Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author
SHERRYL WOODS

“Sherry Woods writes emotionally satisfying novels….

Truly feel-great reads!”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber

“Compulsively readable…

Though the serious issues raised are handled with honesty and integrity, Woods’s novel easily rises above hot-button topics to tell a universal tale of friendship’s redemptive power.”

—Publishers Weekly on Mending Fences

“Woods’s latest entry in her Sweet Magnolias series (after Stealing Home) is sure to please fans and entice new readers with…flesh-and-blood characters, terrific dialogue and substantial stakes.”

—Publishers Weekly on A Slice of Heaven

“Sherryl Woods always delivers a fast, breezy, glamorous mix of romance and suspense.”

—New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz

“Redolent with Southern small-town atmosphere, this emotionally rich story deals with some serious issues and delivers on a number of levels.”

—Library Journal on A Slice of Heaven

“Sherryl Woods…writes with a very special warmth, wit, charm and intelligence.”

—New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham

“Sweetly satisfying, clever characters and snappy, realistic dialogue…a delightful read.”

—Publishers Weekly on About That Man

“Sherryl Woods gives her characters depth, intensity, and the right amount of humor.”

—RT Book Reviews

Along Came Trouble

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR

Sherryl Woods

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Dear Friend,

I’m so thrilled that you’re getting a chance to know everyone in Trinity Harbor now that this series is back in print. To everyone’s shock, murder and mayhem are currently the talk of the town. This time Tucker’s the one stirring up trouble, which isn’t exactly the smartest thing for a county sheriff to be doing. Naturally King Spencer, Tucker’s father, is in an uproar, but thankfully King’s own love life is in so much chaos, he can only do so much interfering in Tucker’s.

I hope you’ll enjoy this final installment in the saga of the Spencers. I have loved getting to know the residents of Trinity Harbor and sharing them with you, just as I have thoroughly enjoyed hearing from so many of you. That the books made you laugh and made you cry says that the Trinity Harbor folks came to mean as much to you as they did to me.

All best,

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A special thanks to

the real Westmoreland County Sheriff Buddy Jackson, who provided invaluable technical, departmental and jurisdictional information. Sadly, in 2008 Westmoreland County lost this outstanding law enforcement official to lung cancer. My thoughts and prayers are with his wife, artist Diane Jackson, and all of his colleagues.

And, as always, my undying appreciation to editor Joan Marlow Golan, who not only stepped in to guide the entire Trinity Harbor trilogy when it was first released, but who has taken me on once again.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

Prologue

R obert “King” Spencer eyed the silent telephone beside his chair, willed it to ring, and muttered a curse when it didn’t. He’d never thought he would live to see the day when he actually wanted to fend off a dozen callers reporting trouble with one of his kids, but that day had come. With Daisy and Bobby settled down, it was past time for Tucker, his oldest, to start raising a ruckus around town.

Of course, as sheriff, Tucker was more prone to squelching trouble than stirring it up, but even a saint had an off-day every now and then. It was way past time for some woman to come along and lead Tucker astray, but as far as King knew, Tucker hadn’t even had a date in months now. Worse, King’s elder son didn’t seem to give two hoots that he had no social life to speak of.

As for trouble, there had never been so much as a whiff of scandal in that boy’s life with the possible exception of the time Mary Elizabeth Swan, his childhood sweetheart, had taken up with an outsider and left Tucker pining away for her. Folks in Trinity Harbor had had a field day with that one, but they’d been sympathetic to Tucker, and eventually the talk had died down out of respect for his feelings.

King should have been proud that his elder son was an honorable man who people looked to as an example, but the truth was, he found it frustrating. A man had to stir things up once in a while or life just passed him by. King considered starting a few rumors of his own, just to get the ball rolling. If nothing else, that would bring Tucker flying out to Cedar Hill to deny them…which would give King an opportunity to deliver a long-overdue lecture on marriage and family.

King was not a patient man. Okay, that was a massive understatement. He liked to be in control, liked to make things happen on his own timetable. He did not like having his plans foiled again and again by the streak of stubbornness that ran wide through his own children. Right now his plan included grandbabies, a whole dynasty of Spencers.

He had one flesh-and-blood grandson, for all the good it did him. J. C. Gates had been kept from Bobby and from King for years. Some of that had been King’s own doing, so he could hardly complain now that the boy still hadn’t warmed up to him. J.C. was as cautious and fractious as a spooked horse around his own daddy, never mind King. But Bobby was both patient and determined that the boy’s attitude would change with time. King was counting on it.

In addition to J.C., there were four more little hellions King could claim, even if they didn’t have Spencer blood running through their veins. Daisy’s adopted son, Tommy, was turning into a fine boy, now that Daisy and Walker had taken a firm hand with him. And Bobby’s stepdaughter, Darcy, was a pistol. She looked real cute, too, now that her dyed-green hair had grown out. King was as proud of his two ready-made grandkids as if they were his own flesh and blood. He felt the same way about Walker’s two sons, even though they all saw precious little of them, since the boys lived down in North Carolina with their mama.

But even with all the commotion that brood had brought into his life, King wanted a new generation of full-fledged Spencers he could educate in tradition from the very beginning. He wanted a generation who’d grow up and see to things in Trinity Harbor, Virginia, the way King and his ancestors had from the beginning of time in this little town on the Potomac River. Spencers had a duty and an obligation to folks around here to keep things running smoothly.

Since Daisy and Bobby didn’t seem to be in the slightest hurry to give him grandbabies, that left Tucker. Unfortunately, his son seemed to be aware of King’s intentions. Tucker had been giving his father a wide berth for weeks now, making up excuses to avoid Sunday dinner at the farm and the pointed questions that King tended to serve along with the fried chicken and mashed potatoes.

Worse, King hadn’t been able to corner him in town or at the sheriff’s office over in Montross. Tucker was getting to be as slippery as some of those criminals he was always going on and on about.

Now, it was possible that Tucker was trying to crack a big case, but King doubted it. The kind of “big” cases that turned up around here tended to begin and end with a drunk-and-disorderly charge or a traffic citation. Oh, there had been that drug business a couple of years back, and an occasional shoplifting incident or shooting, but all in all, the county was fairly quiet and serene. Which should have left plenty of time for Tucker to pursue a woman, in King’s opinion.

“I guess that means it’s up to me,” King said aloud. “Again.”

He managed to pull off a resigned tone, but anyone looking would no doubt have seen the glint of anticipation in his eyes. There was nothing on earth that King liked better than a little well-intentioned meddling, especially when it came to romance. He glanced across the room at the silver-framed photos Daisy and Bobby had given him last Christmas. They both had fine-looking families, thanks to him.

Yes, indeed, a little lively romance was exactly what Tucker needed. And King was getting darn good at providing it, if he did say so himself. He’d get on it first thing in the morning.

1

T ucker stood in the doorway of his bedroom and wondered why in hell there was a woman in his bed.

Unless, of course, he was hallucinating. After the kind of day he’d had, that wasn’t out of the question. He blinked hard and looked again. Nope, she was still there. Practically buck naked and gorgeous.

Okay, then, he thought, deeply regretting that he hadn’t had one last cup of coffee. He rubbed a hand over his face and tried to get his brain to kick in with the kind of quick thinking for which he was known in law enforcement circles. The woman was a reality. That still didn’t give him the first clue about what she was doing in his house and, more specifically, in his bed.

He certainly hadn’t invited her to share that king-size space, not in years, anyway. He hadn’t even known she was there until he’d walked in the house, dead tired from working a double shift and ready for bed himself. If he hadn’t flipped on the bedroom lights, he might have crawled in beside her, which wouldn’t have been altogether a bad thing under other circumstances.

As it was, he was simply standing here, mouth gaping as if he’d never seen a half-naked woman before…especially this particular woman.

Last he’d heard, Mary Elizabeth Swan had wanted nothing further to do with him. In fact, the last he’d read on the front page of the Richmond Times-Dispatch, she was marrying the local delegate to the Virginia house of delegates. Though that was far from the last occasion on which her name had appeared in print, it was the last time Tucker had permitted himself to read any article that mentioned her. He had to skip quite a bit in the local weekly—to say nothing of entire pages in the feature section of the Richmond paper when the house of delegates was in session.

It sometimes seemed to him as if Liz, as she preferred to be called these days, was on the board of every cultural institution in the entire state. Her picture—always taken at some fancy shindig requiring designer clothes—leapt out at him at least once a week, reminding him with heart-stopping clarity of just how susceptible he was to any glimpse of that flawless face and tawny mane of hair.

Of course, he sometimes had a hard time reconciling those sophisticated images with the girl he’d fallen for on a schoolyard playground the day she’d pummeled a nine-year-old boy for trying to sneak a peek at her panties while she’d been scrambling up a tree. Mary Elizabeth had been a tomboy back then, and while she’d eventually outgrown tree climbing, she’d never outgrown her go-for-broke enthusiasm for life. Not while she’d been with him, at any rate. She’d looked depressingly sedate in those newspaper pictures, however, so maybe she’d changed now that she was going on thirty and a force to be reckoned with in Richmond society.

Tucker had finally taken to tossing the feature section aside just to avoid the temptation to sit and stare and brood about what might have been…what should have been. What kind of pitiful excuse for a man couldn’t get a woman out of his system after six years and a steady diet of gushing reports about the wildly successful man she’d chosen over him?

Lawrence Chandler had high-tech millions and political ambitions. Mary Elizabeth, who’d been born right here in Westmoreland County, came from generations of Virginia blue blood. She’d inherited Swan Ridge, her grandfather’s estate overlooking the Potomac. A cynic might have wondered if that stately old house with its manicured lawn and sweeping views hadn’t been as much a lure for Chandler as Mary Elizabeth herself. New money seeking old respectability, as it were.

Be that as it may, it was a marriage made in political heaven. If Tucker had heard that once, he’d heard it a hundred times, usually right before people realized they were saying it to the prior man in Mary Elizabeth’s life, the one who’d loved her since childhood, the one who’d expected to marry her. Then they’d slink away, looking embarrassed or—even worse—pitying.

According to all those same reports, Chandler intended to be governor by forty, bypass Congress and head straight for the White House by fifty. Not one single political pundit seemed to doubt him.

But he wasn’t likely to pull that off, Tucker concluded, if people discovered that his wife was sleeping just about bare-assed in the bed of a small-town sheriff who had once been her lover.

Tucker might have gloated over this turn of events, but he’d been a sheriff a long time now. Things were seldom what they seemed. He doubted Mary Elizabeth had come crawling back because she realized she’d made a terrible mistake six years ago and wanted to rectify it tonight.

Nope, one glimpse at her pale complexion, at what looked like dried tears on her cheeks and the dark smudges under her eyes, and he concluded that she was here because there was some kind of trouble and for some reason she was desperate enough to turn to him. The thought of the strong woman he’d once known being vulnerable and needy shook him as much as her unexpected presence.

He needed to think about this, and he couldn’t do it in the same room with a woman who’d once made his blood roar just by glancing at him with her stunning violet eyes. Mary Elizabeth in a tangle of sheets with only one of his T-shirts barely covering her pretty much rendered him incoherent. She always had, and judging from the way his body was reacting right now that hadn’t changed.

Tucker retreated to the kitchen and poured himself a stiff drink, thought about it and made it a double. He had a feeling he was going to need it before the night was over.

Liz stretched, then froze as a barrage of ugly memories crashed over her. For one instant, for one brief moment, she’d forgotten everything that had happened the night before. She’d forgotten the discovery that had brought her running to a man she’d abandoned years ago, the only person on earth she could trust to help her.

If he would.

He had to, she told herself staunchly. Tucker was not the kind of man to turn his back on someone in trouble, even someone he hadn’t spoken to in years, someone who’d hurt him. Tucker was the most honorable man she’d ever known. She was counting on that mile-wide streak of Spencer integrity to come through for her, even if she didn’t deserve it.

She hadn’t expected to sleep at all when she’d gotten here. In fact, she’d expected to spend endless hours answering questions, but with no sign of Tucker on the premises, she’d been left all alone in the dark with her nerves rattled and her thoughts scrambling. She’d waited for a while on the porch, but eventually exhaustion and fear had taken their toll. She had gone inside the unlocked house—a testament to Tucker’s faith in his own law-enforcement skills—in search of a much-needed shower to cleanse away all signs of the night’s events.

Then she’d found one of his T-shirts tossed over the back of a chair, slipped it on and, like a child seeking the safety of a familiar place, had crawled into Tucker’s bed to wait for him, uncertain what shift he was working or even whether he would be home at all. For all she knew, he could be spending his nights in another woman’s arms.

Now, judging from the soft gray light spilling in the windows, she’d slept through the night. Alone, which was as it should be.

Some sixth sense told her that she might be alone in Tucker’s bed, but she was not by herself. She rolled over and looked straight into eyes that were as familiar to her as her husband’s. More familiar, in some ways.

Tucker regarded her with a cool, penetrating gaze that seemed to see straight into her soul. She wondered if he could see the turmoil, if he could read just how terrified she was…how relieved that he was finally there, even if his expression was far from friendly.

“Welcome back seems a little inappropriate,” Tucker said with the wry humor that Liz had once decried because it kept her at a distance.

She studied his face, noted the new lines fanning away from the corners of his crystal-blue eyes, the furrow in his forehead that meant he’d spent most of the night thinking hard about how to cope with her unexpected presence. She wanted to touch him, wanted to smooth away that furrow and tell him not to worry, but that was out of the question. He had every reason to worry. She was about to draw him into a quagmire.

