The Deep End of Fear

I bit my lip. It was another of Ashley's descriptions of Joseph, inspired by our experience of walking through fields fouled by Canadian geese. As funny as the expression sounded, Patrick was deadly serious, his eyes angry-angry and scared.

"All right, take Joseph's hand. Let's walk as quickly as possible."

Patrick's behavior didn't make sense, I thought, as we hurried up the alley then backtracked down the front street. If Patrick was tapping into the record of Ashley's thoughts and feelings, why didn't he act this way toward Joseph?

Suddenly I realized my mistake. At the beginning, when Patrick had described Ashley's hair and clothes, I had thought that he was seeing a talking image of her, seeing her the way people are supposed to see ghosts. But Dr. Parker had said that he was experiencing her emotions and thoughts, nothing more. Ashley had been proud of her curly hair and had loved the coat and shoes that Patrick described. He knew what she looked like not by seeing some kind of image, but simply through her thoughts about herself.

Even after talking with Dr. Parker, I had imagined that Patrick "heard" Ashley's thoughts the way one might hear a ghost-as if Ashley were narrating her story, as if she were an actress delivering lines for his benefit. But he was experiencing her thoughts and feelings as if she were inside his head. Perhaps the more he connected with her psychic trace, the less able he became to distinguish her thoughts from his own. Immersed in her thoughts, he had transferred her feelings about various people to people in his own life.

Patrick wouldn't recognize Joseph by Ashley's thoughts about his physical appearance, for Joseph looked nothing like he did twelve years ago. But if Patrick experienced her negative thoughts about "my tutor," he might apply those thoughts and feelings to his own tutor-me. If Patrick "heard" Ashley's thoughts as if they were his own, then his belief that his father had killed November made sense: Ashley would have thought, "Daddy hates November.

Daddy wants to get rid of him," meaning Trent; but to Patrick, "Daddy" was Adrian.

"This is it, Katie," Joseph called out to me, trying to catch my attention. "You're not leaving me alone with this kid, are you?"

I turned around and saw that I had walked past the S.U.V. "Sorry."

Patrick got in the back of the vehicle and I in the front. When I checked to see if his seat belt was fastened, he glared at me.

Joseph must have read the pain on my face. "Don't take him so seriously, Katie. His brain has been scrambled by whatever Trent gave him."

But I knew it wasn't the effect of the sedative. Patrick had begun to pull away from me the night I discovered him playing the piano the same way Ashley had played to annoy Joseph. And the look on his face now-defiance and fear-I had seen that two days ago when rescuing him from the pond.

A new thought occurred to me, one so strange and chilling, goose bumps rose at the back of my neck. At the pond I had been trying to get Patrick to tap into the moments when Ashley was lured onto the ice, hoping she saw who was responsible and that he could learn the murderer's identity from her. What if he had learned that it was "my tutor"?

I turned slowly toward Joseph and watched him drive, popping Life Savers into his mouth, wiping the sweat off his brow, looking like a normal, overweight guy on a warmish day in March. Joseph? Impossible.

But he had been there the day Ashley had died. And he knew I was taking Patrick to the pond after school in an effort to learn about her death. He knew about the reappearance of November, but I hadn't told him the cat was killed-our conversation at Tea Leaves was cut short when Trent and Margery arrived. It wouldn't have been hard to find an orange tabby that resembled November from a distance. Had Joseph hidden among the trees that day? Had he called me on the cell phone, disguising his voice, baiting me, knowing the one reason I'd leave Patrick for a moment was to protect him from a furious Robyn?

"What is it?" Joseph asked, suddenly aware that I was gazing at him.

We were stopped at a red light, and his brown eyes looked steadily into mine, a small frown forming above them. "Is something wrong?"

I shook my head and looked away. "No, I was just thinking."

How well did I know this man? No better than I knew Trent, or Robyn, or Brook-l only thought I did because he seemed to be on my side.

The light changed, and Joseph drove on.

He had no reason to kill Ashley, I told myself. He had no reason to bait Patrick. People, sane ones, don't murder people they simply don't like. And even if there was some motive sufficient for deadly revenge against the Westbrooks, something I knew nothing about, why would a person who hated them that much suddenly help me rescue Patrick? It didn't make sense.

I wished I could talk to Sam. I could count on Sam to say what he thought, to argue with me till we were blue in the face, till we got to the truth. Sam was the only one I could really trust.

Joseph pulled into the empty lot at the front of the auction house. The long building was closed up tight. I don't see Adrian," he said, sounding a little miffed.

"He's probably in the back. He said he would take care of the alarm and the dogs, then meet us at the front door."

Joseph glanced in the rearview mirror, then climbed out and opened the door for Patrick. Dizzy from the ride, Patrick grasped Joseph's hand as he walked toward the building's front entrance. I watched them a moment, then checked the driveway that circled the building for fresh tire tracks. As mad as my suspicion of Joseph seemed, I didn't want to be here alone with him.

