Carlene Thompson - Don

"Does she like any females besides Alison?"

"I think she liked Tam."

"Really? Did she know Tam didn't like her?"

"I don't know. Tam was always polite. Too polite. Viveca had begun to push her around. I wish Tam hadn't been so gentle. If she'd had more spirit, she would have left Warren and she wouldn't be dead."

Natalie tensed slightly but forced herself to sound casual. "I thought you were considering that Alison might have killed Tam."

"If she did, it was because of Warren. But Dad won't even consider the idea that she's guilty. He's convinced Warren murdered Tam."

Natalie let silence spin out for a few moments while she and Lily each sipped their drinks and looked at the fireflies glittering around the large lawn. "What do you suppose Alison meant when she said she knew things?" Natalie asked finally.

"Nothing. Alison is crazy."

"But your father looked so upset."

Lily flashed her a stormy look. "Of course he was upset! He's cut to pieces over Tam. Then the day of Tam's funeral here's Alison making a scene, trying to kill herself!"

"That suicide attempt was nothing but melodrama."

"Probably. But she would have hurt herself and she's Viveca's daughter and Dad loves Viveca, although why in God's name I'll never know and…" Lily wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand like a child. "Tam's murder did something to Dad, Natalie. I mean, of course he's devastated with grief, but he's also just different. I can't explain how. I do know he'll never be the same."

"No one is the same after suffering a tragedy."

"You don't understand what I mean."

But Natalie did understand. Tamara had not died in a car wreck or of a disease. She had been viciously murdered, causing something fundamental in Oliver Peyton to change. Was he now capable of murder, too? Is that what Lily was saying?

Lily swiped at more tears. Natalie believed if she pushed her any further, she would fall apart. "I hope you're not going in to work tomorrow, Lily."

"I am. I can't bear sitting around by myself all day."

"We could do something."

"I need to go back to the store, Natalie. I need my routine."

"You look exhausted, but I won't argue with you. Work is the best panacea for some people." Lily didn't answer, her mind clearly elsewhere. "I think I'll go home now. I'm tired."

Lily forced a wan smile. "Thanks for your help today and all through this."

"We're friends. I'm always here for you."

Natalie left Lily sitting on the porch having a second martini. When she got in her car, though, she realized that in spite of her fatigue, she didn't want to go home and thresh out the day with her father. She felt like driving.

The night was cool but still held a note of summer's sultriness. Natalie rolled down the car windows and listened to music as she cruised through the quiet streets of Port Ariel. In winter the downtown section was deserted at night. In summer many stores stayed open and tourists peppered the sidewalks. She noticed three standing in front of the beautifully lighted bay window of Curious Things. Farther down the block a few people trailed into Trudy's Diner. Probably locals, Natalie thought. Tourists liked the more expensive restaurants along the shore, although the food was no better and not so plentiful.

After a while she glanced at the car clock and was surprised to see she'd been driving in a big circle for forty-five minutes. Someone would surely call the police to report a car repeatedly driving by. Besides, she was getting sleepy.

On her way home, Natalie passed The Blue Lady. She slowed down, staring at the big, dark pavilion. "I don't want to be alone anymore, Natalie," she remembered the eerie, disembodied voice saying with a note of threat. "I want you to join me."

She shivered. Who would have hidden in the dance pavilion and threatened her in Tamara's voice? Clearly it couldn't have been Jeff Lindstrom. He could only have enlisted the aid of someone else. Who? That light, lovely voice. She'd already considered Alison. Her voice had the same pitch as Tam's and she'd been around Tamara enough to know how she sounded. Who else could it have been? Dee Fisher, whom her father had accused of stealing drugs and Viveca had suggested as a murder suspect? Natalie vaguely remembered Dee from high school. She'd always been surly and unfriendly. Natalie had barely spoken to her then and had no idea what her voice would sound like now. Maybe she could make it sound like Tamara's.

And of course there was Lily. Who better to imitate Tam's voice but her twin sister? But that was impossible. Why on earth would Lily want to scare her?

She shook her head as if she could shake away the confusion and turned into the driveway. It was empty and the open garage door showed that it was empty inside, too. Her father wasn't home. Earlier he had called Lily and told her he'd given Alison a mild sedative. She was sleeping at home. He wouldn't still be at Viveca's, Natalie thought. Maybe Ruth's. She smiled, trying to think of how he would explain himself if he spent the night. She wouldn't make it easy on him in the morning. She would ask a lot of questions and demand answers, turning the tables. She could almost see him red-faced and stumbling for words, then blustering in outrage.

Natalie climbed from the car and walked to the front door, taking in a deep breath of lake-scented air. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the moon reflected almost perfectly in the still water. In fact, the night seemed unusually quiet, almost breathless, as if it were waiting for something to happen. Something cold and dark settled in Natalie's chest and the nerves along her neck tingled. Something didn't feel right.

Ridiculous. This wasn't The Blue Lady. This was home. She was just tired and her imagination was running away with her. Still, she jangled her keys, trying to find the one that usually came immediately to her fingers. She looked over her shoulder again. A long stretch of empty lawn ran downhill to the moon-silvered water. No one walked along the shore. No sounds or lights came from Harvey Coombs's house a hundred yards away. Nothing was strange, yet she was frightened. She felt as if something in the dark watched and hungered.

Hungered! What had brought that word to mind?

Beads of perspiration were popping out on her forehead when she swung open the door. " Blaine?" she called shrilly. The dog usually raced to greet her. Tonight there was no sign of her. " Blaine!" Quickly she stepped inside, slammed the door and locked it.

"Lock the bad thing out," she muttered breathlessly, then closed her eyes. What was she saying? She sounded like a child. Still, her palms slicked with perspiration and her heart raced.

Finally her cold fingers found the switch for the entrance hall light. She flipped it on and gasped. At her feet lay the black dress she had worn to the wake last night, ripped and torn into an almost unrecognizable mass of cloth. Beside it was a small pool of red. She bent and touched it, then sniffed her finger. The coppery smell of blood.

" Blaine!" she called loudly, springing up on shaking legs. " Blaine, where are you?"

A trail of red spots down the hall toward the bedrooms. Natalie took a few more hesitant steps. Her shoe touched a broken picture frame. She picked it up. The glass was shattered. Inside the twisted frame were scratched remains of a photo of her and the dog Clytemnestra that had sat in her father's study for over twenty years. In the photo her eyes had been gouged out. Just like Tam's, she thought in frozen horror.

A calm, distant voice told her she should turn and leave the house immediately. The voice of reason. Instead she followed the spots of blood like one hypnotized, certain they led to Blaine. Was the dog merely injured? Or was she dead?

Pain shot through Natalie at the thought of the gentle, amber-eyed dog lying motionless as her life drained from a slit throat. Anger followed the pain, white-hot fury at someone who would come into this house and hurt-