Not only was she—the woman who had once dumped him—suddenly back in his bed, but she was in more trouble than even Tucker Spencer with his keen intelligence, sterling moral streak and investigative skills was likely to be able to fix. But, God help her, she needed him to try…for both their sakes.

“Why are you here?” he asked, when she said nothing.

Liz wished she had the kind of simple answer he seemed to expect. “It’s complicated,” she began finally.

“Not good enough,” Tucker said flatly.

His inscrutable gaze never once left her face, not even to stray to the ample amount of bare skin revealed by his twisted, hiked-up T-shirt. She shivered at the sudden chill in the air and drew the sheet tightly around her, embarrassed by her indecent exposure. Once it wouldn’t have mattered, but now it did. Things between them had changed. Much as she might hate it, it was an undeniable fact.

She had to fight to blink back the tears that threatened. She wouldn’t—she couldn’t—cry. If she started, she might never stop. She had made such a mess of things—of her relationship with Tucker, of her marriage, of her life. Right now, though, she had to concentrate on one thing…finding out what had happened last night and who was responsible.

“Still have that rigid self-control, I see,” she said, covering her nerves with sarcasm, even at the risk of alienating the only friend she was likely to have in Trinity Harbor, where people might have voted for her husband but had been slow to forgive her for the choice she’d made between Tucker and an outsider.

“It’s gotten me through the rough spots,” he replied evenly.

“Meaning what I did to you,” she said, regretting that they hadn’t had this particular conversation years ago and gotten it out of the way. But Tucker, stoic and disdainful, had refused to let her explain anything back then. He’d said it was enough that she was turning her back on everything they’d shared. He hadn’t wanted to know the details, hadn’t wanted to understand her reasons for choosing Larry over him. Maybe he’d been right. Maybe none of them were good enough to make what she’d done forgivable. Maybe he hadn’t needed to know how deeply she regretted having hurt him.

In the years since, even though they lived within miles of each other for part of the year, she’d done her best to stay out of his path. She’d figured she owed him that much. And if she hadn’t come to that conclusion on her own, King Spencer had made it a point to remind her every time they’d crossed paths. She’d made a powerful enemy there, no doubt about it.

“Is our breakup the rough spot you’re talking about?” she asked.

“That was one thing,” he agreed.

It saddened her that there might have been more, that he’d suffered losses, endured crises, she’d known nothing about. “And the others?”

“Liz, you’re not here to catch up on old times,” Tucker said with a hint of impatience. “Why are you here, instead of over at Swan Ridge? Where the hell are your clothes? What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into, and last—but hardly least—why aren’t you turning to your husband for help?”

She shivered again at the cold glint in his eyes and wondered if she’d made a dreadful mistake in coming here. Tucker was, after all, the sheriff. His first obligation would be to the law, not to her. But instinct had brought her to Tucker, and desperation would keep her from leaving. She needed help that he could provide…if he would. It all came down to that.

“I’m afraid Larry can’t help me with this one,” she told him.

“Why not?”

She risked a look into those hard, unyielding eyes, praying that Tucker would forgive her for the past, praying even harder that he would help her despite it.

“Because he’s dead,” she said, then added before she could lose her nerve, “and everyone’s going to think I killed him.”

2

W ell, hell, Tucker thought, as Mary Elizabeth’s explanation hit him in the gut. He should have known she wasn’t here to rekindle an old flame. He had known it. A part of him just hadn’t wanted to believe it. A part of him, overcome with that same old uncontrollable lust, hadn’t given two figs why she was back. He was going to have to try really, really hard to ignore that part of him, at least until he knew what the devil was going on.

If Chandler was dead, why hadn’t he heard about it? Surely it would have been big news. She couldn’t possibly be telling him it had just happened, could she?

“When did he die?” he asked, trying to ignore the fact that tears were welling up in her eyes and that she was doing her best to keep them from spilling down her cheeks. Mary Elizabeth had always hated to let anyone see her cry, especially him.

“Sometime yesterday, I think. I’m not sure.”

He stared at her incredulously. “You don’t know?”

“I went to Swan Ridge last night about eleven,” she began.

The news just got worse and worse, Tucker concluded. “Am I hearing you right? It happened here, in Trinity Harbor?” he demanded as the ramifications of that slammed into him. He had a dead politician in his jurisdiction and no one knew about it. Dear God, what had Mary Elizabeth been thinking?

She nodded at his harsh question. “Yes. I…” She swallowed hard. “I found him. And then I came here.”

“Damn it, Mary Elizabeth, have you lost your mind?” Tucker exploded before he could stop himself.

Now the tears were more than she could fight. A steady torrent of them streamed down her cheeks, and Tucker’s heart flipped over. He fought the reaction and stayed right where he was.

“I didn’t know where else to go, what else to do,” she whispered.

She sounded more frightened and helpless than she’d ever sounded in her life, at least around him. Bravado had been ingrained in her from the day she’d arrived to live with her grandfather, a little girl who’d just lost her parents and been left with a man who was a virtual stranger.

“Did you think for one single second about calling the police?” he asked, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice, but not really succeeding.

She stared at him with those huge, watery eyes. “You are the police.”

Tucker raked a hand through his hair and muttered a curse. Okay, first things first. “You’re sure he’s dead?”

She nodded, her expression bleak.

He wanted to relent, to reach for her and hold her until those uncharacteristic tears dried up, but he steeled himself against that reaction. He needed to be a cop first, a friend second, at least until he knew more. It might seem cold and unfeeling, but it was the best way to help her.

And to protect himself, he thought bitterly. He couldn’t let himself forget for one single second that he’d been burned once by this very same woman. Lust aside, he couldn’t let himself trust her, not for a minute. She could have come here just to muddy the hell out of any investigation by the local authorities. Maybe she wanted the state police on the case, for some reason—they would take over if there was any question about whether the sheriff’s department had a conflict.

“Did you do it?” he asked, leveling a look straight into her eyes. He would know if she was lying, had always been able to tell, not because she was lousy at it, but because he could see into her soul. He knew her inside out, knew what she was capable of. Or at least he’d once thought he did, and she’d let him believe it, right up until the day she’d announced her engagement to Chandler. He’d missed that one coming.

Now there was a flicker of hurt in her eyes at the question, but then she responded, her tone as cool and impersonal as his. “No.”

Tucker held her gaze, but she never once wavered, never even blinked. Something that felt a lot like relief—or maybe more like cautious optimism—rushed through him. “Okay, then, why don’t I make some coffee and you can tell me what’s going on.”

At least that would get her into some clothes and out of this bedroom. Maybe then he’d be able to concentrate, act like a policeman instead of a frustrated ex-lover who wanted to jump the bones of a potential murder suspect.

She seemed surprised. “Just like that?”

He shot her a rueful look. “You knew how I’d react. That’s why you’re here and not at the station over in Montross.”

“That’s one of the reasons,” she conceded.

“And the others?”

She sighed. “Maybe we’d better save that discussion for another time.”

Since Tucker’s supposedly rigid self-control had been weakening for the last ten minutes, he knew better than to press her on that. One tiny hint that she was back here because of him, because of something personal, and he’d be in that bed and all over her. It seemed like a really bad idea to go that route, especially if someone had very recently killed her husband.

Which, he noted as he headed for the kitchen to make the coffee, she didn’t seem to be all that broken up about. She was scared and shaken, not grief-stricken. He was going to have to ask her about that. Hell, he had so many questions, they might not get out of the house for days.

While the coffee brewed and he waited for Mary Elizabeth to join him, he called the station and told the dispatcher that he wouldn’t be in.

“Until later?” she asked, sounding stunned.

“No, I won’t be in at all,” he told her, understanding her shock. He hadn’t taken a day off in weeks, if not longer. Work had been his refuge, especially since Bobby’s wedding. He knew that he was on his father’s shortlist of projects. Staying out of King’s path had seemed like a good idea. “Until further notice, I am officially on leave.”

“Well, good,” Michele said, rallying. “It’s about time. I hope she’s gorgeous.”

“This is not about a woman,” Tucker said very firmly.

“Yeah, right. It’s always about a woman when a workaholic male finally takes time off out of the blue and in the middle of the week.”

“Well, this time it’s not,” he said, lying through his teeth. The last thing he needed was word getting around that he was holed up at home with a woman. Until he knew what was going on with Mary Elizabeth, he had a hunch no one should know she was even in town, much less hiding out at his place. He told himself he was gathering evidence, not hindering an investigation in which he already knew he would have no formal role. He needed an hour, two at most, to get a firm grip on what the hell was going on. After that, he’d go the official, by-the-book route.

“Have fun,” Michele said cheerily, clearly not believing him.

Tucker hung up on her. He looked up to find Mary Elizabeth regarding him with amusement.

“Haven’t taken much time off lately?”

“No.” He poured two mugs of coffee and handed one to her. He surveyed her from her tousled, subtly frosted brown hair to the pink tips of her perfect toes, noting the shadows in her eyes and the fact that she was wearing another one of his shirts and not much else. “I asked this before, but I think maybe I ought to ask it again— Where are your clothes?”

“In the trash,” she said with a shudder.

He stared. “Why? Please don’t tell me there’s blood all over them.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you that,” she said.

Tucker was forced to admire the stubborn, defiant jut of her chin. He’d leave the issue of the bloody clothes for later. As long as they were in his trash, whatever evidence they might provide was safe enough.

“Are you hungry? The cupboard’s pretty bare, but I can manage eggs or cereal.”

“Nothing for me. You go ahead.”

“I had breakfast earlier, while I was waiting for you to wake up.” He handed her the coffee, noticed that her hand shook as she accepted it. She was not nearly as composed as she wanted him to believe.

She met his gaze. “Then I guess there’s nothing left but to deal with all those questions racing around in your head.”

“Just one question for starters,” he corrected. “What happened?”

“If only the answer were as simple as the question,” she said. She took a sip of coffee, then another, clearly not anxious to get into it. She set the mug on the table; then, as if desperate for something to do with her hands, she picked it up again.

“There are lots of starting places,” he told her. “The beginning. The end. Anyplace in between.”

Still she hesitated. The color in her cheeks faded and her eyes took on a faraway look, as if she’d retreated to a place where her world had come crashing down.

“I found him in my grandfather’s library, in a chair in front of the TV. The news was on. The anchor was talking about some fireman who’d rescued a cat from a roof.” She met Tucker’s gaze, looking lost. “Funny how I can remember something like that, but I can’t remember what it felt like to love my husband.”

She sounded so pitiful, looked so fragile, that once again Tucker fought the temptation to reach for her, to offer any sort of comfort. Years of training as a cop told him to sit perfectly still, to wait her out until the whole story had come spilling out. Years of loving her made that almost impossible. His fingers tightened around his own mug of coffee and he waited.

“I thought he was asleep at first, but he was a light sleeper. Usually the slightest sound brought him wide awake. When I spoke to him and he didn’t answer, I knew something was wrong. I knew…” Her voice shook, then steadied. “Somehow I just knew that he was dead.”

“Did you call for a doctor? An ambulance?”

She shook her head. “I started to. I really did. I walked closer to get the portable phone beside him. That’s when I saw it.”

“Saw what?”

“The bullet hole.” She shuddered. “In his chest. And the blood. There was so much of it. The bullet must have hit an artery or something. I touched him. His eyes were wide open and he was cold.” Her gaze sought Tucker’s. “That means he’d been dead a long time, right?”

“Probably,” Tucker agreed. “Was it a suicide?”

She shook her head. “Definitely not his style.”

“That’s not an explanation that’s going to wash with the police. Any man’s style can change if he’s feeling desperate enough.”

“Okay, then, there was no gun.” She regarded Tucker with a helpless look. “That means he had to have been murdered, right? There’s no other explanation.”

“You’re sure about the gun? Think, Mary Elizabeth. Could it have fallen on the floor, slid under the chair?”

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes at his harsh tone. “I looked,” she whispered. “I looked everywhere, and then I realized that someone had shot him and that I was going to be the first person everyone thought of. I panicked. All I could think about was coming here and telling you, letting you figure out what happened.”

“Why would anyone think you’d done it?” he asked, even though he knew that the spouse was the most likely suspect in a case like this, at least until things had sorted themselves out and more clues had been uncovered.

“Because I was leaving him for good.”

Tucker was as shocked by that as he had been by her announcement that Chandler was dead. “You were?”

She nodded. “It was a well-kept secret that we were having problems. I’d moved out of the Richmond house months ago.”

“You didn’t come back here,” he said. He would have known, would have heard if she’d been back at Swan Ridge alone. If nothing else, King would have warned him away from her.

“No, I traveled with a friend. Larry told everyone I was taking an extended vacation, that he’d planned to go along but that pressing matters in Richmond had kept him here.”

“Any of that reported in the media, any speculation that you two were splitting?”

“No. His press secretary was very careful. He knew Larry would fire him if so much as a hint leaked out.”

“Okay, then, if everything was so hushed up, what makes you think people would suspect you of killing him?”

“I got back to town two days ago. I’d made up my mind to end things. We went to dinner in Richmond, and I told him it was over. We had a really nasty, very public brawl. I had thought it would be better if I told him in public, that he wouldn’t risk a scene because of the political ramifications, but I was wrong. He went crazy. He started accusing me of cheating on him.”