Two sets of tracks scarred the sandy road. Someone has followed Adrian, I thought. Trent?

The auction house door opened. Relief shone on Adrian's face.

"Patrick!"

Patrick ran to his father, but his feet were clumsy and his balance off. He tripped and fell. Adrian rushed out the door, picked up his son, and carried him into the auction house. Joseph and I followed, Joseph quietly closing the door behind us.

Sitting on a bench, Adrian held Patrick close to him. "I was so afraid for you," he said, his voice cracking. He touched his son's face lovingly. "Who did this to you? Who took you from me?"

Patrick pulled back to gaze at his father, then looked around the cavernous building, as if searching for an answer among the jumble of furniture. His eyes stopped at me and he pointed.

"What?" I exclaimed. "That's not true! Joseph and I rescued you." I met Adrian's eyes. "You must believe me."

"I do, Kate," Adrian replied. "Patrick, who was in the room with you, before Kate and Joseph found you?"

"Trent."

Adrian's mouth stiffened. "Anyone else?"

"Miss Margery."

"And who else?"

"Nobody."

"Are you sure?"

Patrick thought for a moment, then nodded.

"Who took you from your bedroom last night?"

Patrick gazed about him, and I expected to be accused again.

"I don't remember."

"Who drove you to the hotel?"

"I was asleep," Patrick said. "When I woke up, I was in a big bed. I wasn't home anymore."

"Before you went to bed at home, did someone give you something to drink? Perhaps a little treat?" Adrian asked.

"Kate did."

I shook my head.

"Kate wasn't there," Adrian reminded him.

Patrick thought again. "Mommy did."

Adrian sighed. "All right. We'll talk some more when you're feeling better." He stood up, still holding his son. "I'm taking Patrick out to the car."

"He can walk if you hold his hand and move slowly," I said, for Adrian seemed out of breath. Patrick wasn't light, and the building was as long as a playing field.

I can carry him," Adrian replied. This was his little boy, and he didn't want to let go.

I walked with him, and Joseph followed.

"I don't want Kate to come," Patrick said. "Please, Daddy, don't let her."

Adrian turned to Joseph and me. "I would like both of you to remain here so we can talk. It's time to get to the bottom of this foolishness."

"You can't leave Patrick alone in the car," I protested.

"I've brought someone else who will take him to a safe place."

The second set of tracks, I thought.

"Still, Adrian, I'd like to-" "If you care about Patrick, you will stay here," he said firmly. "I don't want him frightened any more than he already is."

I swallowed hard and nodded.

As soon as the door closed behind Adrian and Patrick, Joseph began to pace. He paused to finger merchandise, picking up and putting down stemware, teacups, soup bowls, dinner plates. I wanted-to blurt out my suspicions. I wanted Joseph to look stunned, then explain to me how it couldn't be so. I couldn't stand thinking there was a chance he had murdered Ashley. Nervous and cold, I rubbed my hands together, then folded my arms across my chest.

Beneath the thin soles of my shoes, the building's concrete floor felt like a block of ice. Emergency lights were on at each exit, and two ceiling lights lit either end of the rectangular structure, but in between the space was a confusion of objects and shadows. The balcony receded into darkness. This was no place to be alone with a murderer-no place to ask if he was one. Still, I had to know. "Joseph?"

He was immersed in his own thoughts.

"Joseph?"

He turned suddenly to look at me. "What?" he asked, his voice sharper than usual.

"Sorry. Never mind."

To my relief, I heard the back door open again and Adrian's footsteps. "Now," he said, when he reached us, "we have some matters to settle."

"We do, indeed," Joseph agreed. "You owe me, Adrian. Who knows what could have happened to Patrick if Katie and I hadn't found him."

"I admit, this last bit of shenanigans has caught me by surprise," Adrian said. "I believed that Kate had taken him, and that Trent would find him at your house, Joseph."

"How could you?" I asked. "How could you not trust me after all that has happened?"

Adrian rested a hand on my shoulder. "I underestimated how true blue you are. My apologies, Kate. I've made some-some rather poor decisions lately."

His voice sounded, tired. In the thin fluorescent lighting, his skin looked pallid. "So, Joseph, what exactly is it that you want?"

"You know. FedEx delivered."

"Twice," Adrian answered. "Twice a waste of your money and my time."

I remembered the package Adrian had opened in front of me, the one with the blue-striped envelope inside-Olivia's stationery. I had seen it earlier today, when Joseph was looking for a store tag. The slim hope I had clung to, that Joseph wanted nothing more than reward money, faded.

"If you think I will pay you a dime," Adrian went on, "you're even more ridiculous than I thought."

Joseph's neck turned pink.

I realize you were disappointed by your mother's estate. She left you with quite a mess, didn't she?"

His face grew mottled.

"But I thought you were earning an honest living now, you know, writing about the Conservatory, rubbing elbows with more talented musicians."

