"Where'd you get this?" I asked, already knowing the answer. I kept it in the back of my underwear drawer, a reminder to me that there had been a time when I looked good in a bikini. It was my motivation to remember my diet. Now it looked like just another link between me and my murdered brother-in-law.

"You guys searched my underwear drawer?" I asked. "And now you walk around with the key to my house on your key ring?" I couldn't believe it. If it wasn't bad enough that someone had come into my house and killed Jimmy, now the cops could root through my underwear any time they liked.

"Well," he said slowly, "not exactly."

"Not exactly? What does that mean, not exactly?" I jumped up off the step and whirled around to face him. With him sitting on the top step, and me standing just in front of him on the ground, we were eye-to-eye.

"We searched everywhere on the initial search warrant, Maggie. That's our job. But we can't just come and go into your house without cause."

"Then why do you have a key to my house?"

"I don't."

"You don't?"

Weathers shrugged his shoulders. "Nope."

"So, you were lying. Why?"

"To see what you'd do," he said.

I looked down at my boots. They were the sharpest-toed boots I owned and at that particular moment, all I could envision was kicking Weathers right in his shiny white teeth.

"I know you're mad," he said. "Hell, I'd be mad, too."

I looked up at him and he knew I didn't believe a word he said. "You know," I said, scuffing the ground with the toe of my boot, "the funny thing is, I'm more disappointed than mad." His eyebrow was up again. He hadn't expected this. "You see," I said, "I thought you were different. Vernell, Jimmy, hell, even Harmonica Jack, they've all got an agenda. I expect them to lie to me. But I thought you were a cut above. When I looked out onto the dance floor that first time I saw you, I thought to myself, Now there's a man you can trust. You can look right into those blue eyes and see he don't lie."

I coughed out a short, sarcastic laugh and stared at him like he was maybe a bad accident.

"Just goes to show you," I said, "what bad picker genes'll do." I drew myself up as tall as I could, straightened my shoulders, and looked him right in the eyes.

He stared right back, and where any other man might've started in with a host of sorry one-liners, he said nothing. I spun around and headed for the car. I didn't look back, didn't try to guess if he was following me. I just opened the door and sat down in the passenger seat, staring out the side window.

He stayed where he was for a moment, then slowly unfolded his long lanky body and walked toward the car. He sat in his seat for a moment, before reaching up to put the keys in the ignition and start the engine. Then he turned to face me.

"You know, Maggie, in this business people lie to me all day long. You come to expect it. Killers don't play fair, so you've gotta do whatever it takes to get to the truth. That's what I do, Maggie. I've been doing it so long, I don't even think about it. I just put in what's needed for a given situation. This ain't about genetics, Maggie, it's about a man's life wasted. So yeah, I set you up. But I do it just as much in hopes that you're innocent as I do in case you're not." His eyes were searing into mine, the little muscle in his jaw twitching. "And do I think you can do better than that?" he said, gesturing to the picture I'd thrown down on the seat beside me. "I know you can."

He looked away then, throwing the Taurus into reverse and backing out into my alley. He picked up the microphone that lay between us and barked into it. Weathers was back on the job, and for some inexplicable reason, I felt as if I'd missed something important.

Weathers pulled the Taurus right up in front of Jack's loading dock, put it in park, and sat waiting for me to leave. Funny thing was, now I didn't want to go. I felt like I wanted him to understand something about me, but I just couldn't lay my hand on what it was.

"That picture," I said, my thoughts trailing to a stop.

"Yeah?" His hand rested on the wheel, but he was watching me.

"That was six years ago. We were just clowning around at the beach." Weathers didn't say a word. He waited. "The Spiveys rent this big house at Holden Beach every year. It was kinda fun, you know?"

He nodded ever so slightly.

"I didn't come from a family that did stuff like that. It was one of the things I liked best about the Spiveys." I was taking up air space and saying nothing. But it was almost as if I had to keep moving my mouth to get around to what I was thinking.

"Jimmy was a sweet boy, Detective. He meant well, but he couldn't help himself. He just lacked ambition. I don't know what he would've done with the love of a good woman, but Roxanne wasn't the one. I tried to be like a big sister to him. I guess he took it wrong. But you should know this: I never did anything to make Jimmy think I loved him. I never violated my vows to Vernell. Not with anyone. Not ever."

Weathers had turned a little in his seat and was giving me his full attention.

"And I was plenty lonely, Detective. So you go on and check me out. You root through my underwear drawer and dig up my past. You take it to mean whatever you want, but you won't find a murderer. I'm guilty of a lot of things. I've been foolish in love, and probably gullible in situations you'd see coming a mile off. But I don't intentionally set out to hurt people, Detective, even when they've hurt me."

I reached down and picked up the photo of me and Jimmy. He looked so young and happy. Who in the world had killed him? He'd loved me, in his own lost-boy way, and somehow, I'd let him down. Not just by not loving him the way he wanted me to love him, but by not listening, not hearing something that might've saved his life. And now maybe I was the only one with sense enough to find his murderer. Maybe I was the only one who really cared. Vernell was stuck inside a bottle and Roxanne only wanted Jimmy's money. I looked at the picture again for a moment, remembering the crash of the ocean behind us, and the smell of the salty air that hot August day. Then I stretched out my hand and offered the picture to Weathers.

"You keep this," I said. "I don't need it anymore."

Weathers reached out and took the picture, and his fingers brushed mine. Our eyes met and held, the shock of skin on skin dancing up my arm, flipping my stomach over like the drop of a roller-coaster. He leaned across the seat and cupped my chin with his fingers. Ever so slowly and gently, Marshall Weathers kissed me. I melted into him, feeling myself sinking deeper and deeper.

He pushed back, his face inches from mine, looking deep into my eyes.

"Like I said, Maggie, you can do better."

I pulled away and turned to fumble with the door handle. I had to get out of the car because I'd suddenly had a memory that Weathers couldn't know about and I couldn't explain.

"How will I know, Mama?" I'd asked one summer day out on the porch, the two of us swinging on the wooden porch swing.

"Honey," she'd answered, "when the right man comes along, you'll know."

Suddenly the air inside the car was too close, and my head was spinning. I was too tired. My mind was playing tricks on me, and I was too tired.

"Good-bye, Detective," I said, my voice coming out in a husky whisper.

"I'll be in touch," he said.

I couldn't look at him. Suddenly, I was eleven, sitting on the porch swing with Mama, while part of me, the adult Maggie, was running just as fast as she could.

I ran up the steps to the loading dock and hit the remote button. Behind me, I heard the crunch of Weathers's tires pulling away and I sighed with relief. The garage door moved too slowly, and all I could think about was getting inside. I half expected to see Jack, but the downstairs was empty, another relief. I didn't need to deal with any more men at this particular moment.