“Were you?”

“Of course not,” she retorted. “I couldn’t believe the lies that came pouring out of his mouth. He didn’t believe a word he was saying. He was just trying to give me a taste of what it would be like if I went through with a divorce. He wanted me to see that my name would end up being dragged through the mud.” She shuddered. “People were staring, starting to whisper. It was obvious that he was already off to a good start at ruining me to save his own political career.”

“So there were a lot of witnesses to this scene?” Tucker said. “Anyone you knew?”

“I don’t know. I was too humiliated to look around. It was a restaurant that’s popular with the movers and shakers in Richmond, so I imagine it’s a safe bet that there were people there we knew. Why?”

His mind was already whirling in a dozen different directions. That scene couldn’t have done a better job of setting Mary Elizabeth up to take a fall. “Because if one of them had a grudge against your husband and wanted him out of the picture, you had just handed him the perfect opportunity to arrange it and throw greater-than-usual suspicion on you.”

She looked shaken by his assessment. “Greater than usual?” she repeated in a whisper.

“You knew you’d be under suspicion,” he said. “You said that was why you’d come to me.”

“I know. Hearing you say it, though…” Her voice trailed off. “I’m scared, Tucker.”

Again, he fought the temptation to offer comfort. She needed real help more than she needed empty reassurances. “Let’s get all the facts on the table, okay? How did Chandler end up at Swan Ridge? Did he come back here with you after dinner that night?”

“No. I told him I was coming here and that he should stay in Richmond, that I didn’t want him anywhere near me.”

“He agreed?”

“He said he’d stay in Richmond and come down here later to pick up a few things. I made it a point to be out of the house all day yesterday to avoid another confrontation.”

“Where? Were you with anyone?”

She shook her head. “I took the boat out.”

“And stayed on the water till eleven?” he asked skeptically.

“No, till dusk.”

“Where do you keep the boat?”

“At the marina at Colonial Beach. I didn’t think we should keep it here because of…well, you know.”

“Because my brother owns the marina,” Tucker said, realizing anew in just how many small ways they had managed to keep their lives from intersecting. “What did you do next?”

“I stopped over there and had dinner.”

“Did you see anyone you knew?”

“No. The restaurant was almost empty.”

“Would the waitress remember you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. We talked about her daughter and the trouble she’s having in school and about standardized testing. I know a lot about it, because it’s one of Larry’s campaign issues.”

“Did you mention Larry? Did she realize he was your husband?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. His name never came up.”

“What time did you leave there?”

“Around ten-thirty, maybe a little later.”

“Then what?”

“I drove home. When I got to Swan Ridge, his car was in the driveway, so I knew he was inside. I almost turned around and left, but I didn’t want to act like a coward, not in my own home.”

“So you went in, and that’s when you found him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have help working at the house?”

“Just Mrs. Gilman, but she only works when I call her. I hadn’t let her know that I was back in town.”

“Is that unusual? Wouldn’t you normally call her to get the place ready for your return? Maybe to go in and dust, stock the refrigerator, whatever?”

Her face paled. “Yes, but I…I didn’t this time.”

Tucker could see exactly how suspicious that would look to a jury. “Why?”

“I was too upset after I saw Larry that night. I came straight down here without calling. I just wanted to get away from him, to be alone.” Her gaze clashed with his. “It looks bad, doesn’t it? Like I didn’t want anyone around so I could kill him?”

“That’s one interpretation,” he agreed. “But your explanation is just as logical. The man had just given you a taste of how vengeful he could be. It’s little wonder you wanted to get away from him as fast as possible.”

“Will people believe that?”

He met her gaze. “I do.”

“Thank you. It’s more than I deserve.”

“Look, let’s get one thing straight,” he said bluntly. “I might hate what you did to me, but I don’t think you’re capable of murder.”

Relief spread across her face, only to fade in an instant. “Tucker, what should I do?”

Because he knew exactly how fast things would spin out of control once word of Chandler’s death started to spread, he said, “You need to hire a criminal attorney, someone from Richmond, I think. Do you know any good lawyers down there?”

“The city is crawling with them, though most of the ones I know don’t like to get their hands dirty with anything as messy as murder.”

Tucker nodded. “Then we should call Powell Knight. If he won’t take the case, he’ll recommend someone who will.”

“Powell Knight who bloodied your nose over me in the fifth grade?” she asked incredulously. “He’s a lawyer?”

Tucker chuckled. “He stopped the assaults before law school. He’s been walking the straight and narrow for years now. And he owes me. My nose is still crooked.”

Liz smiled for the first time since she’d begun talking. “It is not. It just has a little character.” She lifted her hand as if to touch it, then drew back with a sigh.

“Why does life have to be so damn complicated?” she asked wistfully.

“Keeps it interesting,” Tucker said. He might have said more, but common sense and practicalities kicked in. “Do you have a cell phone with you? Why don’t you make that call to Powell? I’ll see if I can’t rustle up some clothes for you to wear, then I’ll call the station and have a deputy meet us at Swan Ridge.”

“Do you have a stash of women’s clothes around here?” she asked, regarding him with curiosity.

“No. I’ll call my sister.”

“No,” Liz said at once, looking panic-stricken. “Tucker, you can’t call Daisy. She already hates my guts for what I did to you. She’ll be furious that I dragged you into the middle of this mess.”

“I would have been dragged into it one way or another,” he said, shrugging off her fears. “It happened in my jurisdiction. If you don’t want me to call Daisy, do you have any better ideas?”

She hesitated, her shoulders slumping. It was tantamount to an admission that she’d maintained few real friendships in Trinity Harbor. He almost felt sorry for her, but he steeled himself against the reaction. She’d made her choices. Her grandfather had been an important man in Trinity Harbor. She would have basked in the same respect shown him if she hadn’t hurt a Spencer.

“I’ll call Daisy, then. You don’t even have to see her. And she doesn’t need to know what’s going on, or even who the clothes are for.”

“You shouldn’t have to lie to your own sister on my account.”

“It’s an omission, not a lie.”

“I doubt she’ll see the distinction once she hears the whole story.”

“Let me worry about Daisy. You call Powell.”

As soon as she’d gone looking for her cell phone, he called the station and asked for Walker. His brother-in-law had been a homicide detective in Washington before he’d hooked up with Daisy and moved to Trinity Harbor. He was the best deputy Tucker had, and the only one he wanted on the scene this morning.

“I need you to get over to Swan Ridge,” he told Walker. “We’ve got a problem.”

“What kind of problem? That’s Larry Chandler’s place, isn’t it?”

“There’s a report that he’s dead. I’ve got his wife here with me. Keep this under your hat until you see what’s going on over there. I’ll be there right behind you.”

“Didn’t I hear that you once had a relationship with Liz Chandler?” Walker asked. “Are you sure you ought to be anywhere near the scene?”

“Dammit, Walker, I know better than to take on the case myself. That’s why I called you, but I’m not keeping my nose out of it. I want to know everything you find the minute you come up with it. And I want you to do it all by the book, no matter how bad it looks for Mary Elizabeth.”

“Do you think she did it?”

“What I think doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is the truth.”

“Noble words,” Walker said. “But what’s your gut telling you?”

“It’s your gut that matters. Do your job.”

“I’m on my way.”

“And try to keep the media from finding out anything, at least until we have a fix on what went on over there.”

“Done,” Walker promised.

Tucker placed his next call to his sister. “I need some clothes over here—a pair of your jeans, a T-shirt, some underwear, some shoes. And I need it without a lot of questions.”

“But—”

“No questions, Daisy. Please, just this once, help me out without giving me the third degree.”

“Third degrees are your business,” she said with an indignant huff. “Okay, I’ll bring everything over there. Want me to leave it in a plain brown bag on the front porch and slink away?”

“Actually that’s not a bad idea.”

“Fat chance.”

“Daisy,” he warned.

“Okay, okay, I’ve got it. Bring the clothes, leave the questions back home.”

“Thank you.”

“But you’ll owe me,” she told him.

“I usually do.”

As soon as he got off the phone, he retrieved a clean garbage bag and went looking in his trash for Mary Elizabeth’s bloodied clothes. She hadn’t exactly tried to conceal them. They were right on top, in plain view. He took that as a good sign. Less positive was the fact that there was a lot of blood, more than a person would get checking a man’s pulse. Was there as much as if she’d shot her husband at close range, maybe even struggled with him as he bled? Tucker didn’t even want to speculate on that. He’d leave it to the experts.

He turned and saw Mary Elizabeth regarding him uneasily. Her gaze shifted to the trash bag, then back to his face.

“Tucker?”

He met her gaze. “What?”

“Are you going to arrest me?”

“I won’t even be involved in the decision,” he told her.

Something that looked like panic flickered in her eyes. “Why not?”

“Because by coming here, and because we have a past history, you’ve made sure I have to take myself off the case.”

“But—”

He cut her off. “That’s the way it has to be, Mary Elizabeth. You know that. I’ve got my best deputy heading over to Swan Ridge right now.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “What have I done?”

Tucker’s blood ran cold. “Why do you say that?”

“I wanted you to handle this.”

The icy fist kept a firm grip on his insides. “Because you thought I’d protect you?”

“No. Because I trust you.”

Tucker wanted desperately to believe that’s all it was, that she hadn’t come here hoping to use their past to keep him from delving too deeply into the circumstances surrounding Chandler’s death.

“I hope you’re telling me the truth.”

There was genuine hurt in her eyes when she met his gaze. “I’ve never lied to you. Never.”

“I think maybe that’s open to interpretation,” he said quietly. “But what’s done is done. All I care about is whether you’re being honest now.”

“I am. I swear it.”

He nodded. “Then we’ll deal with the rest as it comes.”

“Together?”

He thought of the sensible reply and the one that came from his heart. “Together,” he agreed.

All he could do was pray that he wouldn’t live to regret it.

3

T ucker had made one serious miscalculation when he’d called Daisy. He’d forgotten that Mary Elizabeth’s very distinctive car—a Jaguar with vanity plates he’d sometimes spotted driving too fast on the county’s back roads—had to be parked somewhere in the vicinity. He hadn’t noticed it the night before, but it was a sure bet she hadn’t walked to his house from Swan Ridge.

He realized his mistake when his sister came barreling into the kitchen like an avenging angel and tossed a bagful of clothes straight at him. The heavy bag caught him right in the gut. She always had had a great arm, to say nothing of an amazing protective streak when it came to him and Bobby.

“I sincerely hope those clothes are not for Mary Elizabeth,” she said, staring him down.

“What makes you think they are?” he replied defensively.

“Because that’s her fancy car sitting in plain view in front of your house. I’m not stupid, Tucker. Neither is anyone else in this town.” She regarded him with a worried frown. “I hope to heaven you know what you’re doing.”

“I do,” he said, tucking a hand under her elbow and steering her straight toward the door without wasting time on the explanation she was so obviously hoping for. “Thanks for coming over here so quickly.”

“Why does a woman with a designer wardrobe need my clothes?” Daisy inquired testily. “You two going somewhere incognito? I hate to tell you this, but it will take more than a change of clothes to pull that off.”

Tucker sighed. “No questions, remember?”

“The woman broke your heart,” his sister said fiercely. “Have you forgotten that?”

“Not for a minute.”

“If you say so,” she said, her doubt plain. “In my experience, men can push an amazing amount of past history out of their heads when they start thinking with another part of their anatomy.”

He scowled at her. “Don’t make me sorry that I turned to you for help this morning.”

After an instant’s hesitation, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “And don’t make me sorry I gave it. I love you.”

“You, too, kid.”

He watched as she walked to her car, shot a disparaging look toward Mary Elizabeth’s sports car, then drove off with a distracted wave in his direction.

“Will she go straight to your father?” Mary Elizabeth asked, coming up behind him.

“No,” he said with confidence. “Daisy never tattles.”

Mary Elizabeth looked skeptical. “That’s not the way I remember it. She was the first one to run to King when she realized you and I were having secret meetings out behind the barn.”

“Don’t go there. That was a lifetime ago.” And he didn’t want to be dragged down memory lane. The present was complicated enough without it.

Tucker handed her the clothes. “We need to get moving.”

“I’ll hurry,” she said at once.

True to her word, she was back in minutes. Without makeup and with her hair swept into a loose ponytail held up by what looked like one of his handkerchiefs, she looked a whole lot more like the girl he remembered than the sophisticated woman she’d become. The jeans hung loosely on her, and she’d had to roll up the cuffs. She’d tucked in the bright yellow T-shirt, then added one of his belts around her narrow waist. Somehow she managed to make the ill-fitting outfit look stylish.

He studied her pale complexion and worried eyes. “This is going to get rough. Will you be okay?”

“I’ll manage,” she said stoically. “Let’s get this over with.”

The drive to Swan Ridge took less than twenty minutes. Mary Elizabeth grew noticeably more tense as he turned through the open wrought-iron gate and onto the cedar-lined drive. Bright green soybean fields spread east and west as far as the eye could see. Up ahead, just around the first curve in the drive, Tucker knew he would catch his first glimpse of the three-story brick house with its jutting wings and majestic sweep of steps. It always reminded him of Stratford Hall, the historic home of the Lees not too far up the road. Same period, same style, only on a slightly smaller scale.