"You'll live to regret this," Joseph whispered.

"Will I?" Adrian laughed. "Perhaps you forgot-with so little time to live, there is not much I fear anymore."

"You should fear for Patrick," Joseph replied quickly. "You know what I'm talking about-you received my warnings. You must have guessed who loosened the bolts on the swing set."

I cringed. I had told Joseph how Patrick preferred the old play equipment.

"And then there was the little accident on the ice," Joseph added.

I had given him that opportunity, too, telling him I was taking Patrick to the pond that day.

"I didn't think I could pull it off, not when Katie wouldn't take the bait and go to the barn," Joseph continued in a boasting voice. "I had to think fast.

Brook's phone number was listed. And I was sure he didn't pay enough attention to his mother to know the names of her stable boys-that part was easy.

But the timing. ." Joseph smiled to himself. "The timing was delicate."

"You were there in the trees, watching us," I said accusingly.

"It was a wonder you didn't smell me out with my collection of fish and a rank old tomcat in a cage," Joseph replied, obviously enjoying his own story.

He turned to Adrian. "My window of opportunity was small for tossing the fish on the ice and releasing the cat. Even if Katie had gone to the barn, I counted on her to return quickly to check on Patrick. Oh, I didn't plan to kill Patrick," Joseph added. "No, no, I didn't miss my mark, Adrian. I executed perfectly-getting him on the ice just before Katie could notice and save him, sending a warning I knew you'd understand. After all, I had to let Patrick live long enough for one more chance at a deal. But not next time. Next time is for keeps."

"You're a pathetic man," Adrian said, and began to walk away. "You're sick, you're delusional, thinking this game will work."

"Adrian!"

He turned at the shrill sound of my voice.

"Joseph means it. He killed Ashley."

Adrian's eyes moved quickly to Joseph, then back to me. Joseph said nothing. I couldn't bear to look at him. In my mind, his face was that of a friend, and I couldn't stand to see the betrayal on it.

"Joseph is nothing more than pathetic, Kate," Adrian said. "He is a wimp, a whiner, a person who blames others for his own failings. He hasn't the guts or skill to do anything challenging, much less murder."

"But he killed her," I insisted. "Patrick has been tapping into a trace of Ashley's thoughts. That's why he keeps talking about her as if she is alive. He knows Ashley hated and feared her tutor, and he is transferring. those feelings to me."

"Thank you, Jim Parker," Joseph remarked. I had hoped his paranormal mumbo jumbo would distract you.

"I don't understand, Kate," Adrian said. "What motive could Joseph have had?"

"Money. That's plenty of motive for you, isn't it, Joseph?" The anger that was surging through me finally enabled me to turn to him.

"I rather like it, yes."

"Who paid you to do it?" I asked.

Joseph didn't reply.

"Trent or Robyn," I guessed. "Robyn was horribly jealous of Ashley. And Trent had learned that she was my father's child."

Joseph smiled. "That's the delightful part about this family. They're the kind of people who provide plenty of cover for a murderer. Of course, nice people, like you and your mother, can provide cover, too, as Adrian has proven so well. It was he who hired me."

I turned and stared at Adrian with disbelief. "You," I said softly.

Adrian gazed back, his face mild, his blue eyes expressionless. He wasn't going to deny it.

"I told you he couldn't be trusted," Joseph said. "I told you, Katie, he'd burn everyone but a Westbrook-me, your mother"-his voice grew whiny-"but you didn't believe me." "I can't-'' " Adrian couldn't endure the thought of his money going to a grandchild who wasn't his own blood," Joseph went on. "Corinne had made a fool of him, convincing him that Ashley was a Westbrook. Even so, he didn't want to cut off Corinne and Ashley, not publicly. Nor did Adrian want Trent to file for divorce. Either way, Adrian and Trent would have to admit they had been suckered by Corinne, and Adrian was much too proud for that.

"But if Trent did not admit it, if he took the blame for a failed marriage, he'd lose a large sum of money in the divorce settlement. That would never do.

No, an accidental death was the only way to eliminate Ashley while saving face and money. Adrian wagered that Corinne, feeling nothing for Trent and having lost her darling brat on the estate, would leave, which she did."

"The two of you killed Ashley." I was still struggling to believe the horrifying idea.

I baited her with the rabbit, yes. I watched her go under. Adrian likes others to do his dirty work. I told you, Katie," he said with the voice of a schoolteacher annoyed that a student hadn't listened, "he uses others, then discards them. He paid only half of what he promised me. Half! And he did nothing to get me admitted to the Conservatory."

"You never change, Joseph," Adrian said. "You're always blaming others for your own failures." He moved slowly toward the wall where there was a bench and sat down heavily. "I didn't pay the balance because you stupidly, lavishly spent the first payment within two days, calling attention to yourself and therefore to me, at the very time that Ashley died. You left me no choice. I had to stop the money and quickly take precautions against a police inquiry, hiring a private investigator, pointing him in the direction of Victoria, in case I needed a suspect."

