Carlene Thompson - Don

"Did you like him?"

"He was okay. Too shy and formal for my taste. Of course, you know me-I always go for the dangerous types that break your heart." She paused. "I hope Viveca didn't break your father's."

"I think she barely fazed him, which must have bruised her ego. Maybe she turned to Eugene because she wasn't having the desired effect on Dad. He's wary of women after Kira. I'm surprised he dated her at all."

Lily shrugged. "Maybe he was just amusing himself or trying to show the town he hadn't turned into some weird old misogynist. By the way, how are he and his new lady friend getting along?"

"I haven't quite gotten a bead on that relationship yet. Dad is being even more cagey than usual. Ruth certainly seems nice."

"You like her."

"Yes. And I don't want Dad to be alone, but he's spent so long dodging serious relationships I don't have a lot of hope."

Lily smiled mischievously. "Well, if things don't work out for them, I want Ruth for Dad."

Natalie glanced up. Viveca stood right behind Lily. She raised a carefully penciled eyebrow and swept away, her head high. Had she been hurt by what she'd overheard or merely insulted? "Lily, Viveca heard that," Natalie murmured.

"Who cares? She knows I don't like her."

The front door opened again. Nick Meredith stepped in. "What do you know?" Lily said. "The heat has arrived."

Natalie excused herself and walked toward Nick. His cheeks were flushed, his gaze restless. "Why did you leave the church so fast?" she asked bluntly.

"Nothing gets by you, does it?"

"I usually notice cars speeding away from funerals. What was it?"

Nick lowered his voice. "I saw Lindstrom."

"At the funeral?" she blurted.

"Don't announce it to the whole room," Nick said. "Yes, at the funeral. I saw him leaving."

"Killers come to funerals."

"Now don't get carried away with all those murder mystery cliches. Sometimes they come to the funeral."

"What other reason could he have?" Natalie asked. "He didn't know Tamara. What excuse did he give you?" She paused. "You did catch him, didn't you?"

"Yes. He said he wants to write a book about the killings. You know-true crime."

"And you believe him?"

"He claimed to be a reporter with the Cincinnati Star. I checked it out. He was a reporter for them until about three weeks ago. The editor said he'd left, but even though the guy wouldn't discuss details, I got the impression Lindstrom was fired."

"So he lied. What about the earring?"

"He says he found it on the road. Thought it might be Tamara's, was going to bring it to me, but when he got home he didn't have it. And he didn't mean to scare you out on that road. Says he was just curious. Also got a little carried away with himself because you're pretty and he didn't want to end the conversation."

"My looks had nothing to do with the way he was acting, Nick."

"Probably not. Not to underestimate your considerable looks."

"I wasn't fishing for a compliment."

"I know. If you had been, I wouldn't have given you one."

Natalie grinned. "Goodness, you're a hard case."

"Tough as nails, lady."

"What about Mrs. Bishop saying she saw him talking to Charlotte?"

"Mrs. Bishop didn't say she saw Lindstrom. She just gave a vague description of someone resembling him. Of course, he says he didn't know Charlotte and didn't have any interest in her at that time."

"Why no interest?"

"She wasn't a corpse, yet. Anyway, after all this bullshit he had the damned nerve to ask if he could be part of the investigation. Promised me an acknowledgment in his book."

"And your heart of steel melted."

"I was putty in his hands."

"The truth, please."

"I told him if he didn't butt out, I'd have him arrested."

"Do you think you scared him off?"

"Hell, no. He knows I can't stop him from asking people questions, and so far that's all he's done."

"So far?" ¦

"I've met a hundred guys like him, Natalie. He's a sleaze, but he's cool enough under pressure to tell lies without blinking an eye. I don't trust him."

"You don't trust who?"

Natalie and Nick looked up at Alison. They were both so startled by her smiling face they stared. "Cat got your tongues?" she asked archly. "Do you like cats? I do."

"I have a cat," Nick said, then looked surprised at the sound of his perky voice. He sounded as if he were speaking to a child. "His name is Ripley."

Alison frowned. "Why Ripley?"

"She wasn't supposed to, but my daughter saw the movie Aliens. It scared the daylights out of her, but she loved the main character Ripley."

Alison looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Sigourney Weaver played Ripley. Ripley is a woman. Wow, didn't you get that?" Nick colored as Alison's voice rose. "Your male cat is named after a woman!"

"My daughter liked the name," he muttered. "I don't believe she really thinks about sex."

Alison leaned toward him confidentially. "All girls think about sex."

"My daughter is eleven," Nick returned stiffly.

"Far beyond the age of innocence," Alison sneered. She winked at Natalie. "Am I right?"

Natalie was flummoxed. "I guess it depends on the girl."

"Well, with a mother like mine…" Alison rolled her eyes. "Hey, what's the difference between a whore and a courtesan?"

"A… what?" Nick blundered.

"C-O-U-R-T-E-S-A-N," Alison spelled loudly. "So? Anyone know?"

"I… well…" Natalie longed for another good, stiff drink. Nick looked like he was considering plunging out a window. Alison gazed at them with a twelve-year-old's innocent face and avid, ferreting eyes. "Let's talk about something else," Natalie managed finally. "You said you like cats. What about dogs? I have a dog."

"I love animals, but my mother never let me have one. I know about yours, though. You have the dog that stayed with Tamara when she died. I'm not supposed to know that." She gave each of them a canny look. "However, I know all kinds of things I'm not supposed to know."

"Alison, darling, I've been looking for you." Viveca appeared behind her daughter, placing her hands on each of Alison's thin shoulders. "Have you had anything to eat?"

AH the air seemed to flow out of Alison. "I'm not hungry-"

"Nonsense. There is some lovely foie gras-"

"I-am-not-hungry," Alison said through clenched teeth. "You only want me to eat so I'll be quiet."

"Darling, that's not true-"

Alison uttered a guttural sound and flung away. Viveca looked at Nick and Natalie, shrugged, and emitted a high pitched trill of laughter before darting after her daughter. "Good God," Nick muttered.

"Never a dull moment around here. My father dated Viveca. Alison could have been my stepsister."

"What saved you?"

"Viveca dumped Dad for Eugene Farley, then Eugene for Oliver. I think she might marry Oliver. Lily will be furious. She hates Viveca."

Nick frowned. "Tell me about her husband."

"Alison's father was Damon Cosgrove." Nick's eyebrows raised. "Yes, the writer. Two critically acclaimed best sellers. Then the poor sap came to his aunt's summer cottage in Port Ariel and met Viveca. They married, had Alison, and he never published another book. Not even a short story."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. Maybe he was just one of those writers who only has one or two books in them. Or maybe he felt overwhelmed by Viveca. I think she was about ten years younger than he but still quite the femme formidable, as my Grandmother St. John would say. Damon died when Alison was five or six. He was electrocuted to death in front of her."

Nick cringed, thinking of a five-year-old Paige seeing something so ghastly. "Viveca blames Alison's problems completely on the accident," Natalie continued, "but I've heard she wasn't exactly a well-adjusted child before it happened." She took a deep breath. "And now I'm guilty of pernicious gossip but I comfort myself with the thought that the more you know about us, the quicker you might find the killer."