The landscaped grounds were filled with holly trees, azaleas, towering oaks, magnolias and the sweet, lingering scent of honeysuckle that had apparently escaped the notice of the gardener. The pink, purple and deep red crepe myrtles were just coming into bloom as July edged toward August. In the back, he knew, there was a formal boxwood maze, where he and Mary Elizabeth had stolen many a kiss far from her grandfather’s watchful eye.

“It hasn’t changed much,” he said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

Her hands were clutched tightly together in her lap. She jerked her gaze from the sight of the sheriff’s cruiser in front of the house and looked at him.

“Larry loved this house as much as my grandfather did. He insisted we do nothing to change it. He even hired someone to run the soybean operation. When one of the trees got hit by lightning, he brought in a full-grown tree to replace it. It cost a fortune, but he said it was worth every penny.” She sighed heavily. “Sometimes I wonder if he cared more about losing all this than he did about losing me.”

Since that very same thought had crossed Tucker’s mind, he couldn’t bring himself to argue with her. He caught the flicker of hurt in her eyes when he didn’t utter some platitude denying her speculation.

“You didn’t know him,” she said stiffly, defending her husband despite Tucker’s silence.

“No, but you did, and you’re the one who said it, Mary Elizabeth,” he reminded her, hitting the brakes too hard and jerking the car to a stop in front of the house. “I knew nothing about Chandler or your marriage. I made it a point to keep it that way.”

“And now I’ve dragged you into the middle of it,” she said with regret. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not in the middle. From this moment on, I’m on the sidelines.”

She winced at the reminder. “Tell me about the deputy who will handle it.”

“His name’s Walker Ames. He’s good. He was a homicide detective in Washington up until a couple of years ago. He won’t miss anything.”

“But…” She regarded him with dismay. “Isn’t he Daisy’s husband?”

“That won’t matter,” Tucker said with conviction even as she turned to stare out the window. He tucked a hand under her chin and forced her to face him. “It will be okay. I promise. You want the best person available on this, and that’s Walker. If there’s so much as a hint that he’s not being scrupulously impartial, whatever the reason for it, I can call in the state police and turn the whole investigation over to them. I can do that now, if you’d prefer, if you think my department can’t give you a fair shake.”

“I want to believe you know what you’re doing, but I’m scared,” she admitted.

“You came to me because you trusted me, right? Then listen to what I’m saying,” Tucker told her. “If you’re not guilty, then you have nothing to fear.”

“If? I’m not guilty of anything except wanting a divorce,” she declared fiercely.

“And I believe that,” Tucker reiterated.

“Do you? Do you really?” she asked, her voice escalating in near hysteria. “Or did you bring someone else in to handle this just so you won’t have to be the one to slap the handcuffs on me?”

Before he could respond, she was out of the car and running. Tucker debated going after her, but decided against it. She wouldn’t go far. If she’d wanted to take off because she was guilty, she would have done it without ever setting foot in his house. She could have been halfway to Europe or South America before anyone even realized her husband was missing, much less dead. She certainly had the resources to flee to anywhere in the world she wanted to go.

Her accusation that he didn’t believe in her stuck in his craw. Surely she didn’t believe that. She’d just lashed out at him because her nerves were shot and he was handy.

But what if he was wrong? What if he’d just given her a convenient excuse to take off? He watched as she fled around the side of the house and headed for the river. He found that oddly reassuring. Unless things had changed, there was an old swing hanging from a tree at the edge of the beach. She’d always said that soaring into the sky in that swing was like flying and that the air there made thinking easier. That was where he’d find her when the time came to go looking.

Until then, he needed to go inside, talk to Walker and find out just how much trouble Mary Elizabeth was really in.

King strolled into Earlene’s and headed for his usual booth in the back. He’d only made it halfway when he spotted Frances Jackson sitting all alone at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee, her expression glum. He slid onto the stool next to her.

“Does that frown you’re wearing have anything to do with me?” he inquired.

Ever since she’d gone off to some spa and gotten herself all fixed up with a new hairdo and a new svelte figure, they’d been dancing around each other like a couple of testy old bears. No matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to get things between them back on track.

Now she barely spared him a glance. “Not everything is about you.”

“These days, seems like nothing is,” he shot back before he could stop himself. “You want me to stop bothering you, Frances? Is that it?”

This time she swivelled her stool around and faced him fully. “Bothering me? When was the last time you asked me to go out? When was the last time you invited me to Sunday dinner with your family? Ever since I got back to town and Bobby got married, you’ve been all but ignoring me.”

“Ignoring you? I’m here now, aren’t I?”

She gave him a pitying look. “King Spencer, you are the densest man on God’s green earth. Why I ever thought for a single minute that you and I could get along is beyond me. Seems like our fate was sealed years ago when I beat you in that spelling bee and you resented me like crazy. What’s been happening between us the last couple of years was apparently just some kind of midlife foolishness.”

King bristled. “We’d been getting along just fine, at least until you got some crazy notion in your head about trying to take ten years off your looks.”

“You object to me wanting to look nice?” she inquired.

Her tone was only mildly curious, but King spotted the minefield in the nick of time. “Of course not, but I thought you looked just fine before. You’re a handsome woman, Frances. Always were.”

He’d always approved of a woman with a little meat on her bones, a woman who wasn’t afraid to look her age. This new, improved Frances had taken him aback. He was pretty sure the changes were meant to impress somebody else, since things between the two of them were decidedly cooler now than they had been. Just the thought of Frances with another man was enough to rile him, but it seemed like that was the direction things were headed unless he could figure out what was eating at her or who was stealing her attention.

He regarded her with impatience. “Don’t know why you couldn’t see that I found you attractive. Didn’t I make it plain often enough?”

She actually had the audacity to laugh at that. “King, for a normally blunt, plainspoken man, when it comes to you and me, you have always had an amazing knack for reticence.”

King couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d accused him of cheating on her. “I let you know how I felt. You spent Sundays with the family. You came to Daisy’s wedding with me and to Bobby’s. I took you to bingo, for goodness’ sakes. What man does all that if he doesn’t have feelings for a woman? I even broached the subject of taking things to another level, but you brushed me off, if I recall correctly.”

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Yes, I can see how going to a few bingo games would be a dead giveaway. I’ll have to think about that,” she said, taking a dollar out of her purse and leaving it on the counter. She snapped her purse shut, then slid off the stool and gave him an unreadable look. “I surely will think about it.”

She was about to walk away, when King blurted, “Have dinner with me tonight, Frances. Let’s talk this thing through. It’s not the kind of thing we can discuss with all these busybodies listening in.” He scowled in the direction of the owner. “Earlene’s already gotten an earful.”

King’s breath lodged in his throat as he waited for Frances to respond. For a minute, he thought she actually might refuse him. And maybe that was exactly what he deserved for being such a horse’s behind for all these months now. Daisy and Bobby had certainly told him so often enough. Even Tucker, who tended to avoid the topic of emotional entanglements like the plague, had put in his two cents on his father’s love life.

“Where?” she said at last.

King’s heart finally resumed a normal rhythm. “You name the place.”

“The marina,” she said at once.

“But—” He wisely cut himself off before he could protest that Bobby would spend the entire evening hovering over them and then reporting every last word they said to the rest of the family. Clearly that was exactly what Frances had in mind. She knew she had allies in his kids, and she intended to make the most of that. “The marina will be just fine. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Six-thirty will be better. We have a lot to discuss.” She leveled a look straight into his eyes, one of those piercing gazes that served her well as a county social worker. “And for once, it won’t be about your children’s love lives. It will be about ours.”

“Whatever you say,” King said meekly.

Obviously Frances had lost patience. It was put up or shut up time. Maybe, if he had a few spare minutes, he’d wander past a jewelry store and see if there was anything there that would suit her. In his experience, jewelry had a way of saying what mere words couldn’t express.

And, he thought with a sigh, with any luck, she wouldn’t throw it right back in his face.

Liz ran until she was out of breath. It was no surprise to her that she’d ended up on the banks of the river. It was where she’d always come when she had things to sort through—here or to Tucker. From the time she’d come to live with her grandfather after her parents’ deaths in an avalanche on an Alpine ski slope, Tucker had been her sounding board, always listening without judging. He’d been the best companion a lonely girl could have wished for. He’d been her champion when she’d started classes at the tight-knit Trinity Harbor school. He’d asked her to play on his summer baseball team and dared anyone to challenge the selection. For a tomboy like Liz, that had been the ultimate compliment a boy two years older could have paid her. Tucker had been her hero from the day they’d met on the school playground because he’d let her fight her own battles, hanging back and ready to help only if she asked for it.

Times had changed. She’d seen hints of judgment in his eyes more than once this morning, even when he’d managed to say all the right things. How could she blame him, though? She was lucky he hadn’t just tossed her out without listening to a single word she’d said.

She’d also noted what he hadn’t asked, how careful he’d been to avoid discussing the state of her marriage, but the questions were hanging in the air between them. She’d acknowledged her plans to divorce her husband but said nothing about her reasons. Sooner or later Tucker—or his deputy—was going to want to know what they were. She was going to have to brace herself for the humiliation of admitting that she’d never been enough for Larry, that he’d taken lovers within weeks of the wedding, perhaps even sooner.

Would the police see that as a motive for murder? she wondered. Could she make them see that it would be one only if she still cared, only if she hadn’t been worn out from a one-sided fight to save her marriage?

She picked her way along an overgrown path that would have horrified Larry—if he’d ever bothered to walk this far. Fortunately he’d been satisfied to survey his domain from the library windows or the brick terrace. He hadn’t known about Liz’s secret hiding place, little more than a shady patch of grass beneath a giant oak with a weathered swing dangling by thick ropes from a low branch. The river lapped gently at the shore here, glistening in the midmorning sun.

She sat on that swing now and pushed off idly, letting her thoughts wander. If Tucker was right, if someone had witnessed her scene with Larry and used it as a perfect cover for murder, who could it have been? A political enemy? A spurned lover? An outraged husband? There were plenty of each. Larry’s passions tended to draw emotional extremes. He’d fielded his share of threats, but had refused to take any of them seriously. Obviously he’d miscalculated.

There were anonymous letters, though, and tapes of threatening phone messages, all of the sort that many politicians received when they stirred up their constituents. Larry had dismissed them, but he’d been prudent enough to save them just in case one was ever acted on. She could provide them all to the police, which was what she needed to be doing now, not sitting down here hiding out and sulking over the doubts she’d seen in Tucker’s eyes. No one had a higher stake in proving her innocence than she did, not even Tucker.

Slowly she climbed the hill back to the house, aware that Tucker was waiting on the terrace, his expression inscrutable, his eyes shaded by mirrored aviator sunglasses as he watched her approach.

“Feel better?” he asked when she neared.

“Not really. I guess the soothing effects of my hideout don’t extend to murder.” She regarded him curiously. “I’m surprised you didn’t come after me to make sure I wasn’t taking off.”

“The thought never crossed my mind.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He regarded her worriedly. “Mary Elizabeth, this is going to get out of hand really fast. Walker’s had to call the forensics team and get the local medical examiner in here. Once Doc Jones heads out this way, the media won’t be far behind. You ready to face that?”

“Can’t we leave?” She shook her head and resolutely squared her shoulders. “Never mind. Of course we can’t. Can I go inside, put on something more appropriate?”

“No. It’s a crime scene.”

“Then I guess this will have to do,” she said, smoothing down Daisy’s ill-fitting jeans. “Your sister’s going to be thrilled to see her clothes on TV. She’ll probably burn them.”

“Or give them away,” he agreed.

Then, for the first time since she’d awakened to find him staring at her, he took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. The gesture gave her the strength to face whatever was ahead.

“You stay put,” he said. “You should be safe enough out here for a time. I’ll get you something to drink and be right back. Powell ought to be here soon, too.”

She nodded and watched him go. She could do this, she told herself. She’d faced the media a thousand times in the last six years. She was good at it, a natural at spinning a story. She would make Larry proud of her one last time.

An hour later, sheriff’s deputies and media were swarming all over the place. Liz stood by and tried very hard to distance herself from the reason for their presence. She didn’t want to think too much about the scene inside her home, about Larry—a man she had once loved with all her heart—being dead, about the vicious words he’d hurled at her the last time they’d talked. That exchange would live with her forever. It was a side of her husband she’d never seen before, a side that was ruthless and manipulative.

He’d made it seem as if he’d been devastated by her request for a divorce, when nothing could have been further from the truth. They’d both known for a long time that the marriage was a shell of what it should have been. There had been no passion for years now. There were no kids to distract from the fact that they had nothing in common. Larry had wanted her for her name and connections, and for Swan Ridge, second only to King Spencer’s Cedar Hill in terms of a prestigious address in the county.

Even the date of their wedding had been calculated for maximum political benefit, just when the campaign season was heating up. Somehow she had missed that when he’d been courting her with lavish gifts and whispered words of love, when they’d talked far into the night sharing their idealistic dreams for a better world that together they could help to shape. She’d been blinded by his charm and his rhetoric. Somehow she had completely missed the shallowness beneath it.

Her first clue that she’d been conned had been the lover she’d found in his hotel room when she’d unexpectedly joined him on the campaign trail. They’d been married for less than two months at the time. Larry had apologized, said the relationship was over, but the woman hadn’t accepted it yet. He’d sworn it would never happen again, and bought Liz a diamond and amethyst necklace he’d told her reminded him of the sparkle in her eyes. Maybe if he’d exchanged the extravagant necklace for a sincere apology, she would have believed him.