I swallowed several times, but could not get the bitterness out of my throat. Adrian didn't care how many lives he destroyed as long as he kept the Westbrook money and reputation intact. I began to back away, not out of fear but repulsion.

Adrian eyed me and said to Joseph, "Now that you have set Kate straight, you have earned yourself another job. Kill her."

I froze at his words. It was a nightmare turned real: I had no voice to scream; my legs wouldn't move.

"Kill her, and you'll get your money. Please don't misunderstand, Kate," Adrian added. "I like you. I like you very much. It's a matter of priorities."

"Family first," Joseph remarked with a giggle.

"Exactly."

"But two for the price of one, Adrian, that's not fair. I want triple the money," Joseph said, laughing nervously, like a child who knew he was asking too much. "Ashley's fee, Katie's, and a fee to keep Patrick safe."

"You're ridiculous."

"Aren't I, though? Triple." Joseph continued to laugh in a high-pitched way that set my teeth on edge. My feet suddenly could feel again. I turned and ran.

"Get her!"

"Who, me?" Joseph asked.

"Stop her. She can sink us both."

"Toss me some money, Adrian. Make me a deal."

I dodged a handcart and kept running. I was halfway to the closest exit, the rear one, when I heard a door slam back against a wall and the barking of dogs. I glanced over my shoulder. Through a side entrance came a blur of motion, black and tan, two large shepherds, Joseph took off toward the front of the building. The dogs barked anxiously, eager to chase, waiting for their command.

"What are you doing?" Joseph shouted back at Adrian. "Put them away. I was bluffing."

Adrian laughed, then gave two commands. I glanced back again. The dogs separated. Joseph ran toward the balcony steps. I turned and raced down a row of chairs and chests.

A dog was quickly on my trail. I climbed over a sofa, landed hard on my ankle in the next aisle, and continued running. In a single leap the dog was there, in my aisle, getting closer with each second.

"Call it off, Adrian," I heard Joseph scream. He sounded higher up. "Call it off."

"Too late," Adrian replied.

Ahead of me was a line of bureaus, tall ones, side by side. I pulled out a lower drawer, used it as a step, and propelled myself over the furniture. The dog was confused for a moment, its bark changing tone. Then it found a desk farther down the line and slipped under, hot in pursuit again.

I couldn't look back, I'd lose too much time. Its baying grew closer. My heart pounded, my side cramped. Six meters to the door, half that between the dog and me. I wasn't going to make it. I couldn't.

The door opened.

"Sam!"

He charged toward me, grabbing a ceramic lamp, hurling it at the dog. The lamp shattered against the concrete floor and the dog shied away. It was distracted for a moment-barely a moment. I reached for a glass vase and threw it. A thousand pink shards exploded up from the floor.

But the dog would not be intimidated twice. It barely flinched. The position of its ears, the way it focused its eyes on me, I knew what was coming. Sam grabbed another lamp, a floor lamp with a long shaft. The dog lunged.

Sam brought the pole down hard, separating the dog and me. The animal's bark dropped in pitch to an ugly growl. Its upper lip pulled back; its teeth were wet with an excess of white saliva.

Joseph sounded as if he was on the balcony now. I could hear him screaming at Adrian and Adrian laughing, unconcerned with what was happening at our end of the building.

"Adrian!" I shouted, desperate to get his attention. "Adrian!"

Just then the dog rushed Sam. Sam swung the shaft of the lamp, slamming it down on the dog's shoulder, infuriating it.

"Run, Kate. Get out!"

The dog gripped the pole with its strong jaws, wrestling with it. Suddenly it let go and began to circle Sam. When Sam turned his head to see where I was, the dog stopped, its body quivering with tension.

"Don't take your eye off it, Sam."

The dog was positioned between us and the back door. But the door at the other end of the building was too far away. I'd be caught before I ran a quarter of the distance.

"Get up on a table," Sam said, keeping the lamp pole between himself and the dog. "Do you know how high these dogs can jump?"

"More than a meter-maybe four feet, five. A table won't do it."

"It will get you to that closet-thing."

I glanced back at a tall mahogany wardrobe.

"Shove the table against it. I'll knock it away once you're up."

"Once you're up," I corrected him.

"Just get there," he said between gritted teeth.

There wasn't time to argue. I shoved the table against the wardrobe, hoping the more massive piece of furniture was as sturdy as it looked. The dog's head followed the sound of the table's feet screeching against the concrete floor. Sam hissed to draw the animal's attention, and I scrambled onto the table.

"Are you up?" Sam asked, his back toward me, still keeping the dog at a distance with the shaft of the lamp.

"No."

