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"Hmmm. I think he's all set for them too. Let me check." Johnny rifled through a cluttered ledger, looking back several
months. "Nope, he's covered there too. Got the ones of the river up to Noggintok, and the coast outside the river mouth."

"So he's got one of Penitence Point, has he?" I asked, thinking quickly. Yep--

Bingo, I thought. It all comes back to the river.

"--he asked for that one the last time he was in, back in July."

"C'mon, Emma, he spoils himself too much, I told you already. He's got all the good stuff that we could have afforded. I still say we should go for the book we saw." Meg smiled wickedly, passing the hot potato to me.

For once I didn't miss a beat.

"You mean the one of Victorian nude photographs?" I asked sweetly. I turned to Johnny. "He's a photography buff too."

Meg snorted with laughter, then started coughing. Got her.

"You're right, Meg. We'll have better luck with that. But Johnny." I turned back to him a moment, putting my hand on his forearm in a conspiratorial gesture.

For a moment I was afraid we were going to see how fast Johnny could move when he sensed danger, but I shouldn't have worried: He was riveted.

"If you could keep our little shopping trip here a secret, just in case we do figure something out? Or better yet," I said, pulling out a scrap of paper, "if you could just give me a call if he comes back. His birthday's in a month, so anytime before then ... ?" I thought about batting my eyes, but didn't think I could pull it off convincingly.

Fire-engine red crept up through Johnny's face, and he agreed with alacrity. "Yeah, sure, I can always use the business. There's always a gift certificate or coupons for tank fills, if nothing else comes up. Nice, uh, meeting you ladies." He pulled away reluctantly and turned up his wrestling match.

Meg had be
en picking through the baskets
on the
counter, and she placed on the counter a key chain shaped like the whale on the roof. She glanced up at the stuffed dog. "Hang on a sec, Em. Hey, Johnny, I gotta ask--" Meg began as she pulled out her wallet.

"His name's Jake and he was the best damned dog anyone ever had. Stung by a jellyfish. See ya later." He slammed the cash register drawer shut, overcome either with emotion or with the engrossing nature of the bout, and we found ourselves dismissed.

Outside, I found myself faced with another problem. "Thanks for helping out in there."

"You gonna tell me what you were up to?" Meg asked, not able to conceal her curiosity.

I stalled. "Where'd you learn to dive? I wouldn't have thought there was much opportunity in Denver."

"I learned a lot of things moving around with Dad, and once we ended up in Hawaii for a year. I make the most of my opportunities. So," she said, not deterred by the sidetrack, "what's up with 'Uncle Tony'?"

I thought about it; she'd already heard an awful lot. "Get in. Look, I don't know what to tell you. I've got an idea that Tony Markham's somehow tied in with everything that went on this summer. Wait," I implored, cutting off Meg's exclamation as I pulled out. "I don't know how, I don't know why, but he's got an interest in Penitence Point that is beyond absorption in my own sterling work. I'm just trying to find out what that interest is."

"Do you think he killed Pauline?" she asked, stunned.

"I think it's possible that he knows something about it. You cannot, I repeat, cannot, tell any of this to anyone, under any circumstances. Do you understand?" I pinned her down with a glance; there could be no mistaking my intent. "I could get into a whole lot of trouble if this got out. I don't
know
anything. I'm only chasing down what appears to be a bunch of red herrings because I can't think of anything more
useful to do in looking for Pauline's killer." And when it came right down to it, I liked the guy. I had a hard time admitting that.

She just sat there, staring out the windshield, deep in thought.

"Meg, promise me you will
not
say
anything.
I'm dead serious about this, my professional life depends on you," I said. "I'm already pretty messed up about this, I don't need to lose my job too."

"I promise," she said finally. "And I keep my promises. But shouldn't the sheriff's department be looking into this?"

"They are, and they're not crazy about my interest in it either, so there's another reason for you to keep close counsel. One more detour to see them, and then we can head out. You still game?"

"Sure!"

"Okay, you might as well come in this time, now that you know what I'm about. Just keep it buttoned."

"I already said I would, didn't I?" Meg said irritably.

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. This is still a bit of a strain. I'm sorry, Meg." I felt a couple of centuries old and couldn't seem to straighten up my back.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"Never mind."

A few minutes later I pulled up to the red sandstone monstrosity that was the sheriff's office. The shadows were getting longer, and there was definitely a touch of fall in the air, and I imagined that schoolkids would be moving past this place on Halloween with a quicker step. "Time to start wearing long johns soon," I said, pulling up the collar of my coat.

Meg burst out laughing unexpectedly. I looked at her quizzically.

"I was just trying to imagine our friend in the shop back there in his woolies," she announced.

I shuddered. "Jesus. With that damned stuffed dog, he'd look like a demonic tooth fairy."

We saw Sheriff Stann
ard almost immediately. He obvi
ously was not in the mood for company, and the way that he was snapping out orders to scurrying deputies and administrators struck me as uncharacteristically brusque. The way some of his brown hair stood up would have been comical, save for the fact that the frustration that had caused him to make it so was still present on his face. The sheriff walked blindly past me, having dispatched the last of his trailing entourage, and stared dismally at the coffeemaker. I could smell burned coffee from where I stood, and watched as he poured himself what was probably his tenth cup of the day. And as much as I longed for a cup now, there was no way I'd drink that garbage.

"Now how did I end up here again, I wonder?" he asked Mr. Coffee, sucking down a slug of the syrup. Then he saw I was there and slumped down where he stood, clearly not any less busy than he had been when I had called earlier in the week. "What can I do for you, Dr. Fielding?"

"I'll just take two minutes. I just want to ask you a couple of questions."