Even so, Liz had been determined to make the marriage work. She’d dutifully appeared by his side at every chicken dinner, every small-town parade, every campaign stop. The year of finishing school her grandfather had insisted on had made her poised. Early years in Europe with parents who had too much money and too many interests to pay attention to a little girl had taught her to fend for herself and never let them see how much their neglect hurt. For the rest of the campaign, she had smiled despite the torment.

And on the day after the hard-won election victory, she had insisted Larry fire the campaign manager he’d slept with, denying the woman the prominent place on his staff she had clearly expected.

“She goes, or I will leave you now and tell the whole world why,” she had threatened him quietly as he savored the headlines in the local paper. She had grown up over the course of the campaign. Now it was time he did the same.

It had been three months before he’d taken another lover. Another six before he traded that one in. Liz had known about most, if not all, of them, but with each one her will to fight had lessened. Her respect for her husband had vanished, and with it, the last remnants of her love. Her hopes and dreams had faded, including the plans for a family. Even if she hadn’t decided against bringing children into such a marriage, Larry’s belatedly announced timetable would have precluded it. He wanted his career on a firm footing before any children kept her from devoting her full attention to him, he had told her when she’d dared to broach the subject of starting the family they’d once talked about.

That coldly calculated timetable of his had been yet another reminder that he wasn’t the man she’d thought him to be. Even so, it had taken her a long time—too long—to admit defeat.

Now, though, as she watched her husband’s shrouded body being removed from their house, she knew the humiliation was finally over.

Or was it? Unless Tucker could find the evidence to save her, even in death Larry Chandler was going to find one more way to rip her life to shreds.

4

T ucker filled a glass with water and ice, then stood staring out the kitchen window at Mary Elizabeth. What had she been through in the last six years? What had driven her to want to put an end to her golden marriage? Had it been bad enough that she’d been driven to take drastic measures? Had she believed, even for an instant, that divorce wouldn’t end whatever hell Chandler was putting her through?

The instant the thought crossed his mind, he banished it. He would not let himself consider for one second the possibility that she was guilty of murder. Every person deserved a presumption of innocence, but it was easier for him to get to that point with Mary Elizabeth. Past history, deep feelings, gut instinct all intertwined to assure that he saw her only in the most positive light.

Which was why he’d turned the case over to Walker from the get-go. Tucker didn’t have a prayer of maintaining objectivity. He’d blindly rushed to her defense in a math class cheating scandal in tenth grade. He’d done it again on countless other occasions when her grandfather had found fault with one thing or another that she’d done. Each and every time Tucker had believed with everything in him that Mary Elizabeth was the innocent victim. Even after she’d turned her back on him years ago, he believed in her now.

How stupid was that? he wondered cynically. But breaking off a relationship was a far cry from murder. Things would have to be beyond desperate for a strong, deeply moral person to cross that kind of line.

Walker found him where he remained standing at the window, the glass of water still clutched in his hand, continuing to ponder whether things had gotten that desperate for Mary Elizabeth.

“You okay?” his brother-in-law asked.

“I’ve been better.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s a strong woman,” Tucker said.

“No hysterics? No grief?” Walker asked.

“She’s upset, not distraught,” Tucker conceded tightly. “The marriage was on the rocks.” He scowled at Walker’s immediate show of interest. “That doesn’t mean she wanted him dead.”

“What about money? That’s always a motive for opting for murder over divorce.”

“She had plenty of her own.”

“You sure about that? It costs a lot to maintain a place like this.”

“And she inherited more than enough from her grandfather. The Swans might have been relative latecomers to this area, but they were descended from English aristocracy. The first family member arrived here at the beginning of the eighteenth century, maybe a decade or two after the Spencers. William Swan had a head for business. So did every male descendent who came after, at least until Mary Elizabeth’s father. He was better at throwing money around than making it. He and her mother were spending the winter skiing in Switzerland when they died in an avalanche. That’s when Mary Elizabeth came here to live with her grandfather. It was the first time she’d seen him since she was a toddler. She barely even remembered him, but he took her in and devoted himself to raising her. He left her everything he had.”

“Thanks for the history lesson, but it doesn’t have much to do with what went on here last night,” Walker pointed out.

Tucker frowned. “Fine. Ignore the past and concentrate on the evidence. What have you got?”

“The forensics guys are working in there now. No signs of a struggle. Nothing out of place. We’ll have to ask Mrs. Chandler if anything’s missing, but it looks as if whoever did it had only one thing on his—or her—mind, killing Chandler and getting away.”

“I strolled around outside. I didn’t spot any signs of forced entry,” Tucker said. “How about you?”

“None I could see, either.”

“Then he let the killer in,” Tucker concluded.

“Or the killer had a key,” Walker suggested with a pointed look outside where Mary Elizabeth remained, shoulders slumped and sunshine glinting on her hair.

“She had an alibi,” Tucker reminded him.

“You checked it out?”

“No, but you will, and it will hold up. I’d bet my badge on it.”

Walker regarded him evenly. “What hours does the alibi cover?”

“All day yesterday, till around eleven last night. That’s when she found him.”

“And after that?”

“She came straight to my place.”

“You know that how?” Walker countered. “You were on duty.”

“She told me,” he began, then faltered, irritated by his own gullibility. “Damn.”

“Exactly,” Walker said sympathetically. “You don’t know for sure what time she got to your place. You don’t know for sure what time Chandler was shot. There’s a lot of wiggle room in there.”

Tucker didn’t want to agree with Walker, but he was forced to concede that Mary Elizabeth’s alibi wasn’t as airtight as he’d hoped. Now that he thought about it, even her alibi of being on the river all day long meant nothing. There was a very large dock at the edge of the property. She could have brought the boat around here from the marina, slipped inside, shot her husband and gone back to Colonial Beach without anyone being the wiser. Hell and damn!

He met Walker’s gaze. “You’re going to need to ask some questions over at the marina at the beach. She said she was out in her boat yesterday. Someone probably gassed it up, saw her on the docks, something that will confirm her story.”

Walker’s gaze shot to the dock in the distance. “Dammit, Tucker, who’s going to be able to say she didn’t make a beeline straight over here?”

“Other boaters,” Tucker countered, thankful he’d grasped the same point in time to come up with a plausible counterargument. “This time of year the river’s crawling with them, and not just on the weekends. If you don’t want to take the time to track them down, I will.”

“You can’t,” Walker shot back. “Anything you come up with will be suspect, and you know it.”

“Why? She and I have a lot of past history, that’s true, but a lot of it’s bad. Most people around here would believe I have more reasons to want to find her guilty than innocent.”

“Maybe if you were a different kind of man,” Walker agreed. “But you’re a decent guy, and your feelings for people run deep. If you loved her once, that hasn’t just disappeared.” He leveled a penetrating look straight into Tucker’s eyes. “Has it?”

“My feelings don’t have a damn thing to do with anything,” he said tightly. “You handle this case by the book. That’s all I’m asking. If Mary Elizabeth is guilty, if the evidence points to her, I won’t stand in your way. But if there’s evidence that exonerates her, I expect you to find that, too.”

“And you believe she is innocent, don’t you?”

Tucker hated his slight and very telling hesitation. “I believe in her, yes.”

“Why? Because you want to?”

“Partly that,” he conceded, forcing himself to be honest with Walker and with himself. “But mostly because she came to me. Why would she do that if she were guilty?”

“Who better to have in your corner than the sheriff?” Walker said bluntly.

Tucker started to argue, but the words died on his lips. Not once since he’d joined the sheriff’s department had anyone had any reason to doubt his credibility or his integrity. Now, in a matter of hours, anything coming out of his mouth regarding this case was going to be considered suspect. Once again, Mary Elizabeth had managed to twist his life inside out.

“I’m going outside,” he said curtly. “Let me know what’s happening.”

“I’m going to have to talk to her sooner or later,” Walker reminded him.

Tucker nodded. “She’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

“She got a lawyer?”

“He’s on his way,” Tucker said, grateful that she’d insisted that Powell drive straight up from Richmond, rather than waiting. On that score, she’d been thinking more clearly than he had. He’d thought it would be enough to have Powell on standby. Tucker hadn’t seriously believed that Mary Elizabeth would be a suspect for much more than a minute, because his own feelings had gotten in the way. He’d wanted to believe that the real murderer would be so obvious that she’d be cleared at once. Was that the first of many errors in judgment he was likely to make? Or was the first not tossing her out on her lovely backside when he’d first found her in his bed?

Walker nodded. “We’ll talk when he gets here, then. I’m trying to put together some sort of statement for the media. They’re gathering like vultures on the front lawn. You want to look it over?”

“No.”

“They’re going to ask why you’re not involved. What should I tell them?”

“The truth, that Mrs. Chandler and I are old friends and that I wanted this case handled by someone with more objectivity and homicide experience than I have.”

“We could leave out the issue of objectivity,” Walker said. “It’ll be opening a whole can of worms that might be best left shut tight.”

“The information is out there. Someone will open it sooner or later,” Tucker replied. “It’ll be better to be up-front about it.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Walker?”

“What?”

“Don’t do her any favors, but don’t try to railroad her, either.”

His deputy regarded him with annoyance. “You didn’t need to tell me that. I know how to do my job.”

“I didn’t say that to insult you,” Tucker told him. “Under most circumstances, I’d never feel the need to say such a thing, but you’re going to hear a lot of things before this is over with, not all of them favorable to Mary Elizabeth. Daisy and my father hate her guts, and that’s just for starters.”

“What about Bobby?”

Tucker gave a rueful chuckle. “You know my brother. He’s a laid-back kind of a guy. It would take a lot of energy for him to hate anybody, so he stays neutral. He takes his cues from me.”

“And you don’t hate her?”

Tucker thought about just how complicated his feelings for Liz Chandler were, then sighed. “No,” he admitted. “I don’t hate her.” Far from it.

“Anybody else in town going to be anxious to start a lynch mob besides your father and my wife?”

“I’ll have to think about that one. In the meantime, try not to let my involvement muddy the investigative waters.”

“Just how involved do you intend to be?”

“After we get through today, I’m hoping I can turn my back and walk away and leave the whole mess in your capable hands.”

Walker snorted. “Oh, yeah. I’ll be counting on that. Tucker Spencer walking away from a lady in distress.” He shook his head. “Never going to happen, pal.”

Tucker watched Walker leave the room, then glanced back at the woman waiting for him on the terrace. Her vulnerability reached out and tugged at his heart. He hoped to hell Walker was wrong. He needed to run—not walk—away from this mess as fast as he possibly could.

Powell Knight hadn’t changed all that much, Liz noted when he walked around the side of the house. He still had the same easy confidence, the same arrogant polish, the same evidence of expensive taste he’d had way back in high school. Only the leather briefcase in his hand and the cell phone plastered to his ear were new additions.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he was muttering as he walked toward her. “Just tell your client that we’re playing hardball and it will be a cold day in hell before he ever sees one single dime of that money.” He snapped the phone shut, then gave Liz a thorough once-over. A smile broke across his face. “Damn, Mary Elizabeth, you’re even prettier than you are in all those pictures I see in the Richmond papers. How did I ever let you get away?”

He reached for her and twirled her around until she was breathless.

“Put me down, you idiot,” she said, laughing despite the somber occasion and the trouble that was heading her way in the form of an interrogation with Tucker’s top deputy.

Powell shot a grin at Tucker. “What’s the deal? You’re not snatching her out of my arms, leaping to her defense? Not that long ago you’d have punched me out by now.”

“Mary Elizabeth can take care of herself,” Tucker said. “If I were you, I’d get out of range of her knee unless you want to hobble inside looking a little less than your best for this interview with the police.”

Powell put her down and gingerly stepped away. “No interviews, not until she and I have had a chance to talk.” He shot a pointed look at Tucker. “Alone.”

“He can stay,” Liz said at once.

Powell immediately shook his head. “No way, sweetcakes. He’s a cop. And in this instance, until you’re completely in the clear, the cops are not your friends.”

“It’s okay, Mary Elizabeth. He’s right. I’ll go,” Tucker said. He scowled at Powell. “For the record, though, I’m not handling this investigation. I’ve already taken myself off of it.”

“Good to know, but I still don’t want her blabbing any secrets to you. You’re liable to get the idea that you’re duty-bound to repeat them to whoever is in charge of the case.”

Tucker looked as if he might want to argue the point, but he kept his mouth clamped shut and walked away.

“He wouldn’t do that,” Liz told her old friend.

“Your old lover might not do it, but you never can tell about the sheriff. Since they’re one and the same, I’d rather not take any chances.” Powell tucked a finger under her chin. “You doing okay?”

“I’ve had better days,” she said truthfully.

“I can imagine. Tell me what happened,” the attorney said. “Beginning to end.”

“That could take a long time. I’m not sure how patient Walker Ames is likely to be.”

“He’ll wait,” Powell said confidently. “He doesn’t have any choice.”

Even so, Liz gave him the condensed version of her marriage. She wasn’t surprised to see the shock that registered on Powell’s face. She and Larry had done a great job of covering the chasm in their relationship, particularly in Richmond.

“It all came to a head this week.” She repeated what she’d told Tucker about the fight they’d had, about her retreat to Swan Ridge, about spending the day on her boat, and about going home to find Larry’s body. Powell took copious notes, nodding occasionally but otherwise keeping his expression bland and his own comments to a minimum.