The wood of the wardrobe was smooth and slippery. Each time I tried to pull myself onto the top, my hands slid over the edge. I licked them to make them sticky and jumped from the table to give myself a better angle. Getting partway on top, I pulled with all my strength. My arms ached. I scraped my ribs, slowly dragging the rest of my body onto the high, flat surface.

"Your turn," I called to Sam.

He backed toward the table, half step by half step, slowly, steadily. The dog moved with him. There was a heavy rope coiled on top of the wardrobe. I seized it like a weapon.

"Almost there," I told him.

His left hand reached back and felt the table, his right kept the pole between him and the dog. He slid onto the table, then carefully pulled up. his feet.

The dog's growl deepened.

"When you're ready, hand me the pole," I said.

"I can manage it."

"You'll have to turn your back to the dog. Give me the pole. I'll fend him off."

"You might fall," he argued.

"I'm not that clumsy."

"Kate, just stay still."

"Give… me… the… pole!"

But Sam, crouching on the table, rose to his feet and quickly spun around, letting the lamp shaft go, so he could hoist himself onto the wardrobe. The dog charged. Sam cursed.

"Kick! Kick!" I cried, then lashed out with the rope, using it like a whip on the dog. I brought the rope down hard again and again, trying to back off the furious animal. Hearing the rip of clothing, I pulled on Sam's arm.

He suddenly propelled himself to the top of the wardrobe, so suddenly, I was unprepared for the shift in weight and direction. I fell backward. Sam yanked me toward him, back onto the top of the furniture.

The dog leaped against the solid wardrobe, charging it repeatedly, as if he had gone mad. Sam and I held on to each other and stared down at the animal.

A scream, a man's shout that pitched into terror, quickly drew our eyes upward. Joseph was in the loft, shouting to Adrian, "Call the dog off. Call it off!"

"You had your chance, several chances."

I could see Joseph backing toward the balcony railing. The dog matched him step for step, then began to close the gap.

"Call the dog off," Sam hollered. I shouted with him.

Joseph took a step up onto the flat metal railing. He climbed to the top, standing on a surface half the width of his foot. There was nothing for him to grab on to there-no pole, no wires-the ceiling high above him, the ground floor far below. The dog snapped at his feet. Joseph teetered.

I saw what followed as if played in slow motion. Joseph realized his fate, closed his eyes, began to fall. Sam jerked my head toward his shoulder, then buried his face with mine. We didn't see Joseph hit, just heard a sound like a pumpkin smashing against the concrete floor.

"Tonya, Marcus, come!" Adrian commanded the dogs.

Sam and I held on to each other on top of the wardrobe. We couldn't see Joseph from our perch, but one of the dogs was nosing the area where he had fallen.

"Marcus, get out of there!" Adrian shouted at the dog. "I don't want to have to clean you up."

I sank against Sam, feeling sick to my stomach.

"I'm sure he's dead, Kate," Sam said quietly, "but as soon as the dogs are kenneled, I'll check him out."

I can look for myself."

"Don't argue-not this one, okay? If it were someone I had thought was my friend, I would ask you to look for me."

I nodded mutely.

"Sam, Kate, we must talk," Adrian said, as if we, too, were obedient to him.

I ignored him. "How is your leg, Sam?"

"Marcus got a mouthful of pants."

"Did he? So, it's your pants that are bleeding like that."

"There is no need to stay up there," Adrian called to us.

Sam grunted under his breath, then said aloud, "When the dogs are inside, the door is closed, and you are farther from the door than we are, we'll come down."

"Of course, I understand," Adrian replied, sounding almost amused by our caution. "But don't leave. There are a few things we all need to understand."

As soon as he had secured the dogs behind the door, Sam jumped down from the wardrobe and rushed toward Joseph. He stopped suddenly. The way he gripped the back of a chair told me all I needed to know. Sam turned to me, his body bent slightly, his face distorted, sickened by what he had seen, then he buried his chin in his chest and walked swiftly back to me.

I slid off the wardrobe. "Let's get out of here."

"Not unless you have better lawyers than I do," Adrian called. He walked toward us, cell phone in hand, punching in numbers.

"Yes," he said into the phone, "this is Adrian Westbrook. I'm calling from Crossroads Auction House. I wish to report a break-in and what appears to be an unfortunate casualty resulting from it… No, it's too late for medical assistance. The thief must not have realized we had guard dogs. He appears to have fallen. . Yes. . Yes. . I'm not sure," he responded, eyeing me. "It is possible that more than one person was involved…. Thank you. I'll wait for you here."

Adrian closed his cell phone and gazed thoughtfully at Sam and me. "I called the sheriff, not the state police, to give us a little more time, though we don't have much. You need to make some choices quickly."

"The facts don't leave us any choices," Sam replied.

"Oh, everyone has choices," Adrian said. "Joseph here, chose to break in. His reason? One can only conjecture, but he cased the place last Monday with Kate-several people witnessed that. Perhaps, in the course of settling his mother's affairs, he became interested in the antique business. Perhaps he spotted a few valuable pieces he wanted but didn't wish to pay for. Too bad he forgot about the guard dogs.