It was not in his nature to deny a request when he could honor it. "Okay, but I got to tell you, it's a zoo here. When the coffee's gone, so am I. What's up?" He sat down on one of the blue plastic-cushioned waiting room chairs, looking like he was glad to have a reason to sit.

I took a deep breath. "I wanted to know if you had found out anything more about Pauline Westlake's killer."

"I'm afraid I don't have any more leads on that." He exhaled deeply. "It's a long way from being closed, though."

"You seem to be busy with the drug bust I've been reading about."

Stannard sighed with resignation. "It's been breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the past two weeks--lots to mop up yet. Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering how the stuff got here. Do people fly it in, or what?"

"Naw, too risky," he explained. "Usually they get a mule to drive it up from New York, or Providence sometimes, or even
all the way from Florida. If they don't get bagged for speeding, there's no way we can tell if they're smuggling anything at all."

Alarm bells were going off in my head and I knew I was on the right track. "What about boats? There's an awful lot of inlets, coves on the river--"

Dave Stannard broke in. "Too expensive, too risky. The Coast Guard is all over the place out there and that's their main business these days. What is your interest in this?" He looked at me sharply.

"I was just wondering about a possible connection." Quickly as I could, I recounted my findings. The sheriff appeared intrigued by the map I'd found in the storage closet and its subsequent reshuffling, then a little worried when I told him about my odd verbal joust with Tony. And he took out his notebook when I described what I learned from Frannie Maggers. He only looked amused when I told him about Johnny at the dive shop. I carefully edited out the part about the midnight raid on Tony's office and my little white lies to the area merchants. Meg's jaw dropped as I mentioned the map of the site that appeared at Tichnor's house.

"You know, maybe Tony Markham found the map and got the idea for the smuggling," I said. "And what about that guy I found dead on the beach back in July? He might have seen what was going on and they killed him!" I said excitedly. "Or maybe, maybe he was in on it too!"

He closed his notebook. "What guy? You don't mean Augie Brooks?" Stannard asked, working hard to mask his frustration with me. "He's been drinking and getting into trouble for dogs' years. It was only a matter of time before he got himself into a real fix--"

"But you have to admit that it makes sense, right?" I demanded. "All the pieces fit together!"

Stannard shook his head. "That is all completely circumstantial. Why would Professor Markham be connected with anything that happened last summer, anyway? Now, that
stuff that Frannie Maggers said, that might be a big help in learning more about Grahame Tichnor's actions. That could be a real clue. And maybe I could see Augie following him there, that could work. But there's nothing in the world I can do with the rest of that information, 'cept to warn you about jumping to conclusions. And, besides, all our leads in this operation suggest that the traditional routes are being taken, straight up 1-95. You got too many unrelated things going on here."

"I know, I know." I was impatient for him to get the point of all of my logic and solve things. "But it just seems to make sense, and I thought that with his recent sudden interest in the river area, and diving, and all, that there might be a connection with your recent troubles. There are an awful lot of good, I don't know,
unobservable
hiding places out there, by the Point. And the diving . . . And all his years of archaeological work might have got him drug connections in Mexico or Central America, don't forget," I added as an extra bonus, proof of my Tightness.

Stannard looked surprised for a moment, like someone whacked him in the head. Distractedly he put up his hand to halt me and hurriedly wrote something else in his notebook. That same hand rose to rub his hair, then, just as quickly, he read what he'd written and shook his head.

"No. It's gone now," he said to himself. He looked up, staring blankly at Meg, who was fiddling with her new key chain, and scribbled down another note. Stannard turned to me.

"What you've concocted is a nice story, but there isn't a scrap of evidence. Just means this Markham fellow might go diving for his dinner, or for fun, or for any number of things. Not bad, but I'm sorry, I think you're way off base. Thanks for telling me about Frannie Maggers, though, that's a help. I'll check that out, and let you know if I find anything else." He stared at his notebook again, caught himself being absentminded, and shook my hand sheepishly.

He intercepted another harried-looking officer, and they
both went into his office, closing the door with some finality. I sat, chewing my lip thoughtfully. Meg made an unconvincing attempt at a coughing noise, and I looked up.

"I think you're reaching, Em. I think that you need to let this go," the younger woman said quietly.

"I know I'm on to something," I said stubbornly. "Maybe it's not drugs, okay, that was a bit of a stretch, but there is a connection between Tony and all of this. I just know it."

"I think that you miss Pauline, and you want to see the killer pay for it. I think that this might be clouding your judgment. Just a little."

"Of course I bloody well want to make sure the killer pays for it!" I exploded. "Of course I miss Pauline! This has been driving me down a sewer and I want a rope! And the only way I can do that is to figure out this whole mess, so I can get a little peace of mind, and maybe a little bit of my life back. So sure my judgment is for the birds, but I haven't got anything else left."

I looked away from Meg bitterly, but she didn't back down.

"It's not your responsibility--"

"Don't be simple," I snapped. "It's everyone's responsibility, and if I think I have a few of the pieces to this puzzle, then so much the worse for me. Let's get going." I abruptly got up and left Meg to follow if she would.

The ride back to Caldwell was long and uncomfortably quiet.

Chapter 24

SUNDAY AFTERNOON ON THE PHONE, I WAS BEGINNING to sound pathetic and I knew it. "I'm just tired, that's all," I said to Brian.

"You been getting to bed on time?"

At the same time as I was comforted by Brian's instinct to look after me, I was irritated by his lack of perception. "No, not that kind of tired. I've just... run out of angles. I don't know what else to do. I mean, I can't even get the sheriff to listen to me anymore."

"Oh."

My husband was doing his best not to say anything, but his forbearance was so heavily painted with self-restraint that I knew he was getting impatient with me too.

"Why not just go down the list," he offered, "and we'll see if I pick up on anything you hadn't thought of."