“I didn’t do it,” she said, because she felt she had to get it on the record with him.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said at once. “They’re not likely to come up with anything more than circumstantial evidence. We can beat it.”

Liz felt a shudder of revulsion. “You’re not listening to me, Powell—I…did…not…do…it. If you don’t believe that, then I don’t want you to represent me.”

His gaze shot up then and clashed with hers. Eventually, he nodded. “Okay, then. Let’s make sure that nobody thinks otherwise for a single second. There’s a lot of media out front. I’ll get them around here.”

“Before I’ve talked to the police?”

“Preemptive strike,” he said succinctly. “We get our message out before they do.”

That little chill of dismay ran through her again. “This is all a game to you, isn’t it?”

“It’s a challenge, a battle of wits,” he conceded with a disturbing glint of anticipation in his eyes.

“Same thing. I don’t like it.”

“Sweetcakes, when you’re in this kind of a jam, you need somebody on your side who understands the rules. You don’t have to love me. You don’t even have to like me. You just have to let me do my job. I am very, very good at it.”

A part of Liz knew he was right. The law and politics had a lot in common. Much of the game was about perception. If she was forthcoming with the public, through the media, she could win the first round. She hated it, but it was a fact of life. And the last few years had taught her to be a pragmatist.

But, she vowed, once this was over, she would never again compromise her own beliefs for the sake of expediency. She was going to find the decent, caring woman she’d once been and fit back inside that skin.

Powell regarded her expectantly. “What’s it going to be?”

“Get the reporters,” she said quietly. “But before you ask, you can forget the fake tears for the benefit of the cameras.”

“You’ll have more credibility if you come across as a grieving widow.”

“I’ll have more credibility if I tell the truth,” she said adamantly.

“Fine. Do it your way. But leave out the stuff about the affairs. That needs to come from somebody else. It’ll make you look more sympathetic.”

Liz glanced toward the house and spotted Tucker watching her from inside. He was going to be furious about this impromptu news conference Powell was about to call. For a moment, the prospect of his disapproval was almost enough to make her call it off, but she was paying Powell for his expertise. And Tucker himself was the one who’d suggested she call him. Surely he knew what a barracuda Powell was. She had to follow the attorney’s advice, even if the next few minutes tore her apart inside.

“I know what to do,” she said tightly. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Powell nodded, punched in a number on his cell phone and spoke to someone in a low voice. Within minutes, an entire herd of reporters rounded the side of the house. Tucker had clearly spotted them, because he came charging out the door with a man who had to be Walker Ames right on his heels. Before they could get close enough, Powell had gestured for quiet and began making a statement.

“This is a very sad occasion for this county, the entire Northern Neck of Virginia and the state,” Powell intoned solemnly. “We have just learned that Delegate Lawrence Chandler has been found dead in his home, the apparent victim of foul play. As I’m sure you can imagine, his wife is in shock, but I have persuaded her to say a few words. There will be no questions at this time, though I am sure that the investigating officer from the sheriff’s office will speak to you when we’re through and fill you in on what they have so far.”

Liz risked a glance at Walker Ames, saw the barely restrained fury on his face. She could just imagine what he’d have to say when she was finished. She didn’t dare look at Tucker.

Liz stepped forward, determined that what she would say now would be only the truth, even if only half the truth. She would not be the one to tarnish her husband’s reputation. She summoned her memories of Larry’s best qualities.

“The people have lost an ardent champion today,” she began softly. “My husband was a dedicated public servant who believed fervently in his ideals. He was a great delegate. He would have made a wonderful governor. This is a senseless tragedy, and I assure all of you that I will not rest until the person responsible has been brought to justice.”

She allowed her gaze to meet Walker’s, to hold it without blinking. “I am confident that Deputy Ames, who is handling the case, will bring it to a rapid conclusion, for Larry’s sake and for the sake of all of us who loved him.”

She turned then and walked directly to the deputy. “I’ll answer your questions now.”

“You’d better believe it,” he said tersely. “Inside.”

“You don’t want to make a statement to the media first?” she asked, surprised that he would let the opportunity to counteract her statement pass by.

He gave her a wry look. “I think the reporters have plenty to chew on for the moment. That was a nice performance. I imagine your lawyer put you up to it.”

“I make my own decisions, Deputy.”

Something that might have been respect flickered in his eyes for just an instant. “I’m glad to see that you believe in being accountable for your actions.”

“Always.”

He gestured toward a chair at her kitchen table. It was the first time in years Liz had sat there. Larry had frowned on sitting down to eat in the kitchen. He’d said it was common. In so doing, he’d managed to deprive Liz of a habit begun in childhood, when she’d eaten with the housekeeper more evenings than not. She’d been happier in this room than anywhere else in the drafty old house. It had reminded her of the Spencers’ home, where the family tended to congregate in the kitchen, both while Mrs. Spencer was alive and after, when Daisy had been struggling to make everything seem exactly the same despite their terrible loss.

Liz had been accepted as a part of the family back then. Tucker had seen to that. Even Daisy had liked her, had treated her like a sister.

Remembering all that, Liz felt sadder, but stronger somehow. She sat at the scarred oak table, then met Deputy Ames’s gaze. “Whenever you’re ready,” she told him just as Powell came charging through the door. Before he could speak, she waved him to a seat in the background. “It’s okay. We’re just getting started.”

“Okay, Mrs. Chandler, let’s make it simple. Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened here yesterday?”

For the third time, Liz described the events that had led up to the discovery of her husband’s body. She tried to read the deputy’s expression as she spoke, but he would have been an excellent poker player. His face gave nothing away.

“And after you found him, what did you do?”

“I panicked,” she said. “I knew what people would think, so I went looking for Tucker. I knew he’d know how to handle it.”

“Why didn’t you just call him?”

The memory of the moment when she’d realized that Larry had been shot, that he was indeed dead, came flooding back over her. Tears stung her eyes at the senseless waste of a life.

“I…” She swallowed hard. “I couldn’t stay here. Not for another minute.”

“Because?”

She scowled at his lack of sensitivity. “Because my husband was dead, Deputy Ames. He’d been murdered. I couldn’t bear seeing him like that. And for all I knew the person who’d done it was still around here somewhere.”

“So you still had feelings for him, even though you intended to divorce him?”

“Of course I did. I had loved Larry Chandler with all my heart. Just because our marriage hadn’t worked didn’t mean that I wanted him dead or even that I didn’t still care about him. In many ways, he was a wonderful man. He just wasn’t a very good husband.”

“Meaning?”

She glanced at Powell and saw his nod. “Meaning that he was unfaithful.”

“He had an affair?”

“There were affairs,” she confirmed. “I lost count.”

“Did they end badly?”

“You’d have to ask the women that.”

“Names?”

“I can give you those I knew about,” she said wearily. “I’ll make a list. I can’t swear it’ll be complete.”

“What about political enemies? Did he have them?”

“Of course.”

“Business problems?”

“None that I’m aware of.”

“Is there anyone you can think of who would have reason to want your husband dead?”

She told him about the veiled, anonymous threats. “I believe the notes and answering machine tapes with the messages are in the safe. I can get them for you.”

Walker nodded. “Let’s do that, then.”

He followed her into the library, watched as she pressed a button and a panel of bookshelves swung away from the wall. Behind it was a safe originally installed by her grandfather. She turned the lock, then stepped aside.

Donning gloves, Walker drew out jewelry boxes, packets of papers, then a box that contained the letters and tapes. He took that, placed it into an evidence bag, then returned everything else.

“Have you had a chance to look around?” he asked. “Did you notice if anything is missing?”

“I only came through the foyer and into this room last night. I went out the same way.”

“Then let’s take a look around. Are there other valuables beyond what’s in the safe?”

“I keep a few pieces of jewelry in my room. There’s silver that’s kept in the pantry.”

Liz led the way upstairs. She knew it would be evident when they walked into her room that she hadn’t shared it with Larry. There were no masculine belongings, just antique perfume bottles and cosmetics on the dressing table, gowns in one closet, her suits and casual clothes in another. The carpet and iron bed were white, the comforter white with sprigs of violets. Gauzy white curtains billowed at the open windows. It was a very feminine room and not nearly as large as the master suite down the hall. It had suited her as a girl, and she had retreated to it when she no longer wanted to share a bed with her unfaithful husband.

Walker surveyed the room without comment, waiting while she checked her jewelry box.

“Everything is here,” she said when she’d counted the few pieces of antique jewelry that had sentimental value to her. The far more expensive treasures, the ones Larry had lavished on her after each affair, were in the safe downstairs. Those, too, had been accounted for—not that she’d cared.

“Let’s see if the silver’s where it’s supposed to be,” Walker said.

“It’ll be closer if we take the back stairway,” Liz told him. It was the way she’d slipped downstairs in the middle of the night for cookies as a girl, the way she’d sneaked outside to meet Tucker as a teenager. Even now she almost expected to find him waiting for her just outside the kitchen door.

He wasn’t.

Every piece of silver, much of it from famed English silvermakers of the eighteenth century and earlier, was exactly where it belonged, gleaming on the padded shelves of a special silver closet in the pantry. As a girl, Liz had been awed by the display. She’d even liked the rainy afternoons when she’d sat at the table helping the housekeeper polish every piece. She’d loved imagining tea being poured from this very service by some distant ancestor in London hundreds of years before. She’d read every book in her grandfather’s library about the gracious way of life from which she was descended.

Dreaming about a bygone era was a far cry, however, from wanting to live in it. She had balked at the old-fashioned constraints her grandfather had placed on her, stolen every opportunity to break free so that she could follow Tucker on his adventures. He had given her back the childhood that the tragic death of her parents had stolen.

Tucker would have given her the world if she’d let him. But Larry had come along with his charm and his prospects. Her grandfather, one of Larry’s staunchest political supporters, had encouraged the two of them to spend time together. He’d believed they shared the same ideals. After several lengthy conversations, Liz had come to believe it, too.

For her, those talks had been intellectually stimulating, nothing more. Spending time with Larry had been the first thing she’d ever done of which her grandfather had totally approved.

Later that had been a huge incentive to say yes when Larry had proposed, that and the promise of the fairy-tale wedding of which every girl dreamed.

“Mrs. Chandler?”

She snapped her attention back to Walker Ames.

“Is all of the silver here?”

She nodded.

“Okay, then, unless you discover something missing, I think we can safely rule out robbery as a motive. I’d appreciate that list of names as soon as possible.”

“I’ll do it this afternoon,” she said.

“Good. Where can I pick it up?”

She was startled by the question. “I can’t stay here?”

“Not for the time being,” he said. “Once we’re sure all the evidence had been gathered, we’ll release it, and you can move back in.”

“Will I be able to take a few of my things?”

“Of course. I’ll wait while you get them, then I can drive you wherever you’d like to go.”

“I came with Tucker. I’m sure he can take me…someplace.”

The deputy looked as though he disapproved, but he said only, “I’ll check with him while you pack. I can have one of the deputies go up with you.”

“That’s not necessary,” she began, but then she saw the look on his face and sighed. “That will be fine.”

When Walker had gone off in search of someone to accompany her upstairs, Powell tucked a finger under her chin. “You did just fine. I need to get back to Richmond. Will you be okay?”

“Sure.”

“If they call you in for more questioning, don’t go until you contact me. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“And I’ll want to see whatever paperwork you give the police. Make me a copy of those lists and fax it down.” He handed her his business card. “The number’s on here.”

“Thanks for coming, Powell.”

“No problem.” He gazed into her eyes. “One last piece of advice. Steer clear of Tucker. I know you trust him, but his loyalties are bound to be divided.”

“Tucker would never do anything to hurt me,” she said with absolute confidence.

Powell regarded her evenly. “He once thought the same about you.”

Liz shuddered, despite her conviction that Tucker would always be on her side. Was it possible that he would turn his back on her just when she needed him the most? And how could she blame him if he did?

5

T here was some sort of uproar over at Swan Ridge. King spotted the commotion on his way back to Cedar Hill. There were police cars and media vans everywhere, plainly visible from the highway. Probably another one of Lawrence Chandler’s press conferences, King concluded. And he’d probably hired all the local off-duty cops to work security. The man did like all the trappings of celebrity.

King was tempted to venture onto the grounds and see for himself what Chandler was up to, but the prospect of bumping into Mary Elizabeth kept him away. He hadn’t been able to look the woman in the face without getting riled up since she’d gone and broken Tucker’s heart. If it had been up to him, she’d have been chased out of the county, but, sadly, the law wouldn’t permit him to run her off. Tucker had explained that on more than one occasion when King had expressed the view that her presence was a blight on the community.

So, instead of going on up to Swan Ridge, King drove on, only to find a bit of commotion at his place, as well. His daughter was pacing back and forth across the veranda with some sort of bee in her bonnet. The instant she spotted him, she came flying down the steps and all but tore the door off the car and dragged him out.

“Have you seen the news?” Daisy demanded.

“Where would I see it?” King inquired testily. “I’ve been in town all morning.”

“And nobody said anything?” she said incredulously. “I can’t believe it! For once, the gossip hot line in Trinity Harbor is actually running behind the TV news.”

“Slow down, girl. Take a deep breath. I’ll get us both a glass of iced tea, and you can tell me what’s got you all hot and bothered.”

“There’s no time for that,” she said, shoving him right back toward his car.

“Will you make up your mind?” he grumbled. “Am I going or staying?”

“As soon as I tell you, you’re going,” she said fiercely. “And I’m coming with you.”