"As for Kate, what choices does she have to make? Not only was she seen with Joseph on Monday, guests and employees at the hotel noticed her and Joseph" together just before the break-in today. One has to wonder why a teenager would get involved in this kind of business — for a percentage of the profits? But wait, she was recently fired by the owner of the auction house."

He was framing me, blackmailing me.

"Don't look so grim, Kate," Adrian said, sitting down on a Victorian settee, running his hand over the torn silk upholstery. "I was painting the worst scenario for you. In fact, you can choose to be quite well off for a seventeen-year-old. Your father must have left you a respectable sum. I would give you something rather more outrageous, with my guarantee that I will swear you had no part of this and with your guarantee that you will go along with my story to the police."

"But I won't."

I saw the perspiration on his brow, the first sign that he was less than sure things would work out his way.

"I don't think you understand the precarious nature of your situation," he said, "the little bits of information the police might be given that aren't very flattering to you, such as the poisoning of Patrick when he was in your care, the so-called accident at the pond, his distrust of you, not to mention the power of my testimony coupled with Sam's."

Sam turned to me. "Let's go, Kate."

"I would think twice before saying no to full tuition, Sam, tuition and board at an Ivy League college. I'd be delighted to give a decent education to a boy as bright as you. Did I mention I'm on Harvard's board of trustees? They have a fine hockey team."

"Over my father's dead body."

I heard a car engine. I wondered how two teens could convince a sheriff that they were innocent.

"I admire the honesty of both of you," Adrian said, his voice as reasonable as ever, though he was breathing fast, "but think it through. Ashley's murderer is dead. I have little time left — I'll be dead before a trial could begin. If death is the ultimate justice, justice will be attained. No one is in danger now from me-I'm not a common criminal. Most important, Patrick will be spared. Kate, you love the boy. Do you want him growing up knowing what his father has done?"

I didn't answer right away. I would have done anything to protect Patrick from more pain. I knew what it was like to grow up without a parent you loved deeply, to believe terrible things about that parent and try to hate her, hurting only yourself each time you did. If Sam and I covered for Adrian, we could give Patrick a few more precious months with his father and some happy memories. At seven years old, he had suffered enough.

"It's not what I want, but it's what is going to be," I replied. "I won't keep any more of your horrid secrets. In the end, secrets come back to haunt. I don't know how it will happen, or when, but someday Patrick will stumble on something that doesn't quite make sense. He'll start asking questions and realize that people lied to him in significant ways. Then he'll begin to doubt everything else he knows and experienced. He'll doubt even the good things that have happened to him. He'll mistrust people who try to get close, and become more and more alone."

Adrian rose to his feet, his face bathed in perspiration. At the same moment the front door of the auction house opened. The person who entered stopped just inside the door and gazed about. At first I didn't recognize Robyn. Her hair hung loose and untidy, as if she had yanked it out of its clip. Her shirttail, usually tucked in neatly, billowed out from beneath her* short jacket. She strode toward us, her bam boots thumping against the concrete, then stopped midway down an aisle of furniture.

"This is a pretty mess," she said, turning her face away from the sight of Joseph lying on the floor.

From a distance, with her skin pale and her hair wild, her eyes glistening as if wet from riding in the wind, she looked younger, like a schoolgirl who had just ridden the newest horse in her daddy's stable. But as she grew closer, the shine in her eyes and the pallor of her skin looked unnatural. Her hands shook and her gait became unsteady.

"Hoppy was right about you being here," she said to her father. "There is nothing Hoppy doesn't hear or know."

"Robyn, you don't look well," Adrian observed.

"I feel wonderful," she replied. "I feel… liberated."

Adrian's brow creased, a look of apprehension spreading over his face. "Come, sit down for a moment." He patted the place next to him on the silk settee. "You see that Sam Koscinski and Kate are here."

He's warning her not to say too much in front of us, I thought.

"I see," she said, her voice flat. "I see that all my hard work has come to nothing."

Her words were uneven, as if she couldn't catch her breath.

"And why is that?" Adrian asked quietly, soothingly. He patted the seat next to him again, but she didn't sit down.

"Because I'm a fool! A total fool!" she cried angrily. "I have spent my life caring for you, pleasing you, protecting you when you were too cocksure to protect yourself. I knew she'd blow the whole thing apart," Robyn said, with a jerk of her head toward me. "Hoppy knew it too," she went on, "but you weren't going to be cowed by anyone." She shook her head. "All I've done for you, Daddy, all I've done for you. I tried to get rid of Kate, pushing her from the top of the stairs, getting Brook to break the window, as Ashley had, poisoning the cat, hoping to scare her into leaving.

"It didn't work. Hoppy had said it wouldn't. I was getting desperate, knowing it wouldn't be long before Kate figured out what I had guessed long ago about Ashley's death. So Hoppy laced the pie.

