annoyed with his own self-pity. If he'd bothered to pay attention, he could have changed out of his suit into his sweats at least. Then he could've jogged the distance home while he was wallowing.

Lightning slashed through the sky before he'd crossed the first block, and thunder rolled threateningly in its wake.

He quickened his pace at the next pitchfork of lightning, and de cided he might make it home after all without getting electrocuted or drenched.

And at least the wind was cooling things off. The entire day had been oppressive with that heavy, waiting heat.

He could see his house now, imagined shedding the suit, popping the top on that cold beer.

He swung onto his little walkway, bounded toward his door. He heard the quick toot-toot, glanced back. He fixed a smile on his face when he spotted the spiffy red sports car zip toward the curb. Maggie Grant, twice divorced, wanting to flirt. She embarrassed him a bit at the best of times, but just now, he wanted to get in, shut down and take an hour for himself.

He sent her a cheery wave and kept going.

She tooted again-beep-beep-beep, more insistently. Dave stuck the key in his lock, turned it as he gave her another wave. "Yoo-hoo! David! I'm so glad to see you. I need the help of a big, strong man."