“Where?” he asked suspiciously. He hadn’t seen her this het up since the night she thought Walker and Tommy were in danger from a gang of drug dealers. To Tucker’s dismay, she’d come to the marina armed with a shotgun and a full head of steam, prepared to take on anybody so much as considering harming the two people she loved.

“To Swan Ridge.”

“I saw all the commotion. What’s going on over there?”

“Somebody murdered Larry Chandler,” Daisy announced. “And Mary Elizabeth has gone and dragged Tucker right into the middle of it.”

This time, it didn’t take any effort on Daisy’s part to get King to sit down. His knees felt so weak, he reached behind him and sank onto the driver’s seat in the car. “Chandler’s dead? You’re sure?” He’d never much liked the politician, especially for his part in hurting Tucker, but the thought of someone killing him right here in Trinity Harbor was enough to make his blood run cold.

“It’s all over the Richmond news,” Daisy said, then scowled. “And that woman is going to break Tucker’s heart all over again. I just know she is.”

“Tucker’s smarter than that,” King insisted.

“Is he really?” she scoffed. “Then why was I taking clothes over to his place at the crack of dawn this morning so that Mary Elizabeth could get dressed?”

King stared at her incredulously. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“Can’t I explain all this while we drive to Swan Ridge?” Daisy pleaded.

“No,” King snapped. “I want the whole story right here, where I can digest it without running off the road.”

Daisy described her early morning mercy mission to Tucker’s place. “I wasn’t going to tell you. In fact, I promised Tucker I wouldn’t say a word to anyone, but things have changed now.”

“Did you actually see her?” King demanded.

“No, but she was there. Her car was out front, and Tucker didn’t deny it when I accused him of letting her back into his life. He just hustled me right back out the door and told me to mind my own business.” She practically shook with indignation. “As if this isn’t my business, when a member of my own family is about to get his reputation dragged through the mud.”

Daisy was so furious and talking so fast, King was having a hard time keeping up with her. He seized on the first thing that had stuck in his mind. “Why the devil would a woman like that want your clothes?” He looked over the jeans and T-shirt Daisy was wearing. Straight from the discount store, no doubt about it. “I hate to say it, but you two never have shopped in the same boutiques. No offense.”

Daisy glared at him but didn’t debate the point. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s because she’d arrived there covered in her husband’s blood,” she said furiously. “Wouldn’t that be just like her?”

“Good Lord,” King whispered, seeing all his hopes and dreams for Tucker’s future going up in smoke. Who’d marry a man who’d been consorting with a murderess? His future as sheriff would be reduced to ashes, as well.

He glanced over at Daisy. “Get out.”

“I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not. I’ll handle this,” he said grimly. “You go home and see what information you can pry out of that husband of yours. He’s bound to know all the particulars. I’ll check with you later, after I’ve tracked down Tucker and given him a piece of my mind.”

“Don’t blame him. The woman’s a witch.”

King almost grinned at that. “Don’t go saying that to your brother.”

“Why not? It’s the truth. Look how she betrayed him—betrayed all of us, for that matter—years ago. Tucker needs to be reminded of that.”

“I imagine he hasn’t forgotten, any more than you have. But if you start name-calling, he’ll just rush to her defense and this whole thing will get even more complicated than it already is.”

She started to argue, then sighed. “You’re probably right. I’ll temper my remarks.” She regarded him worriedly. “Think you can do the same?”

“Not bloody likely.” He fingered the jewelry box in his pocket and wondered if he’d ever get the chance to give it to Frances. He was supposed to be picking her up in less than an hour, and the odds of him getting Tucker’s life straightened out in that amount of time were slim to none.

Well, Frances would just have to understand…again. He sighed heavily. Not bloody likely.

Trying to stay in the background and out of the way of the forensics team was giving Tucker hives. He wasn’t used to sitting on the sidelines in his own blasted jurisdiction. He wanted to get into the library where Chandler had been shot. He knew Walker would eventually fill him in, let him look over all the reports, but that wasn’t the same as being on the crime scene.

Despite his frustration, though, the instant Walker escorted Mary Elizabeth out of the house, all of Tucker’s attention was riveted on her. Her chin was held high. Her shoulders were squared proudly. But her eyes were dull, her complexion pale. He’d never once in the more than twenty years he’d known her seen her look so thoroughly dispirited.

As they neared, she met his gaze, locking on his face as if it were the first friendly beacon she’d seen.

“You okay?” Tucker asked, pushing aside his anger at that sneaky press conference she and Powell had called.

She nodded, but her eyes welled with tears. She blinked frantically to try to keep them from spilling down her cheeks, but one escaped. Instinctively, Tucker gently rubbed it away with the pad of his thumb, then jerked away when he realized that Walker’s steady gaze was fixed on him.

“Since she can’t stay here for the time being, Mrs. Chandler and I have been discussing where I’ll be able to find her if I need to talk to her again,” Walker said.

“You can reach her through me,” Tucker said at once.

“No,” Mary Elizabeth protested, even as Walker scowled disapprovingly. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask,” Tucker pointed out. “I offered.”

“Can I speak to you privately?” Walker asked in a tone that suggested it wasn’t a request. He stepped a few feet away, assuming Tucker would follow. When Tucker joined him, he said, “Have you lost your mind?”

“She needs a place to stay,” Tucker said with a defensive shrug. “Think of it as protective custody.”

“It is a really, really bad idea,” Walker countered. “For reasons so numerous I can’t even begin to count them. Given your past history, you invite that woman into your home and I have to place you on the list of suspects right alongside her.”

“Do what you have to do,” Tucker said, refusing to back down, no matter how black a picture Walker painted.

“Dammit, Tucker, do you want Daisy to kill me?”

“You’ll probably have to get in line. I imagine she’ll be coming after me first,” Tucker said wryly. “This won’t sit well with a lot of people.”

“Then shouldn’t that be a clue it’s a mistake?”

“I can’t let Mary Elizabeth go through this alone.”

“I’m sure a woman in her position has friends,” Walker said.

“Maybe so, but I’m the one she turned to.”

“And precisely when was that? Last night, correct? Why exactly did it take so long for you to contact me?” Walker inquired. “What were the two of you doing all that time, getting reacquainted?”

Tucker barely resisted the urge to slug his brother-in-law. He knew what Walker was trying to do. He was trying to show him just how ugly this could get. Tucker refused to take the bait. He understood the risks. He met Walker’s gaze.

“Actually, she was sleeping,” Tucker said mildly. “I was in my kitchen pondering the funny twists and turns life takes.”

“Was that before or after she told you about her husband?”

“Before,” Tucker said, just as he’d explained it earlier. “As soon as she told me, I called you.”

“Were you anywhere near Swan Ridge last night?” Walker pressed.

“I patrolled the whole county,” Tucker told him. “Check my logbook and the mileage on the cruiser.”

“Didn’t take any breaks?”

“Not a one,” he said. “Ask the dispatcher. Michele worked a double shift, too. She and I were having a rather lively discussion about the best place to get steamed crabs. I think Bobby’s are the finest around. She’s partial to a place across the river in Maryland.”

Walker sighed, his exasperation plain. “This is just the tip of the iceberg, you know. The questions are going to start coming at you fast and furious, and I won’t be the only one asking them.”

“I know that,” Tucker said.

“You’re a smart man. I have to assume you’ve weighed the risks.”

“Whether I have or not isn’t your concern,” Tucker told him. “But I appreciate the fact that you care. If things change after Mary Elizabeth and I have talked, I’ll let you know.”

“You think she’ll object to staying with you?” Walker asked.

“Oh, I imagine she’ll have a whole lot more to say than you did.” He nodded in her direction. “Take a look.”

Mary Elizabeth was tapping her foot and glowering at them.

“What’s that about?” Walker asked.

“I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like the fact that I made this decision without consulting her. I’m almost certain she’s going to tell me to take my offer and shove it.”

“And then?”

“And then I’ll counter with a few rational arguments. She’ll tell me I’m trying to run her life just the way her grandfather did. I’ll remind her that she’s the one who came to me. She’ll tell me that she deeply regrets that now.”

Walker’s lips began to twitch with amusement. “Now I know you’re crazy. You’re going to stir up Daisy and your father and have to contend with an irate, ungrateful female.”

“That’s pretty much how I see it,” Tucker said, working really hard to sound like a martyr.

“Good luck.”

Before he could get away, Walker called him back.

“What?” Tucker said.

His brother-in-law grinned. “Told you so.”

Tucker regarded him blankly. “Told me—?”

“That you’d never steer clear of this. The damsel-in-distress thing gets you every time.”

Tucker told his deputy what he could do with his smart-mouthed theories, then went over to explain the plan to Mary Elizabeth.

“You’ll stay at my place until we know more,” he said. He regarded her with a wry expression. “Though it might be best if you take up residence in the guest room and stay out of my bed, whether I’m in it or not.”

“I’m not dragging you any deeper into this,” she said flatly. “You’ve already gone above and beyond what anyone would expect under the circumstances.”

“Have you got someplace better to stay?”

“I could go to the house Larry and I have in Richmond.”

He shook his head. “Not a good idea. You need to stay here in town.”

“I could stay at the hotel.”

“The walls would start to close in on you in a day.” He studied her thoughtfully. “I suppose I could call Anna-Louise. She’d probably take you in.”

“Your minister? I don’t think so. Besides, isn’t she married to the editor of the Trinity Harbor Weekly?”

Tucker feigned an innocent expression. “Would that be a problem?”

“I suppose that depends on whether he’s likely to bug the guest room when a suspected murderer is in residence,” she said irritably.

“You have a better suggestion?”

“No,” she conceded, then added grudgingly, “Okay, I’ll stay at your place.”

Tucker didn’t like the little chorus of hallelujahs that ran through his head at her response. Right up until that instant, he’d been able to convince himself that he was doing his duty as a police officer, his good deed as a human being. That little flaring of excitement was definitely about something else, something that was supposed to be over and dead. Talk about inappropriate, to say nothing of stupid and self-destructive. He shook his head.

When he glanced at Mary Elizabeth, there was no mistaking her amusement.

“Second thoughts already?” she inquired.

He frowned at the question. “I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do—we’re clear on that, right?”

“Of course,” she said dutifully.

“It has nothing at all to do with…” He couldn’t even bring himself to say the word.

“Sex?”

“Us, dammit. It has nothing to do with us. That’s in the past.”

“Of course,” she soothed.

“Your husband just died,” he reminded both of them.

“The marriage had been over for a long time. I told you that.”

“But you didn’t tell me why.”

“Do we have to get into that now?”

Tucker glanced over and saw the exhaustion and strain in her eyes, around her mouth. But despite that, despite all she’d been through in the past twenty-four hours, she was beautiful. “No, it can wait,” he told her.

She met his gaze. “King’s going to go ballistic when he finds out about this. You know that, don’t you?”

“I can take it. Besides, what good are old friends if you can’t call ’em when you need ’em?”

“We were more than friends, Tucker. And it ended badly. I’m sorrier for that than I can ever tell you. I never meant to hurt you.”

He looked into her eyes, then shook his head. “Let’s not go there. We just agreed that I’m just helping out an old friend. Don’t turn it into anything more.”

“Other people will.”

“Let them. I can handle that, too.”

“But you shouldn’t have to defend yourself on my account. I know how it works around here. At the first whiff of scandal, the vultures will start circling.”

“I’m not worried.”

She gave him a wry look. “You tired of being sheriff?”

“My job’s not at risk, as long as I steer clear of this case.”

“Completely, or in your professional capacity?”

“Both,” he said firmly. “You have an attorney. He’ll be more help than I could be from here on out.”

“But you’re a cop, a trained investigator.”

His gaze narrowed. He was pretty sure he could see right where she was heading with this. “So?” he asked cautiously.

“I need to find out who killed Larry. I won’t be able to rest until I know. Since you insist on letting me stay with you, I might as well take advantage of your expertise.”

“Walker will figure out what happened here yesterday. Your husband was an important man. The sheriff’s department will be highly motivated with or without my involvement.”

She regarded him with a wry expression. “So highly motivated that they’ll want to wrap up the case by arresting the first decent suspect that comes along?”

To Tucker’s everlasting regret, she had a point. Even if he stayed on Walker’s back, it was possible that the quickest solution would be the one people would grab onto. “If it comes to that…”

“It’ll be too late. Don’t they say trails go cold very quickly?”

“Mary Elizabeth, I already have a job. If you want someone besides the police looking into this on your behalf, hire an investigator. I’m sure Powell can recommend a good one.”

“He could, but I trust you.”

He sighed heavily. “I thought you regretted drawing me into this. And I am absolutely certain I heard Powell tell you not to trust me.”

She regarded him solemnly. “He did. And I do regret getting you involved, but you’re in it now. And it was your choice to keep me underfoot where I can pester you. I might as well take advantage of that fact.”

“And my job? What do you propose I do about that?”

“You said yourself you haven’t taken any time off in forever. Since you need to avoid this case and I doubt there’s much else going on in Trinity Harbor, take a vacation or a leave of absence, whatever makes you comfortable. I’ll pay you the going rate to work for me as an investigator.”

“Liz—”

“Two weeks,” she pleaded. “If nothing turns up in two weeks, you can turn it over to another investigator.”