When the plan went bad, I added the open bottle of cough syrup, and finally you fired Kate. Once again I had helped you. I thought it was all over."

"Then Patrick was abducted," I said.

She acted as if she didn't hear me.

"It was Trent who took him," Adrian told his daughter.

"I wish the devil himself had and he had carried Patrick all the way to hell! But you, you would have gone there to get him back. You would do anything for him, and yet you never notice what I do for you. You didn't notice with Ashley around, and you don't with Patrick, either."

She ran her hands through her hair, her fingers separating the strands, then bunching into fists, tangling them up. "All you could think about was your missing son. I saw that Emily was going to be as useless as ever, worrying about Patrick, not you, not even considering the effect of this on your health.

So I phoned your doctor.

That's right," she said, responding to the sudden lift of Adrian's head.. "I spoke to your doctor about my fears for you." Robyn laughed out loud. "You know what she told me, don't you. You haven't been getting experimental treatment. Your cancer was cured."

I blinked.

"You've got the health of a man fifteen years younger-that's what your doctor said. You were manipulating us, Daddy! All of us, even your wife! You were dangling your money in front of us, seeing which dog you could make jump the highest!"

Robyn circled the settee, then sat next to him. "But once again I fixed things for you. I'm keeping you to the plan. There was poison in the cup of coffee I brought you today, the one you drank just before you left."

Adrian stared at her with disbelief.

"Surprised? Surprised as I was at what Daddy's girl could do?" She started to cry. "All my life, all I wanted was to please you."

Adrian bowed his head.

"But I didn't want you to die alone, Daddy. You know I wouldn't do something that horrible to you." She laid her head on his shoulder. "I drank it too."

"Robyn!" Adrian closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her head.

"Sam, we have to call a paramedic," I said.

"Too late," Robyn whispered. "Too late." She snuggled like a small child against her father.

"I need your phone," Sam said, reaching toward Adrian, but Adrian kept his arms around Robyn, slowly stroking her hair. Sam reached into Adrian's pocket to retrieve the phone, then flicked it open and punched in the numbers.

He was talking to the dispatcher when the sheriff arrived. I explained quickly as much as I could, then rushed outside to Patrick. I found him asleep in Sam's car, unaware of what was going on.

Robyn died in her father's arms before the paramedics arrived. Sam said that Adrian refused treatment and died shortly after.

The week that followed the events at the auction house was, in many ways, more difficult than that which followed my father's death. When Dad died, I knew what I had lost. But while I felt depressed and saddened by the deaths of Adrian and Joseph, whom could I mourn-the people I thought they were?

They were cold-blooded murderers. They had betrayed not only me, but people I loved, my parents and Patrick.

I could do nothing to ease Patrick's pain and confusion, not that week. In his mind, Ashley's fear of her tutor was still too vivid for him to trust me. But Sam knew better than anyone how it felt to be a little boy who had lost his father. He missed his hockey game Saturday night-didn't make it as far as the team bench-not because of the stitches in his leg, but because Patrick needed him.

If Dr. Parker was right, Patrick's sensitivity to Ashley would fade and finally disappear when Patrick's life became different from the kind she had known. The dynamics at Mason's Choice had already changed, and Emily was talking about leaving the estate, which I hoped would hasten the process. I knew I had to be patient.

Trent, Sam, and I spent much of that long week talking to the police, trying to patch together the recent events, though some things would never be verified. Trent told the authorities he had suspected that Ashley was murdered, but did not know who did it. While admitting he felt no affection for Patrick, he said that the prospect of another child's death was a painful reminder to him of the death of Ashley. He also realized that a child's death, occurring twice in a generation, would call unwanted attention to the family and create suspicion. After I was fired, he feared that Patrick was vulnerable, and removed him from the house till he could figure out who was threatening him. Looking back now, I should have realized that if Trent had wanted to hurt or kill Patrick, he wouldn't have brought him to a hotel in town and wouldn't have left behind such an obvious paper trail.

As for Mrs. Hopewell's and Brook's roles in all these events, we knew only what Robyn had claimed before she died. The housekeeper was gone by Sunday morning, leaving no forwarding address. Trent confided to me that she had a sister in Virginia, but he. did not tell the police that, for I wasn't filing charges over the laced pie. I had no evidence to support what a court would consider the "hearsay" of a dead woman.

Brook left for Florida nearly as fast, after denying knowledge of any- and everything that had happened; one would have thought he was living in England for the last week and a half. While I will never know if he was the one who killed Patrick's hamster, my hunch is that he did it just for fun-his kind of fun, upsetting a child. In retrospect, I think Brook lacked his grandfather's steel, which had the curious advantage of making Brook nasty, heartless, and petty, but not actually evil. I think that when he realized more serious things were going on in the house, he pulled back from his own pranks.