Tucker had weeks of vacation time coming to him, but talk about a busman’s holiday. This was hardly the kind of relaxing break he needed. A couple of weeks doing nothing but fishing, that was a vacation. This…this was a disaster waiting to happen. Add in Walker’s reaction to having him poking around in his investigation, to say nothing of the personal complications from working closely with Mary Elizabeth, and it was asking for the kind of trouble any sensible man shunned.

“Please,” she coaxed. “I need you, and you know I would never say that unless I was desperate.”

That was certainly true. Mary Elizabeth had always prided herself on needing no one. The fact that she’d been shedding tears all day like Niagara Falls was testimony to her level of stress and panic.

“Two weeks,” he agreed finally. “And not a minute longer.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” he said, shifting to meet her gaze. “Just figure out how we’re going to keep my father from finding out about this and killing us both.”

6

I t was two hours after his encounter with Daisy by the time King tore into the sheriff’s office. He’d missed Tucker by minutes everywhere he looked…and he had pretty much covered the whole blasted county.

Walker had been downright evasive when King had demanded to know where his son had gone when he’d left Swan Ridge.

“You just tell me one thing,” King had demanded when he arrived at the neighboring estate. “Is he with that woman?”

“Can’t say,” Walker said, annoyingly poker-faced.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Why are you here?” Walker countered. “Or do I even need to ask? Daisy’s behind it, right? Tucker said you two were going to get all worked up over him having any contact with Mrs. Chandler.”

“Well, do you blame us?” King had retorted indignantly. “Not five minutes after her husband dies, she’s sniffing around Tucker again.”

“I don’t think it’s like that,” Walker said, defending Tucker with brotherly loyalty. “She turned to a friend for a little help.”

King snorted. “Then you’re as blind as my son where that she-devil is concerned.”

Walker didn’t take the bait. “You got any other questions? I have a whole lot of things I could be doing around here, like helping the forensics guys gather hard evidence.”

“You ought to start with locking up the prime suspect,” King had groused.

“I would if I had one,” Walker countered. “Anything else?”

“Where’s she staying?”

Walker looked him directly in the eye and said with a perfectly straight face, “I don’t know.”

King regarded his son-in-law with disbelief. “You’re in charge of this investigation, am I right? Tucker is sensible enough to leave it to you?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t know where in the hell your prime suspect is staying?”

“I repeat, nobody has said she’s a suspect,” Walker shot back.

“If she’s not, then you’re a fool,” King declared. “A woman who would cut the heart right out of a man like my son is capable of anything.”

“That’s not the kind of thing you need to be running around town saying to just anybody,” Walker admonished him.

“Why not?”

“You ever heard of slander?”

“Last I heard, you can’t accuse somebody of slander when they’re speaking the truth.”

“As you see it. Unless you’ve got investigative skills I know nothing about, you don’t actually know a damn thing.”

“Facts are facts,” King had said stubbornly.

“Go home,” Walker advised. “Have a mint julep or something else that’ll settle your nerves. Talking to Tucker when you’re all riled up like this will be counterproductive.”

“I’ll talk to my own son when I damn well please.”

“First you have to find him, and my hunch is he won’t be anywhere you’re likely to think to look.”

Walker had certainly been right about that. King had checked Tucker’s place as well as the boardwalk, and now he was going to the most obvious place of all, the sheriff’s office. Maybe Tucker had come to his senses and locked Mary Elizabeth away behind bars. King could always dream.

“Where is he?” he asked Michele, already pushing open the door to Tucker’s office.

“Not in,” Michele told him. “He’s on vacation.”

King stared at her, mouth agape. “Since when?”

“Since an hour ago. He called in early this morning to take the day off, then called back to say he was taking two weeks off. Walker’s in charge, but he’s not here, either, in case you’re wondering.”

King sank down on a chair beside the dispatcher. “What the devil is my son thinking?”

“He was overdue for a vacation,” Michele pointed out. “He’d been getting downright cranky lately. I, for one, am relieved.”

King frowned at her. Either she was completely unaware of the reason for King’s sour mood, or she was deliberately choosing to ignore it and play dumb by acting as if this vacation were nothing out of the ordinary.

“Maybe so, but something tells me he’s not on a beach in the Caribbean,” he snapped.

In fact, King was one hundred and ten percent certain he would find Tucker somewhere in the vicinity of the widow Chandler. When he was calm enough to think rationally, a part of him couldn’t blame Tucker. The boy had been raised with a sense of decency and honor. The woman he’d once loved was in big trouble, and she’d come to him for help. What kind of man would turn his back on her at a time like that, no matter how devastated he’d been years ago when she’d walked out on him?

And, to be honest, there had been a time when King had liked Mary Elizabeth just fine, a time when he’d hoped for a union between her and his son, but every bit of sentiment he’d felt toward her had died the day she’d rejected Tucker so she could marry that weasel Chandler. King was not inclined to welcome her back into the family fold, especially not when she was caught up in a murder investigation that could wind up with mud being slung at anyone around her.

He shot a sly look at Michele, a big woman with a bigger heart. She was every bit as protective of Tucker as he was, the only difference being that she was willing to protect him against King. In fact, she considered it her solemn duty.

“Do me a favor. Try that beeper thing of his,” he suggested casually.

“I told you, he’s on vacation.”

“Darlin’, you and I both know that man hasn’t spent a day in years without that beeper turned on. If it’s with him, he’ll answer you.”

“And then?” she asked suspiciously.

“You let me talk to him.”

She was already shaking her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not? What’s the harm?”

“For one thing, he’s my boss. You’re not. For another, he left very specific instructions that he wasn’t to be disturbed.”

“By anyone?”

“No, by you,” she said bluntly, then shrugged. “Sorry.”

Just then a call came in on the nonemergency line. Looking relieved, Michele reached for the phone. “Yes, he’s here,” she said, sounding resigned. She turned to King. “It’s for you. It’s Daisy.”

King took the phone eagerly. Maybe his daughter had been able to use her powers of persuasion on Walker to get some information. “Yes?”

“Have you talked to him?”

“I can’t find him,” he admitted.

“Try the marina. I just talked to Bobby and tried to get him on our side. He was acting all weird, you know, the way he gets when he disagrees with me but doesn’t want to stir up a ruckus. I’m betting Tucker and Mary Elizabeth were right there, hiding in plain sight, as it were.”

King stood up, grateful for the tip. “I’m on my way. I’ll keep you posted. By the way, you need to tell that husband of yours that he’s a Spencer now. We expect loyalty from family members.”

“Actually, I’m an Ames now,” Daisy reminded him. “But I get what you’re saying. Unfortunately, Walker is an independent thinker, especially when it comes to work. That’s the one arena where my influence is limited.”

“More’s the pity,” King muttered. He handed the phone back to the dispatcher. “If my son happens to show up here, tell him I’m looking for him.”

She grinned. “Oh, I think he’s already well aware of that.”

King frowned at her. “Do you sass him like that?”

Her grin spread. “Whenever I get the chance. You have a good evening now, you hear?”

King shook his head. If he’d had a woman like that working for him, he’d have fired her by her second day on the job. Of course, he conceded, if a woman like Michele were working for him, she probably would have quit within the first hour.

Bobby tilted his chair back on two legs and looked from Tucker to Mary Elizabeth and back, then shook his head. “I don’t get it. Why aren’t the two of you bolting for the door? I just told you that I think Daisy figured out that you’re here, which means Daddy knows it by now. I give him five minutes, maybe less, to come storming in here.”

“You worried the commotion will be bad for business?” Tucker asked.

“Actually, most of the customers like a little diversion with their crabs and rockfish,” Bobby said. “Of course, if you’re staying, I highly recommend the halibut tonight. It’s cooked with lemon and capers and served over a rice pilaf.”

Tucker snapped his menu closed. “I’ll have that. Mary Elizabeth?”

“I’m not especially hungry.”

Tucker regarded her intently. “You’ll need to have some food in you if you’re going to face down King.”

“I could hide in the ladies’ room until he leaves,” she suggested. It was plain the remark wasn’t being made in jest.

“And leave me to handle him? I don’t think so.” Tucker gave her hand a squeeze. “We might as well get this over with. Besides, there is an up side to this. If we can win him over, let folks see that he doesn’t have any doubts about you, it will go a long way toward quelling whatever gossip is getting stirred up around town.”

“I think it’s going to take more than one evening and some casual chitchat over the halibut special to accomplish that,” Mary Elizabeth responded ruefully. “I’m not sure a lifetime’s long enough. You know how King loves to hold a grudge. He hasn’t spoken to your uncle in how long? Twenty, maybe thirty years? Does he even remember what the feud was about?”

“In detail,” Tucker said regretfully. “He still talks about the prize bull his brother stole out from under him at an auction.”

“Then I don’t hold out a lot of hope for tonight,” she said.

“The key is to get him into an appropriately mellow frame of mind,” Tucker said thoughtfully. “Bobby, have the waiter set two more places at the table.”

“If you think I’m sitting here to play referee, you’re crazy,” Bobby said, standing up at once. “And I’ve already warned Jenna to stay home tonight. I called the second you walked in the door.”

“The places are for King and Frances.” Tucker pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in a number. “Didn’t you tell me she and Daddy had a reservation here tonight until he called to cancel it?”

“Yes, but—”

“Frances, this is Tucker.” He winked at Bobby, who shook his head and went in search of a waiter. “I’m at the marina, and I understand that you were planning to meet Daddy here tonight. I’m almost a hundred percent certain he’s on his way over here right now. Why don’t you join us? You’d be doing me a huge favor.”

Frances chuckled. “Yes, I imagine I would. Your father’s on the warpath over you getting mixed up with Mary Elizabeth’s problems, isn’t he? It didn’t take a genius to figure that one out once I saw the evening news.” She sighed. “Not that he said a thing about it when he canceled our date.”

“Will you come over here and protect me? Please,” Tucker coaxed.

She hesitated.

“I’d really, really appreciate it.”

“Mary Elizabeth is there?”

“Yes.”

“That poor girl,” Frances said, clearly wavering. “She must be beside herself. Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. But keep in mind I am doing this for her, not to protect you from that meddling, know-it-all father of yours.”

Tucker grinned and gestured to the hovering waiter to go ahead and set the places. “Understood,” he assured Frances.

When he’d hung up, he looked at Mary Elizabeth. “She’s on her way. She’s worried about you.”

Tears filled her eyes, but this time she made no attempt to keep them from spilling over. “She said that?”

“Sweetheart, I told you that not everyone in Trinity Harbor is going to think you’re guilty of a crime.”

“But the few who don’t suspect me of killing Larry are going to blame me for hurting you.”

“Which is one reason we’re here tonight, instead of at my house. People need to get the message that they don’t need to worry about me, that you and I are getting along just fine, despite past differences.”

She studied him intently. “Are we, Tucker? Are we really getting along okay?”

“Have you heard me say anything to the contrary?”

“No, but you always were the most polite man I ever knew under the most trying circumstances. A lot of men would have plucked me out of bed and dumped me on the front lawn, rather than get involved in any way with a woman who’d abandoned them.”

Tucker glanced up and spotted his father coming in the door in full battle mode. “I think we’d better postpone that discussion for later and prepare to defend ourselves.”

Mary Elizabeth turned pale. Her hands were clenched together so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white. Tucker reached over and gave them a reassuring squeeze. He withdrew hurriedly, because the jolt of awareness that shot through him had little to do with comfort and a whole lot to do with attraction.

“Just smile and leave the rest to me,” he said, then lowered his voice, “And remember, if he gets really contrary, I still have my gun with me.”

She laughed at that, just the way he’d hoped she would. By the time King reached the table, she’d squared her shoulders and faced him with a smile that only someone who knew her well would recognize as forced.

“King, it’s lovely to see you again,” she said.

Tucker noted his father’s startled reaction and waited to see what he’d do next. King wasn’t constitutionally capable of being outright rude to a woman’s face.

“Mary Elizabeth,” he finally acknowledged with a curt nod.

Satisfied that for the moment his father would remain on good behavior, Tucker gestured toward a chair. “Have a seat and join us. Bobby says the halibut is especially fine tonight.”

“I didn’t come here to have dinner,” King grumbled, but he sat just the same.

“No, I imagine you came here to tell me what a mistake I’m making,” Tucker said, getting the issue out on the table.

King seemed surprised that Tucker had grasped that. “As a matter of fact, that is exactly what I intended to say.” He frowned at Mary Elizabeth. “No offense.”

“None taken,” she said, her lips twitching with amusement. “And I can understand why you might not want Tucker mixed up in my husband’s murder investigation.”

“The investigation’s not what has me worried,” he said pointedly. “It’s this.” His gesture encompassed the two of them. “You two, out here in public when her husband hasn’t even been buried yet.”

“We’re having dinner in a public place,” Tucker pointed out. “Not dining all alone by candlelight at my house. You think that would be better?”

“No, dammit. I don’t think you should be dining together at all. In fact, I think you should be steering completely clear of each other. Otherwise, a tragic situation is likely to turn ugly with speculation and innuendos running rampant around town.”

“I’m sure you’ll set people straight, won’t you, King?” Mary Elizabeth said, her gaze steady. “After all, who knows the two of us better than you do, and you certainly don’t think there’s any hanky-panky involved, do you?”

“Of course not,” he blustered. “My son’s not a fool.”

“Well, then, you should be able to shoot down all that nasty speculation, shouldn’t you?” she challenged.

“Of course I can.”

She beamed at him. “We’ll be counting on that.”

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