Whatever the case, Brook will eventually be a very wealthy nineteen-year-old, for it turned out that Adrian did not change his will-had never planned to, according to his attorney. He provided for his wife and divided the rest evenly among his three children. Brook would inherit all of Robyn's portion.

During that week, Sam gave me his father's old notebook to read. It was Mr. Koscinski's jottings that had moved Sam to seek out Adrian the morning Patrick was missing. Putting together a log of the money spent by Joseph and bank reports on Olivia, whose cash had been tied up in her new shop, Sam suddenly realized that his father had been working on a new suspect-someone who had been present at the time of Ashley's death, someone with a surprising amount of money immediately after: Joseph. But who had paid him to kill Ashley? The most likely candidate was Adrian, Sam had thought, though Trent also had access to company funds.

Sam's plan had been to talk to Adrian and see what kind of visceral response he'd get when mentioning his belief that Joseph was dangerous. He never got that far.

Robyn interrupted, bringing in her father's tainted coffee, then Joseph and I phoned from the hotel. Adrian asked Sam to follow him to the auction house so that he could drive Patrick home. I suppose Adrian wanted Patrick safely out of the picture while he talked to Joseph and me. He didn't realize how much Sam knew, and made a fatal mistake in assuming that Sam could be bought, as the young and ambitious Joseph had once been.

Sam, his mother, and I attended the private funeral of Robyn and Adrian. On a dreary afternoon they were buried in the family cemetery, a place that, for me, would always be full of ghosts. Three days later, Friday of that week, we went to a small memorial service for Joseph, given by his friends in Baltimore. It had rained all week; that day, it sleeted. I didn't think winter was ever going to let go.

Then Saturday morning dawned with a washed blue sky. The wind had a different feel, a lighter touch. Shy flowers called snowdrops raised their heads.

In a sunny spot against a brick wall a crocus dared to open. I knew the temperature would drop again and that, for a while, winter would be mixed up with spring. My mother was coming in a week-she had sent me her flight number-l got hot and cold just thinking about it. Even so, it was time, time to find out if we could still be mother and daughter, time to find out if Sam and I could be anything more than friends.

I found him flat on his back, under his car.

"That's a clever way to protect the environment," I said, crouching down to peer under the old sedan. "Lie beneath your car and let it drop oil on you."

Sam turned his head sideways. "So, you're feeling like yourself again."

"Yes and no," I replied honestly, sitting on the bristly grass next to the driveway.

He slid out from beneath the car and reached for a wad of paper towels to wipe his hands. "Actually, I'm involved in a complex operation. I'm trying to see if I can install a steering wheel on the right side of my car, so you can park it without threatening the lives of passing pedestrians."

I laughed, which made him raise an eyebrow.

"When I say something like that, you're supposed to act like a porcupine."

"Excuse me?"

"Get your quills up, Kate, do your cactus act. You're no fun anymore!"

I glanced away.

"Uh-oh. Sorry." He rested his hand on mine, as he had many times in the last week. His hand covered mine completely, and I wanted to turn my palm upward, to see what it felt like to slip my fingers between his.

I pulled my hand away. "There is something I have to tell you."

He waited, but not very patiently. "Spit it out."

"You have such a poetic way of putting things."

"That's what you wanted to tell me?"

"No!" Frustrated, I plucked at the grass on the edge of the driveway.

"Kate, you're starting to do that thing again-looking away, not meeting my eyes."

"I know." In the last week, I had needed his friendship and comfort so desperately, I hadn't thought about things like the shape of his hands and the luminous darkness of his eyes. But I was thinking about them now. Sometimes that was all I could think about.

"Want to tell me why you do that?"

I stared at a greasy wrench.

"Do you know why you look away?" he asked, his voice gentle.

I nodded.

"We've shared an awful lot, Kate. Can't you tell me?"

"I probably can if I don't look at you."

He threw back his head and laughed. "Sorry. That was funny. Okay" — despite an effort not to, he was still laughing-"what's the problem?"

"I'm in love with you.".

His laughter stopped. When the silence became unbearable, I glanced up at him. "You look-you look stunned. I'll get over it," I added quickly. "You know when I put my mind to something, I do it. I will get over it, Sam."

"But I won't," he said.

"Sorry?"

"I won't… I can't. I've tried-it's impossible." He reached for my face and held it in his hands.

So that's how it feels, I thought.

"I love you, Kate."

I don't think I breathed.

"I have from the very beginning," he said. "Well, maybe not that moment when you nearly destroyed my car."

"Nearly destroyed! I didn't touch it."

He laughed and ran his thumb softly across my mouth. How did he do that, make me feel his touch like heat beneath my skin-make me feel it everywhere even when he brushed only my lips.

"You can't have any idea how much I want to kiss you," he said.

"Maybe-maybe I do. Why don't you try and see?"

His mouth touched mine, lightly, carefully-too lightly and carefully-so I took over and kissed him.

"Maybe you do!" he agreed, when we had caught our breath again.